Page 300 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

But it worked, and I…

I had killed a man with the magic the Mother gave me.

Fletcher’s lips parted in surprise, those too-young, too-traumatized eyes snapping to mine. Then he rushed forward, and together we hauled Cora upright.

Heart in my throat, chest on fire, I barked, “Come on!”

Because there were men in the hallway—their raised voices promising violence.

My blood chilled with every step they took. One of them catcalled. At a little girl. Gods.

In one desperate motion, I reached up, relieved when Rhiannon’s ruby warmed beneath my shaking fingers—more relieved when I slammed my palm to the wall behind the sickbeds and it trembled, dust spilling as a narrow passage opened. “Keep them safe,” I begged Rhiannon under my breath.

“Come out and play, poppet!”

Goosebumps rippled down my skin as the gaping maw revealed a long descent into darkness.

“Run!” I demanded, handing Fletcher the stone.

Cáit’s brow furrowed as she lunged for me and barked, “Come with us!”

“Somebody’s gotta close it,” I said, shoving her inside before I slammed my hand against the wall.

Cáit’s scream tore through the room a beat before my scalp burned and my neck wrenched back, someone hauling me by the hair.

For one terrible heartbeat, I was elbow-high again, stuffed inside that dark armoire.

For one terrible heartbeat, I looked up at the monster in the moonlight, trembling to the sound of my mother screaming.

Because a leather demon mask stared down at me as the final inch of the gate sealed shut.

“Open it,” he growled, dark eyes growing impossibly darker.

“I can’t,” I sobbed, hands flying to the fist knotted in my hair as my knees cracked against the stone. “They took the key!”

“I said open. It.” He repeated the order as though that could change the answer.

“Go to hell,” I gritted back.

Pain exploded as he smashed my face into the stone, black spots bursting across my vision. My hands flew to his, fingers wound deep in my hair, tears spilling as heat stabbed through my face and scalp.

“The bastard’s whore has forgotten her place,” one of them growled.

“I’m not—” My face hit stone again, hard enough that heat burst across my temple and blood spilled down my cheek, my teeth singing with the impact.

“Should we remind her?” the one tearing at my hair asked, his words warped by what could only be a smile beneath the mask.

My head spun, stomach contracting hard enough to threaten revolt. I nearly toppled when he jerked me upright and pinned my back to his chest.

My magic reached clumsily for the heart beating inches from mine.

But I’d used so much.

On Cora. On the others. On the man crumpled behind the three advancing on us.

“Please!” The word slurred out of me. I blinked as if I could clear the dark spots from my vision—and the begging from my voice. A whimper cracked free as my head was yanked back against a hard shoulder, hot breath assaulting my ear.

“Open. The. Door.”