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With a quiet curse, I leap to my feet and race to Emrys’ room. Dreading to see what I will find, I pop the lock and enter.
He’s on the floor, too, his back to the bed, head lolling to the side, a trail of blood drying on his chin but also on his upper lip, crimson still flowing from one nostril.
“Rys!” He doesn’t react. “Rys…” I’m on my knees, my hand on his broad chest, over the tattoos and scars, over his slow-beating heart. “Wake up.”
No. No, this can’t be happening! I was supposed to have some more time to find a better solution, to train more, read more. But I knew time was short from the start.
Gathering myself, the long skirt of the black dress trapping my movements, I stumble out and turn to Sindri’s room, terrified of what I’ll find.
It still stops me in my tracks.
He’s sprawled on his back between the bed and the desk, one arm flung out as if reaching for something. I sink down to my knees on the floor, breaking down.
God, it breaks my heart. He’s bare-chested like the others—what does she do, put her hands on them, maybe the touch works as a conductor?—and the map of scars and bruises, old and new, on his body twists my stomach.
Move, I tell myself, trying for rational thought, to dampen the horror and panic at seeing him like this. Do something.
But what? All of them are hurt. Ashton is being hurt right now. In the network of magic, their elements throb and pulse, pain everywhere. I can’t tell who is hurting more.
I watch the slight rise and fall of Sin’s chest as he breathes, a scream of rage building in my throat.
Why? Why is this happening? Why can’t I stop it?
How did I fail them again? I was watching over them, visiting them, talking to them as they recovered. I thought I’d be there when they fully woke up, that I’d be there to stop Ophelia from harming them more.
The wall around their power must have prevented me from feeling it when she siphoned them before, but this time she dropped the wall to suck in more magic.
There goes my plan, shaky as it was, of gathering the boys and going to rescue Ashton.
Ash. I guess Ash had been next in line. And now she is with him!
Tears blur my vision. I can’t let this happen. It’s a preview of what the world will be like if I let her go through with the ritual.
A world full of pain.
A world without my boys.
No way am I letting her succeed. Okay, think, Mia. I wipe at my eyes, bend over. Think!
She’s focused on Ash, and her enchantment is already shaky because she’s pulling so much power into herself for the final ritual. Terrible as this is, it means she’s probably not paying attention to me.
I put my hands on the tiles, bow my head. If I’m a witch, a real witch, then let it be useful. Just like when I woke them up by the lake, let me reach them again. Wake them up again.
Then go back to the plan.
Rescue Ashton.
Stop Ophelia.
Gathering magic from around me, from the ground, the air, the light, the dark, I shudder. I feel it sink into me, I feel all the magical creatures in the building and beyond, in the Academy, in the city.
Give, I think, give me magic.
The closer they are, the easier they are to call—and I find familiar signatures in their power—Jason’s wolves, Ashton’s vampires, Sindri’s fae, Emrys’ demons, turning their ethereal bodies toward me, greeting me, offering their magic freely.
A little from everyone, a drop from every creature, and the world explodes into color.
A howl is building in my chest, in my bones. I feel like a vessel made of glass, the pressure in me rising until I start to crack, about to shatter.
