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Grinn had.
Her knees felt weak as the link between them went into effect. Somehow, deep down inside, she knew Grinn would be dead if it weren’t for their shared life force. Which meant that if she got hurt next, it was over for both of them.
And sure enough, a small brigade of soldiers rounded the corner. They were dressed in colonial garb, and four of them had old-school muskets, fitted with bayonets. Two were already covered in a black liquid that she assumed was Grinn’s blood.
The wizard pushed her aside. “Gwen—run!” Electricity began to crackle around his hands as the soldiers finished reloading the muskets and raised them to fire in their direction.
She didn’t hesitate. Turning on her heel, feeling like she was about to faint at any moment from the drain of keeping Grinn “alive,” she ran down an alley to the sound of the boom of gunfire, of lightning, and a dog furiously barking.
Sadly, she didn’t make it far.
Dead end.
“Fuck!” She turned to run and try another way.
“Halt!” A soldier was blocking her path. He had a musket in his hand. He stepped forward, pointing it at her. “Die,fiend.”
He was going to shoot her.
If he shot her, she’d die. For real.
Panic hit her, fast and hard, like she hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time. Tears streamed down her cheeks, turning to liquid fire that hissed as it touched the cobblestones by her feet. “Please don’t—don’t make me—” She was ablaze. She hadn’t even noticed when it happened. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Your kind are a plague!” He pulled back the hammer on the lock of the musket. He wasn’t going to listen to her.
With a scream, she held out her hands in front of her. A blast of fire erupted from her and enveloped the soldier. He screamed. His gun went off. The musket ball hit a wood door beside her with acrunchinto the surface. But it had missed her.
But she hadn’t missed the soldier.
He was lying on the ground, still burning…and not moving. His flesh was blackened and charred, already cracked, blistered, and flaking. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air.
Dead.
She had killed a man.
The smell was too much. Weeping, she turned and lost her breakfast, her stomach heaving in disgust at what she had done.
She had to run. She had to run away. She had killed a man. She was trapped. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was too close. Too warm. Too real. She had killed a man.
Her head spun. The world suddenly felt blissfully far away.
She fainted.
* * *
It was a risky ploy. Mordred knew the magic he had spun into the crystal necklace was not meant to be wielded in such a way. But he did not know what else to do. Standing in his study, he clutched the necklace tight in his metal hand, not caring for how hot it burned. It did not hurt him.
Gwendolyn was in danger. Real danger.
And he was helpless to aid her if he did not know where she was. Shutting his eyes, he focused all his will into the magic he wove. He tightened his fist, shattering the jewel. The power of it crashed into him like a wave, instantly dragging him under.
He collapsed to the ground, the world going dark around him.
Hear me, Avalon—you shall not take her from me.
FOURTEEN
Someone was holding her. Gwen instantly knew who, just by the feel of the arms that circled her, clutching her tight. The slight metallic smell was also a giveaway. She was still crying, even though she knew she had passed out and was unconscious.
