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I stepped out of the puddle and tried to shake it off, but the magic stuck like oil, glossing over everything as it defied gravity and climbed my body.
“Your life will leak from your bones as your very breath burns your lungs.”
“No.” I felt my stomach acid scald my throat as a sour taste infected my mouth.
The red magic twirled around me, tightening like a noose.
“You are nothing but dust, and now your body shall return to it as you drown in screams of pain and crack your teeth from gnashing them.”
The red magic boiled—a heat I felt through the plate armor.
“No,” I repeated, louder. “Magic doesn’t work on me.” My voice wavered, but my determination to survive this made me lift my head.
“Who are you to believe you are stronger than the power in the blood of King Tanus, Monarch of the Mors, the Bloodletter, Scourge of Death, General of the Undin Army—”
For a moment, my fear spiked.
I wasn’t anyone. I was just a clerk at a bookstore, with a trash griffin for a friend. I wasn’t powerful, and I didn’t even have wieldable magic.
My heart thudded in my chest.
But I love Noctus. And I love Ker, Aristide, and Charon. And I’d do anything to save them—including defying an elven curse.
“I saidno!” I shouted over the rambling magic. “You can’t stop me with a curse—you can’t stop me with any magic. I’m an Anderson, raised by humans, trained by elves. I’m ashadow!”
Something deep in my heart buckled, and for a moment I felt it: the magic that swam in my soul.
It roared with the power of a hundred tigers, and a golden light erupted at my feet, bursting into teeth-like fangs that reached above my head. My magic snapped up around me like the jaws of a beast engulfing its prey.
The curse shrieked, and I felt it claw at me, but my magic was merciless, shredding it, consuming it until not even a drop remained.
Something in Truck—the scythe—shifted. It didn’t change, but my armor did.
Most of the plates melted away, solidifying into a few pieces that covered up key areas, but no longer restricted my movement. The chest piece remained—though it grew less bulky—but the pauldrons disappeared, and the armguards shrank so they only covered my forearms, the top of my hands, and my knuckles. The armor on my legs faded entirely, and the metal covered shoes were replaced with low cut leather boots with whisper-quiet soles. Best yet, the armor went from a tar black color to something softer that was closer to the black fur of my cat form, and the red magic that veined the armor changed to a golden color that matched my cat eyes.
Even the helm changed, the eye holes widening to accommodate my sight.
The tripping-hazard cloak disappeared, but something fluttered at my waist instead. I nearly laughed when I realized it was a ribbon threaded through my belt: gold, with tiny black cats on it.
“That’s settled. You ready, Truck?” I shifted my gaze to the red barrier, which was starting to pulse.
As I scrambled across the rooftop, my borrowed scythe made a low noise—an eerie mash of a groan and a moan.
Welp. Ker did say the heirlooms communicated with their wielders.
I jumped from the overhang to the actual roof of the Curia Cloisters—which was a bit higher. I almost didn’t make it as balancing Truck during the leap threw me off.
I squinted up at the barrier—which was at least two stories higher than the roofline I was standing on now. “We’ve got a problem. You’re light, but bulky to carry. I don’t suppose you’d mind if I just tossed you up there?”
Truck made the moaning noise again, sounding like a ghost in a human horror film.
“I’m going to interpret that as an affirmative. Here we go—we’re aiming for the barrier!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Noctus
Charon made a sharp inhalation of air.
