Bewitched

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I gasp, even though I know she can’t hear me. She still hasn’t woken up.

Beneath me, there are prolonged screams.

I’m nearly to the top of the staircase when another spell ricochets against the wall and crashes into my calf, slicing it open. I scream as my leg gives out.

EMPRESS! Memnon bellows. HOLD FAST! I AM COMING!

Just before I hit the ground, I cover the shifter’s head, and it’s my own skull that cracks against the top stair.

Everything whites out for an instant.

Then I’m blinking the world back into focus, and I hear screams, and the scent of magic is pounding in my head, and above it all, fear that isn’t my own floods my system.

TAKE IT.

“Memnon?” I whisper out loud.

I’m still blinking, still trying to make sense of the world even as I’m forcing myself to my feet, dragging the shifter up with me. I can’t stop the cry I let out as I force my injured leg to bear our weight.

There are a dozen different spells I could use to alleviate the pain or help the wound mend itself, but between the fear and the pain and my growing exhaustion, I can’t seem to think of a single one.

Need to get the shifter to safety.

I stumble up the last of the stairs. My legs shake, my lungs and shoulder and back burn, and I can feel my hot blood ru

TAKE MY MAGIC. I wince at the sound of Memnon’s voice inside me.

Is that what he meant? Take his magic?

NOW, MATE.

Ugh, “mate.”

EST AMAGE. TAKE IT.

“Stop yelling at me,” I moan, staggering away from the stairs and toward a carved wooden door ahead of me. I’ve only taken two steps when the blood seeping from my calf wound begins to bubble and boil against my skin.

I cry out from the fresh new pain.

Now why would my wound do that…?

The spell must’ve been a curse. A really shitty one.

I stumble the last few feet to the door and awkwardly grab the knob, nearly dropping the limp girl in my arms. I just manage to twist it open, and then me and the shifter fall through it. I barely have time to twist my body so I’m the one who hits the wet earth and not the girl.

We’re outside.

I let out an exhausted huff. That feels like a win all on its own.

I smell the forest around us, and when I look back toward the open doorway, I see the door itself has been carved into the trunk of a tree, though the interior of the tree appears to be far larger than its exterior.

Magic, man…

I still hear the distant sounds of witches fighting and screaming inside, but I doubt the lamassu will hold them all off for much longer.

I try to get up, but my entire body is protesting. I whimper at my various wounds. My magic and my adrenaline are wearing away. I don’t know how much more I have in me.

By the love of all our gods, little witch, Memnon says, please—I am begging you—take what I am offering!

What you’re offering? I feel it then, through that magical river that seems to flow right to my heart.

Power. Endless power. More than anyone has any business handling.

I don’t understand how he’s siphoning it to me, and I don’t bother to consider the repercussions of using this sorcerer’s magic. I reach for it.

I gasp as it pours into me. The pain from my various injuries grows dull, and my fatigue vanishes entirely.

I rise to my feet, picking up the unconscious girl once more.

And then I run.

Need to get to shifter territory. That’s all I can think as I sprint.

I sense the boundary line ahead of me, but it feels like it might as well be in a different country.

I stumble over roots, and twigs and rocks cut into the soft pads of my feet. I clench my teeth against the sensation of blood dripping down my calf.

Later. I’ll deal with it all later.

I can’t hear the witches behind me anymore, and I’m starting to gain confidence when the girl in my arms begins to gag.

I don’t want to stop ru

But I also don’t want her to choke on her own vomit.

I stop and let her down. She’s not even conscious. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I lay her on her side, focusing my attention on her.

Whatever they gave her, I’m afraid she’s been given too much.

She gags again, and it’s clear that the substance in her system needs to come out.

Gently, I press a hand to her stomach. “Purge,” I command, pressing my borrowed power into her flesh.

The sunrise-orange magic billows out from beneath my palm, then sinks into her skin.

She lunges forward and retches violently. I try not to make a face at what comes up, but I can smell the tainted magic lacing her vomit.

She throws up again. And again.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, combing her hair back, wincing as I feel a tug in my injured shoulder.

There must be more poison within her, poison that’s entered her bloodstream. It too needs to be removed from her system.

Placing a hand on her chest and another on her back, I grab Memnon’s power and coax it down my arms to my palms.

“Dissolve the poison within,” I command in Sarmatian.

Then I force my power into the girl.

Her back arches, and her eyes snap open. She begins to scream, and I have to grit my teeth and brace myself as magic battles magic within her.

I continue to force as much healing power into her as possible, overwhelming the toxin slipping through her veins. I sway a little, the sustained effort making me feel faint.

A branch cracks somewhere in the distance. Then I hear the crackle of crunching pine needles.

They’re still coming.

Beneath my hands, the girl is shaking, but her cries have tapered off to whimpers. She’s still not awake, not in any real sense. I swallow as worry engulfs me.

She’s defenseless like this.

I lean toward her and whisper an incantation under my breath, one that feels as old as the language I’m speaking in. “I offer you my protection. My magic will defend you. My blood will spill before yours does. This I vow.”

The oath feels like a memory, like déjà vu.

The footsteps draw near, no doubt because the witches heard the girl’s cries.

I can still sense the slick poison slipping through her, but I have to let her go and hope the magic I pressed into her will be enough.

I force myself up on shaky legs, turning to face the approaching witches.

In the darkness I can barely make them out. There aren’t as many of them now, maybe five or six. And the monster is still unaccounted for.

I pull magic up from the earth and draw it down from the dark moon, and I siphon still more from that magical river flowing into me. My power gathers and builds, forming just beneath my skin as I face the witches.

They’re no longer wearing masks, but unfortunately, the darkness hides their features.

“Attack,” I whisper, releasing my magic. It snaps out of me like serpents. The mental visual must be doing something because I see my magic pull back, then strike much the same way a snake would. Witches yelp and cry out.

A spell hits me, one that causes my attack to dissolve. Another follows, striking me square in the chest and knocking me back into the earth. This second spell locks up my muscles, and in mere seconds, I’m frozen; I can breathe but not much else. I can’t even move my eyes.

A third spell hits my hip as I lie there, this one a dirty crimson color. I know just by the look of it that this one is bad. And then I feel it.

If I could scream, I would.

It’s as though I’m being stabbed in twenty different places. Maybe I am. I’m choking on blood, or maybe my lungs are simply seizing up.

SELENE! STAY WITH ME. Memnon forces his magic into me, and I reach for it, letting it slip through me and fight off the curse that’s flaying me open.

DO YOU SEE YOUR ENEMIES? MARK THEM, EST AMAGE, THEY ARE NOW MY OWN.

“She’s hit,” one of the witches says.

“Does it look like I care? That fucking cunt nearly ripped off my leg.”

“Enough,” a third one says.

Memnon’s power must be working because the pain from the curse is dying down, and I’m able to move my eyes.

So I can see one of the witches prowling over, her toenails painted a soft pink color. For some reason, that strikes me as ridiculous, given the situation.

She crouches next to me, her straight black hair brushing my cheek. “When the others get to you, you’re going to wish you hadn’t done shit tonight,” she whispers, looking down on me.

She lifts her hand, and I’m not sure if it’s to slap me or strike me with another spell, but I want to scream because I can’t do anything but lie here, prone.

The witch flashes me a nasty smile. “Payback’s a bit—” A black shadow collides with her, and I hear her scream. It cuts out, replaced by the meaty sound of ripping flesh.

There are more screams and more meaty sounds. Now I’m able to tilt my head just a little. A massive shadow is pi

I recognize those eyes.

Nero!

I want to cry because he’s here, defending me. He roars, then lunges toward another witch.

I see a flash of cobalt-blue magic whoosh toward him.

In an instant I’m in his mind. Get down!

His body lowers, pressing flush against the ground, and the spell whizzes harmlessly past him.

I’m out of his head in an instant, dragging as much of Memnon’s magic into me as I can, until it’s flushing out the last of the spells that cling to my body.

I thought I was panicked before, but now knowing that my familiar is taking on a group of bloodthirsty witches all on his own—I’m petrified for him.

My fingers and toes twitch, then my hands and wrists, feet and ankles. I want to scream at how painfully slow it’s going.

Before I get full motor function back, I sense one of the witches grabbing the shifter girl behind me.

No!

I fling my magic out without a spell, letting the cords of it find the witch. As soon as they do, my power wraps around the witch’s ankles and yanks her off her feet.

She grunts as she hits the ground hard. Before she can get up, my familiar is on her—

I cringe at the wet sound of him biting into her. I slip into his mind, coaxing my familiar to let the witch go. Reluctantly, he does so.

From his eyes, I peer around us. The witches all appear to be accounted for. Several of them lie on the ground, moaning. Two more are limping away together. Nero’s nostrils flare at the smell of so much blood.