“You’re damn right I did. And the minute I get out of here, I’m going straight to the cops to press charges for assault, kidnapping, torture, and whatever twisted medical experiment you’re running.”
“That’s assuming you get out of here,” Wylder gripes.
Laurel holds up a hand to stop him. “This isn’t us experimenting on you, Poppy. This is a safety assessment. Your mother’s reckless actions cost lives—lives of our own coven members—and we need to know if you pose the same threat.”
Heat flares in my chest. It’s not anger, it’s something deeper, wilder. A powerful survival instinct. “Come near me with that blade again and I’ll show you exactly what kind of threat you’re dealing with.”
Wylder storms forward and leans in, sharp-jawed, his eyes like storm clouds building into a funnel. “Watch your mouth, grave witch. Threaten the high priestess of the Emberwood Coven again, and you’ll learn what real torture feels like.”
“Wylder, please.” Laurel frowns and slides her arm between me and the asshole, forcing him to back away. “This is getting out of control. We never intended to make an enemy of you, Poppy.”
I scoff. “Well, if this is how you make friends, I bet you have a serious recruitment problem.”
A pulse of power hits my chest, and every hair on my arms stands on end. Cold rushes through me, sharp as a dagger dragging ice through my flesh.
My body convulses, and I clench my jaw as energy explodes in my cells. It’s like fireworks going off inside me. My muscles, veins, and organs detonate in concussive succession. My consciousness ebbs, but thankfully, it passes quickly.
When my head stops spinning, the brunette with the tortoiseshell glasses is leaning close, waving some kind of wand instrument over me. “There’s no going back, I’m afraid.”
Something inside me snaps.
“You’re trying to block my powers again? Planning to wipe me of my identity? Well, fuck you!”
The temperature in the room plummets. My breath comes out in visible puffs as frost spreads across the concrete floorin spiraling patterns. The fluorescent lights flicker and buzz, casting eerie shadows that seem to move independently.
“What’s happening?” the sandy-haired woman asks, backing toward the wall.
Tortoiseshell Girl’s wand device starts beeping frantically. “Her powers are breaking through the binding!”
Wylder runs to stand in front of Laurel and throws his hands up, creating a shield around them. “You’re losing control, Hallowind. You’re going to kill us all.”
“I’ve never had control, fucknut! You should’ve realized that before you started poking the magical bear you locked inside me.”
The air around us shimmers, and shapes materialize around the room. Translucent figures with hollow eyes and gaping mouths form, all caught in the same expression of righteous fury.
“Ghosts.” For the first time, Wylder’s expression shifts from fury to genuine fear. “She’s calling the dead.”
Spirits circle my captors like wolves, their presence sucking the warmth from the air. I feel their hunger, their desire for justice denied.
I don’t blame them, and I have no idea what my role in this is. Am I their conduit? Their champion? Their voice?
Energy erupts from me in a violent wave. The runes flare at my wrists as the restraints disintegrate. The metal table where Sandy Hair was collecting her specimens flies backward, crashing into the wall. Every piece of glass in the room—vials, windows, lightbulbs—explode in a shower of fragments and rain to the concrete floor.
I stand on shaking legs as my captors stare, casting spells to shield themselves from the spirits’ anger and the unleashing of my power.
Laurel stands tall, untouched beneath the dome of protection Wylder erected around the two of them.
My fingers curl into tight fists as I step toward them. “You took my powers, my sisters, my identity, and my memories, and now you kidnap me to do it all again? Well, fuck you.”
“Poppy, no. You don’t understand,” Laurel says.
“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand what happened to my family or how you thought damming magic up inside me was a good idea. I don’t understand how you could leave me, lost and alone on the streets at sixteen. I don’t understand how you think what you did to me tonight was okay. But most of all, I don’t understand how you live with yourself. If you’re any example of what it means to be an Emberwood witch, I have no fucking interest in it.”
The concrete beneath my feet cracks in spiderweb patterns as I stumble toward what I hope is an exit. My chest heaves with each breath, and the ghosts—Ohmygod, the actual ghosts—flicker in and out of existence around me like a broken television signal. One drifts close enough that I feel the chill of its presence against my cheek.
“Stay back,” I whisper, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to them or myself.
The basement door slams behind me as I burst into what looks like a warehouse. My legs shake with each step, and energy crackles along my skin like static electricity after rubbing a balloon on wool.
