I swallow. “No. Just worried about burning my friends alive. No biggie.”
Wylder actually chuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
Little does he know.
I close my eyes and reach—not for heat or wind or water or earth, but for the invisible threads that pulse beneath reality itself. It’s the power that vibrates in my cells. It’s the rush of energy that has been dammed up for so long that, when I give it permission, it spills out of me like a waterfall.
The voices hit me first.
Hundredsof them.
They crash into my skull all at once—overlapping, dissonant, desperate. Words I don’t understand bleed into languages I’ve never heard. Grief pours through in jagged bursts. Anger simmers beneath. Longing wraps around my ribs andsqueezes.
I gasp, stumbling backward.
My hands fly to my temples as the voices grow louder, clawing at the inside of my mind like the souls of the undead are trying to tear their way out. Cold electricity races down my spine, making my teeth chatter.
“They’re too loud,” I choke out. “I can’t separate them.”
Warmth runs over my lip, and I swipe a hand under my nose, knowing that I’m bleeding.
Strong hands catch my shoulders before I hit the ground. Wylder’s voice cuts through the chaos, low and steady. “Breathe, Poppy.”
“Iambreathing?—”
“Slower.” His grip tightens, grounding me. “Spirit isn’t just power. It’s voices. It’s souls. It’s ancestors offering strength. It’s vengeful echoes clinging to old wounds. You’re letting them all in at once.”
I force my eyes open, my vision swimming. Wylder’s face is close, his chiseled jaw set but his expression softer than I’veever seen it. “Filter through the chaos. Search for the voices and energy you’re ready to handle. Don’t allow the others through.”
“How do I know which ones?—”
“You’ll know. You have great instincts. Trust your instincts.”
The certainty in his tone makes me want to believe him.
I close my eyes again, exhaling shakily.
This time, I don’t justopen.Ireach.
The whispers rush back, but I don’t let them swallow me. I push against the tide, searching for threads that don’t scrape at the inside of my mind like broken glass. Ones that hum instead of scream.
One strand glows faintly in the dark—golden, warm, steady.
It’s a resonance I recognize. It’s the hum of the Hallowind standing stones. The constant buzz coming from the piano in the parlor. I focus on that familiar vibration and reach for it.
When I grab it, the chaos falls away like someone turned down the volume on a radio. The cold dissipates, replaced by something warmer, richer. Strength blooms in my chest, pouring down my arms and into my palms.
Spirit energy sparks within me, not the wildness of fire this time. Not desperate.
The energy of my affinity glows blue in my hands, a solid ball of power, elegant and controlled. I let more of the trapped power free, guide it outward, shape it with slow deliberation. The energy expands, swirling together into a large crackling globe.
The sphere of magic rises into midair before me. I hold it there, steady, watching the beauty of the energy play in an iridescent dance.
For the first time in weeks, I feel at peace.Aligned.
The energy flickers, taking on a life of its own. I’m about to release the spell to shut it down when something shifts within the swirling magic.
My energy spikes, and my vision fractures.
