She took a deep breath and let it go, recalling a memory of the time when the house was safe, and Siobhan was nothing but kind, a patient mentor, her savior.
All of that was broken, but sherememberedsafety.
She was shocked to realize that safety now came from Mateo. He gave her security and boundless support.
The chaos focused, and she could see a vision of herself tearing through the room, opening the closet, opening every drawer—finding nothing—and then reaching under the bed for a box that said Christmas that was strangely dust-free.
She tore across the room and skidded to her knees, yanking at the box just underneath the bed. Sure enough, it said Christmas.
She ripped open the lid, and all hell broke loose.
Louder alarms flared; the overhead lights flickered, and items started flying across the room. She stuck her head into the box as earrings, necklaces, socks, pillows, pens, and pencils all went flying.
“I’m one of you! I’m a Griffin!” she shouted, but she wasn’t a Griffin, not by blood, and despite all of their spells and all of their work, the magic did not recognize her as family.
She cried out when something sharp dug into her kidney and reached for the books. She had to get out of this room.
They were heavier than she remembered, but she managed to juggle both of them as she stood up. She turned toward the door just as Siobhan flung it open.
“Did you summon them?” Siobhan said with venom in her voice.
“Turn it off!” she shouted as a dangling crystal earring almost got her in the eye.
“Are you working with them to steal the spell?”
Cat babbled something. It was exactly what she was doing, but not for the reasons Siobhan thought.
Siobhan waved an arm, and the heavy mirror flew off the wall toward her.
She braced for shattering glass, hiding her face behind the books.
Glass did shatter, but none of it touched her, and she realized it had come from behind her.
Cat whipped around just in time to duck as a 200-pound wolf landed directly on the bed with a snarl, blood streaming from little cuts all over its snout and head.
Siobhan screamed. Cat screamed, and Mateo howled.
Cat dropped the books to plaster her hands over her ears as the unearthly sound rang out. It was unbelievably loud in the confined space, meant to echo through the hills, and she realizedthere was magic in that howl. It charged already charged air. It was the scariest sound she’d ever heard—even knowing it was on her side—until the rest of the wolves answered, far closer than the other side of town.
Had he called the pack? Had they followed? Had she led a pack of wolves right to her family?
Screams sounded from the kitchen along with reports of one, two, brown, white, all over the yard.
Siobhan seemed to gather herself. “This is war!”
Every object that could be moved in the entire room lifted into the air and headed straight for Mateo.
Cat dove straight under the bed with the books, and even then, it felt like she’d been hit with a BB gun, as a shotgun spray of debris peppered her legs.
Mateo leaped off the bed toward Siobhan, and gory visions flashed through Cat’s head. She didn’t know if it was magic or her own fear supplying them.
“Don’t hurt her!” she shouted hopelessly as Mateo chased Siobhan into the kitchen.
“One’s in the house!” someone shouted.
“Don’t hurt him!” she shouted as the vision shifted and sparked, and every knife in the kitchen headed toward Mateo in her mind’s eye.
She crawled out from under the bed, bracing herself, but nothing else attacked her. She headed toward the door, books in hand.
