Jo didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled on her end and forced her magic toward Pan with the express intent of breaking the demigod’s wrists. It didn’t quite work—there was something about Pan that her magic refused to harm. But it was enough to startle Pan, who let go completely. Jo’s force over-compensated; off-balance, she tripped, falling backward, and lost the bow in the process.
The wooden implement clattered across the pebbled floor of Pan’s treasure room to the opposite side of where they now stood. It came to a stop, landing against a large piece of golden platemail and what looked to be a geode as big as Jo’s head, cracked open and scattered on the ground. Jo looked to it, panting, and then back to Pan.
Pan’s eyes were on her, her cat-like irises narrowed to thin vertical slits as sharp as daggers. Her shoulders heaved up and down with her ragged breathing and her hair seemed to change color with her every breath—blue, purple, pink, green—a kaleidoscope of shifting magic. Then, with a ruffle of bows and ribbons, Pan moved.
Jo was close behind, dashing in the direction of the bow. It seemed to ooze light and life in staunch protest to the chaotic world around it.
She had to get to it before Pan did.
Lengthening her strides and pushing her legs as hard as they could go, Jo cast a hand in Pan’s direction, unleashing her magic. The ground beneath Pan’s feet rippled, pebbles breaking upward, free from the mortar, in shrapnel of stone. Pan responded with a jump and a snap of her finger, leaping through what were now rose petals falling harmlessly to the ground.
“Try again,” she snarled.
With nothing more than a look in Jo’s direction, the silver medals scattered at her feet unraveled and slithered, turned from ribbons into cobras. Jo reared back, stalling. She looked at the metal, reducing it to white-hot molten pools she quickly leapt over.
“Gladly,” Jo grunted.
She threw everything she had at the roof overhead. With a look, it fractured, raining translucent black stone down on Pan. Pan stopped scowling as she leaned down. Gripping at a ribbon on her sandal, she tugged it free, the shoe falling lose. Pan wove it through the air like a whip and it slashed through the hail of stone nearly completely.
Nearly.
With her nemesis caught in the debris, Jo made her final steps, preparing to lunge. She was so close to the bow. She could feel it now, almost taste the magic in the air. And then—
“Jo!” Snow’s voice called.
Jo’s head whipped around at the sound of her name spoken on the tongue of her other half, herwantedandbelovedother half. Snow was standing at the far corner of the room—where a stone tunnel had been crafted impossibly through the rubble. The other members of the Society were clamoring over the debris around him, Takako in the lead. Relief soared through her at the sight of them—safe and sound, if not a little bruised and beaten. She saw tears in Wayne’s clothes that she had no doubt he would kill someone for (hopefully Pan), and some blood on Samson’s face thatJowould kill someone for (also, hopefully Pan).
Butno onewas killing Pan when all their eyes were off her.
Jo never even saw it coming.
It felt like a claymore digging into her side, tearing her from the edge of her flesh nearly to the naval. It stole the wind from her lungs, stalling her, knocking her off balance. She rolled, feeling the muscles in her abdomen tense as magic pulsed in her brighter than before. Rearing upward, Jo was ready to launch the next attack. But her magic never left her body.
Pan stood over her with a heart-shaped scythe in one hand and the bow in the other, twirling it impossibly between her little fingers.
“I can’t destroy it—not my magic,” Pan admitted, loud enough that her voice carried across the decimated remains of her treasure room. “But I can change it.”
In one movement that seemed like nothing more than a blink, Pan tossed the scythe aside and gripped the bow, thrusting it out before her. There was no flash of light, no sound to herald the end of the world. Pan simply uncurled her fingers, and the bow was transformed into nothing more than doves and confetti—an act that could’ve been done at any time, but Pan no doubt waited until just that moment, her intended audience gathered in rapt attention.
The hope of the world died like a cheap magic trick.
Chapter 32
The Final Moments
No.
Jo watched the confetti fall, some of it landing in her hair, on her outstretched hand. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over. There must be something else they could do. . .
But not without the bow. That had been the crux of their plan. Without it, they had nothing.
They’d think of something else. They’d come up with a new plan. But with what time? What could they possibly do now and with no weapon? There had to be a way. It was over.It couldn’t be. Not like that. Not. . . Not so suddenly. Her thoughts were dangerously scattered and chaotic. Jo had no draw to pull them back together or she’d risk losing herself.
Jo lifted her head and watched the doves fly up and away, wishing she could do the same. There was no escape now; Pan had them all trapped. The hopeless truth of it filled her lungs and stole her voice. She couldn’t breathe.
“This is pointless. Fun, but pointless,” Pan giggled, walking right into Jo’s line of sight. Jo kept her gaze steadily trained on the doves overhead, diminishing white specks in the sky. When Pan noticed the lack of attention, she glanced over her shoulder, frowning. With a click of her teeth, the doves bloated to impossible size and turned into balloons that drifted out of sight on the breeze. Jo forced her gaze to attention, though not without throwing Pan as murderous a glare as she could manage.
“This isn’t over.” She thought she might have heard a rustle behind her, the sounds of commotion from her friends, but she kept her focus on Pan, drawing herself shakily to her knees.
