Logan’s instructionsecho in my mind, specific and detailed. He must have taken this same path when he did the trials. Fought this exact creature.
But that doesn’t make sense. He has fire magic, not electricity. How could his exact strategy work for me?
The thought nags at me as I stare down the bone path. After all, just because Logan succeeded doesn’t mean I will. He’s trained his whole life. He’s powerful, controlled, and everything I’m not. He probably fought this thing with perfect form and calculated precision.
I’ll probably trip over a femur and impale myself on my own weapon.
Maybe I should try a different path. The Reaper might be slower. Arachne might have a weakness I could exploit. Something that doesn’t involve playing chicken with a murder bird that’s literally dripping blood from its talons.
But Logan’s guided me well this far. Through the wasteland, the spirits, the river, and the boat of desperate secrets. Every instruction has been perfect.
Too perfect,that suspicious voice in my head whispers.
But I tell it to shut up. Because after everything Logan and I have been through, I trust him more than I ever thought I could trust anyone in my life.
So, into the Harpy’s lair I go.
The instant I step fully onto the path, she shrieks and dives from her perch.
Roll left, then electricity blast right,Logan said.
My body moves before my brain catches up, and I’m throwing myself left, bones scattering beneath me. The Harpy’s talons slash through the space where my head just was, and I thrust my right hand out, letting the magic flow.
Silver electricity arcs from my fingers, forcing the creature to bank hard right to avoid it.
She shrieks, her wings beating massive gusts that send bones flying.
She always circles clockwise,Logan’s voice plays in my head like a broken record.Count three circles, then run straight at her.
It’s insane. Runningatthe murder bird? But I count anyway as she wheels overhead.
One circle. Two. Three.
I sprint forward. Every instinct screams that this is suicide, but I apparently trust the boy with the haunted eyes more than I trust my own survival instincts.
Talons whistle past my shoulder, close enough to tear fabric but not flesh.
When she misses, grab something pointy from the ground on your right and stab it through her neck. Not the heart—the neck.
My hand closes around a bone shard, sharp as any blade. And as the Harpy passes overhead, I thrust the makeshift weapon upward with all my strength.
The bone punches through her throat with a wet sound that will definitely appear in my nightmares. Black blood spatters down, hot and acidic, burning where it hits my skin. The creature crashes into the hedge wall, thrashing and gurgling in a way that would be pitiful if she wasn’t trying to kill me.
Blast electricity onto her talons,Logan instructed.No other part of her body will work. Only the talons.
The Harpy struggles to rise, one talon reaching for me even as blood pours from the hole I just made in her neck. She’s making this pathetic keening sound now, and for half a second, I almost feel bad. Then I remember she wanted to eat my face, and the sympathy evaporates.
Electricity explodes from my hands. The kind that turns the air white-hot and makes your hair stand on end.
It hits the Harpy’s talons, and her shriek cuts off mid-sound. Her body convulses once, twice, then goes still.
I stand there for a moment, shocked. Not just because I survived, but because Logan knew. He knew every move, every weakness, and every second of that fight. He prepared me perfectly. Like he’d run this exact scenario a million times and knew every possible outcome.
But I can’t worry about that right now, because I need to get out of this hellish place and back to the slightly less hellish academy waiting for me on the other side.
So, I push myself to my feet, legs shaky but functional. The path continues past where the Harpy fell, bones giving way to soft grass that shouldn’t exist in this dead place. It’s too green, too alive, like someone’s sick joke about what paradise might look like in hell.
And there, finally, is the garden.
