“Is that a good idea? Using my blood to write?” Atticus asks warily.
“It’s all I have,” I remind him. “Do you have any other medium? Ink? Or a pen?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Atticus bites his tongue.
From memory, I write the inscription on the sides of the triangle. While I work, the malum prowls, its eyeless face turned to me. Its body scrapes against the cage. It rams our prison withits shoulder, and the iron bars shudder. I’m so focused, I barely flinch.
“It’s trying to break in,” says Atticus, sounding way too calm.
Does it sense what I’m trying to do?
Is it worried?
The ground shakes again, and the chamber walls tremble. The demolition has started. They’re tearing down what’s left of Arches, causing parts of the ceiling to crumble, dust and rock raining onto our heads.
We’re going to be buried alive.
The beast rams the cell again, and it feels like the whole world is going to come crashing down.
The clamor of the demolition crew echoes like a gong in my head, threatening to drown out my own thoughts as I concentrate on the spell. The malum throws its full weight into each hit, and for the first time, the bars bend. The cage is failing.
“Get down,” I tell Atticus and Dorian. They drop to the floor, shielding each other. Dorian covers Atticus’s head with his body, and a hunk of stone strikes his back. He lets out a yelp, but he doesn’t leave Atticus. A rock hits the floor inches from Atticus’s head, shattering on contact. Soon the stones are falling all around us, and dust fills the air.
The iron bars slowly crumple with each of the malum’s attacks.
My heart is beating so hard and fast, it hurts. I hold out my hands over the sigil, and I sense something, a vague tingling in the tips of my fingers. I welcome it, this power. Mine. The air gets warmer.
If I’m not careful, I could burn out all of the oxygen from the room. I could burn us all to death. I could hurt Dorian and Atticus…
My hands shake.
Concentrate.
I know this spell. I know how to do this. I won’t be stopped.
Magic surges through my bones. My hair floats above my shoulders. I’m so light, I wonder if I could fly. The malum pounds furiously, each hit bending the bars more. The metal flexes and buckles, slowly tearing apart.
“Raven!” Atticus cries. Stones crack and break, metal warps, and the roar of the bulldozers echoes in my ear. Dorian yells something, but I can’t make out the words. I ignore all of it, focusing on the sigil.
The malum rears back, ready to strike.
I inhale. There is power in words and in books. But there is power in me, too. Wild, unleashed elemental power. All I have to do is cast one spell. One simple phrase, two words, from an ancient and powerful text.
“Vocare ignis!”
My voice booms, and a great burst of wind rushes through the room as the sigil ignites in a blinding white light.
Then I tear my fingers into the air andbreakit.
Lightning flares in front of my eyes, blinding me, illuminating the room briefly before a fireball materializes in front of us. At first, it’s no bigger than the palm of my hand, but as the magic surges through my bones, the fire grows bigger, and bigger, rolling toward the malum. The spell expands, gathering power, feeding off the oxygen in the room, feeding off of me. The orange flames churn and roil, a bubbling concoction of heat and flame.
The fire blazes hot and bright.
It’s wild and untamed, but I lash it and bend it to my will.
I have no real training to guide me. I know the words and howto speak them. I know the symbols, but I am not yet a student of Sibylline. But my magic is building, growing, and it’smine.Iamcontrol.I ampower.
The fire is everywhere, or so it seems; a churning tornado of hot air and flame surrounds us. Fire licks at our clothing and hair; it wraps the bars of the failing cage. Through the flames, the creature retreats. This is no normal fire. It is magical, just like the malum.
The fire climbs the walls, it spreads across the stone, singeing the sigils that line the prison, and the malum’s howls are silenced by the roar of the inferno. Sweat drips down my face, down my spine. A great crack echoes through the chamber, and the ceiling crumbles. It drops straight down, striking the malum and most everything else in the room. But the cage holds. Apparently, the enchanted bars aren’t damaged by the mundane force of falling rock.
