My hair starts to lift into the air, floating, as power surges within me. Magic usually feels like coming home. A return. This time, it’s like riding a hurricane. It swells deep inside me, like I might explode, and the only thing keeping me together is a thin layer of flesh. Sweat immediately seeps out of every pore. My body aches. My hands shake. I’m carrying the weight of the universe on my shoulders. Any second my body will give out, but I refuse to let it. I’m in control.
As the spell works, Adelina thrashes, writhing and bucking, her spine threatening to snap in two. Only her heels and her head are touching the floor, contorting Atticus’s body into a grotesque arc.
Nearby, Professor White’s eyes snap open. She’s still speaking the words of the original spell, the one that called Adelina from the skull. She is fighting us with all her strength.
Dorian takes off his glove, drops to his knees, and clutches Atticus’s hand, slotting his fingers into the spaces between his.
“Please.” Adelina speaks with Atticus’s lips, eyes shiny with tears. “It’s me, Dorian. You’re hurting me.”
“It’s not him,” Dorian tells me. “Keep going.”
I hope he’s right. Please, God, let him be right.
Dorian bows his head and closes his eyes, his hands glowing.
I am magic.Weare magic.
Professor White raises her voice. She is fighting us, too.
Adelina cries out. “Please, stop!” she says. “It’s me! Atticus! You’re killing me!”
Dorian bites his lips.
I fear I don’t have the strength to banish Adelina and Professor White. Both of them studied at Sibylline. They are practiced and educated. They are true practitioners of the art. I can’t beat them, not by myself.
Still chanting, I drop to my knees, and I press my hand to the body possessed by Adelina. She glares at me, cursing with Atticus’s lips. “He’s already dead,” the voice says. “You’re too late to save Atticus.”
I fear she’s right. Tears burn my eyes, and a sob bubbles up my throat. But then he gently squeezes my hand. His thumb brushes my knuckles. It’s Atticus. He’s still in there. I look at Dorian. There’s a sliver of hope in his eyes. He feels him, too. Instinct drives me forward.
I drop the wand and grab Dorian’s other hand. A rush of power surges through my arms. Our shared connection, our one soul. The three of us, we’re all made of the same stuff. A trio of threads, woven into a single yarn. Stronger together.
“Ema lfdna woda hsotkca bog.” I continue reciting the spell.
Professor White convulses, her lips still reciting the words. My own voice cracks, my tongue as dry as sandpaper, and my own throat threatens to choke me out.
The practitioners of Sibylline’s vaunted magical arts are fighting against us. They have knowledge and training. We have friendship and love, and raw talent.
I speak the words, and a gust of wind rushes into the room. One by one, the candles go out, extinguished in the gathering force of the magic. The glow from Dorian’s hands is the only light in the room, but it is no longer his light. It’s Atticus’s and now mine.
I repeat the spell, its power somehow multiplied by our bond. The force of our magic burns hot like a fire, but it does not scald us. Our magic is warm and safe, a beacon in the night to banish the dark soul of Adelina. Professor White rages against that light, giving every last drop of her strength to fight us. She blazes white-hot.
The air is charged with potent magic. This is a contest of will.
Only one side will walk away.
“Su otkcab emocem otkcab emoc.” I say the words, and Professor White shouts over me, trying to drown me out.
So I say the words again, and Dorian speaks them, too, and I swear Atticus’s lips move, joining us. At last, ours are the only voices in the room.
When the last syllable leaves my lips, I fall to my knees, still holding on to their hands with everything I have. Dorian’s hand is loose on mine, as if he also has poured all of himself into the spell. The chamber is oddly quiet as the wind dies down, but my ears are still ringing.
Dorian rises up, sweat glistening on his brow. When he looks at me and realizes I’m okay, his relief melts into a smile. “Did it work?” he asks.
I don’t know, and my voice is gone. It feels like I’ve been screaming for hours.
“Atticus? Are you there?” I ask, each word raw and calloused at the same time.
But Atticus lies motionless on the floor, his hand limp in mine.
