“Grant us passage over the terrain as if we’re on solid ground,” he snarls, shoving his foot back in the mud-covered shoe.
His spell on our shoes works immediately and we quicken our steps, though the thick grass and vegetation remain an obstacle.
Two figures, likely the warlocks, stand in the distance near a strange disturbance in the air. Wards are not meant to be seen, but this blood red hole must be burning through it, forming a doorway almost large enough for the figures to squeeze through. Their bodies are partially hidden behind it as we approach, though we hear their heated words to each other. One yells at the other to hurry up. The other tells him to quiet down and let him focus. The opening spreads at an alarming rate. They must have some powerful magick at their disposal if they can break through the ward so easily.
New voices sound from behind and above us. Witches from the coven and the tracker teams have quickly caught up. I do not let that distract me while I search for the magickal sourcesupporting the spell. Alarmed at its strength, I cry out, “It is fae magick! Watch out!” I urgently absorb the unbelievable amount of magick powering the spell, but I can barely keep up. The potency of this spell is way beyond anything the warlocks should be capable of on their own. Dozens of witches around us start casting their own spells, presumably fighting against this blight slicing through the ward.
None of our efforts make a dent in its slow spread. Within seconds, the warlocks push themselves through, a subtle haze surrounding their forms. It is a protective spell, from the looks of it. They are about to unleash something deadly.
“Protect yourselves!” Niven shouts into the fray, coming to the same conclusion. The more putrescent and sinister looking of the two steps forward and tosses up a glowing yellow orb. Rushing into action, I push my abilities to the limit, further than ever before in my life, wrenching strong swells of magick out the orb to weaken it. There’s no time to transfer it into the clear quartz. I let it go into the atmosphere. Even the leak of its magick is so potent it feels like being exposed to a sudden rush of fumes, making it hard to breathe.
The orb pulsates and it is clear time has run out. It will detonate at any moment. With everything left in me, I tear away the strongest root I can find that binds together the orb’s foul fae magick. Hopefully it will weaken the worst of the spell.
In the blink of an eye, I am blown several feet backwards as the orb explodes, shooting energy outward in all directions, the force of it like a bomb. The wind knocks out of me, even though I land in marshy sludge. The cushion probably saved me from worse injury.
Wheezing in breath, I lay there for several seconds, weak but whole. It is a struggle to get up once my breath catches again. The flyers—gargoyles, gryphons, and other winged Whispered Folk on the tracking team—all fell from the sky. They slowlypush themselves up from where they dropped around me, looking muddy and scratched, though mostly unharmed.
Before it strikes me to locate the two warlocks, Niven’s voice rises behind me, exhausted but steady, “Grasses weave into sturdy rope and bind those with wicked hearts.” The marsh vegetation surrounding the two warlocks surges unnaturally high and swirls like several mini tornados, weaving sections together from the ground up. When they resemble long, thick lengths of rope, they wrap around each of the warlocks like mummies from human history. Their furious screams muffle as the rope circles around their faces.
Niven, still sitting in the mud, flops backward onto his elbows, fatigue catching up with him. I stagger over, lowering onto my haunches. If I dare sit down, I might be too tired to get up again. “Good work,” I tell him as I check him over for injuries.
“I could say the same of you,” Niven scratches out, chuckling softly. He takes my outstretched hand, and I slowly pull him up. He wobbles on his feet, so I hold steady him while we make the slow walk back to his automobile after checking on everyone else. Those who were furthest back from the blast rush forward to help those hardest hit and to make sure the warlocks are incapacitated. Luckily, Niven’s spell on our feet still lingers, otherwise we would not be getting out of here on our own.
“I called it, didn’t I?” Niven jokes from his bed next to mine in the crowded healers clinic, his voice still sounding rough. I turn my head toward him, confused by his statement. “We didn’t even need those extra forty-some hours.”
I grin, understanding him finally. He certainly called it. It is a relief it ended as quickly as it did.
Before I can respond, Ada’s melodic voice sounds from within the clinic, making apologies as she rushes through, weaving around healers and visitors crowding the space. She is wild-eyed as she approaches us, like she expects the worst.
“I came back as soon as I heard what happened. I had only just left here when everyone felt the ward,” she utters as she stops between our beds, sounding winded. My poor mate must have jogged here. Hopefully she was not worried for too long.
“We are alright,” I assure her, reaching out to pat her arm before I even realize what I am doing. To my surprise, she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. “We just needed a light healing tonic to help with some bruising.”
Her eyes dart between me and Niven, as if she is assessing for herself whether I tell the truth.
“We’ve seen better days, but after a long night of sleep, we’ll be fine,” Niven confirms, patting her other hand she placed on his shoulder. “The warlocks are in custody finally. A team of guards just arrived from New York to escort them through the portal. It’ll be my pleasure to make their interrogation long and thorough.” He cracks his knuckles in a cliché gesture, making Ada laugh.
“Will you have to leave soon?” Her melancholy voice pulls at my heart.
His smile fades. “Yes, sometime tomorrow. I’ll probably be gone until after Yule. But I promise we’ll spend some time together tonight before I go.”
She will miss having him here. And no doubt she is worried about her health. I give our joined hands a little squeeze in return, hopefully sending some comfort back to her.
Chapter 15
Norrell
The latch on the front door softly clicks open and closed. The cats, already fed their evening meal, stampede into the foyer meowing their greetings to Ada. “Hello boys. Missed me today, did you?” Ada’s lilting voice floats from the other room.
When she walks into the kitchen, she looks tired enough that she needs to sit down. “Tough day?”
“Not particularly, but no matter how long I sleep I never feel rested.” She sighs while shrugging half-heartedly.
“Since it is the two of us now, I am making one of your favorite meals. Carbonara,” I tell her, hoping it will lift her spirits. Niven left first thing this morning. Ada accompanied him to the portal to bid him farewell until he can return. I could tell it left her shaken. Everything has wrapped up except her absent magick and the life slowly draining from her.
“You are?” she exclaims, clasping her hands toward her chest in delight.
“Of course, I had not forgotten,” I say lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.
