Above, a perfect circle is scorched into the leaves, some branches still glowing. Such a mess. I even feel guilty for the trees.
I try to breathe. I cannot draw a full breath; my new lungs burn. The air is too hot, too sharp. I can taste the burning foliage.
I am still here.
Sirens echo in the distance—police, perhaps, but more likely the Ministry. Someone must have seen the fall; it is broad daylight. At least I landed deep in the woods. The terrain will slow them.
I hope.
I must move. They will destroy me, even in this human shape.
A whimper escapes before I clap a trembling hand over my mouth. I have no idea how to be human, while I am naked, alone, dazed.
A harsh caw draws my gaze. A raven—judging by the thick, curved beak—hops from one low branch to another, black eyes gleaming with unsettling intelligence. A familiar, maybe.
I try to speak, but my new throat refuses to work. How does one use a voice that has never spoken, a body forged from ley line magic? No matter; I do not need to talk. I am sure the bird, even if he is a familiar, will forgive me.
Rolling onto my stomach, I crawl. Brambles claw at bare skin; every root is a bruise. I reach a moss-slick trunk, brace a shaking palm against the bark and haul myself upright. My legs tremble, lungs burn, and hair itches against raw shoulders. I am a newborn foal—too many limbs, no balance.
A step. Another. My knees buckle, and I crash to the ground.
The raven flutters down beside a scatter of Fred’s clothing, blasted clear by the explosion.
If I cannot walk, I will crawl.
Come on, House.
Mud oozes between my fingers as I drag myself forward, snatch a T-shirt, a jumper, and singed trousers. Half laughing, half sobbing, I pull them on. They hang oddly on this smaller, curvier body, but the fabric shields me from the cold evening air. Socks. No shoes. Better than nothing. I shove the unruly hair down my collar; it scratches, but at least I will not rip it out.
I am human again. How? In all my reading, ley line magic has never done this. Then again, who would be mad enough to hurl a sentient object into a ley line? Yet here I am, stripped of power, aflame with sensation.
Human.
Exhaustion floods me. Sweat, tears, and shock.
I crawl to a hollow, pulling broken branches over myself just as voices approach. Darkness swallows me before fear can take another breath.
Chapter Thirteen
Night has fallenwhen I wake. The forest is quiet—then acrunch. Something approaches. The Magic Sector has no bears or wolves, no shifters. Perhaps a stray dog, a fox.
Before I can move, the branches are torn aside and he is there.
White-blond hair, pale celadon-green eyes.
Lander Kane.
A manic laugh almost breaks free, but I swallow it down. Could any creature be unluckier? Of course the Magic Hunter heard about a house crashing; of course he came and found me hiding.
I am only surprised he was not already here when I crawled out of the ley line, waiting with wand in hand and that smug expression.
“I thought I heard something,” he says, voice smooth. Kind. “Are you all right?”
No. No, I am not.My throat refuses to make a sound. I simply stare.
He studies me. “Are you hurt? Were you camping? Did you see the house?”
I am frozen in shock.
