He drops the paperweight, but before it hits the ground, I yank it back into the case—a lead weight hauled from a well. My vision spots at the edges.
Other buckets trigger. The necromancer has time for one shriek before the paste slaps across her chest; she flails, trips over a headstone, and goes down. By the time she lands, the spell has set, pinning her limbs.
“Sharon!” Toby cries, lunging.
My third bucket blooms. Paper cuffs his wrists, slides up his arms, seals his mouth. He freezes mid-lunge, eyes wild above the hardening shell.
“Don’t touch it!” the spellcrafter barks, backing away. “It’s reactive?—”
She is right, which is why I target her boots. Pulp fountains up, splattering calves and ankles. She lashes out with a sharp spell, but the paper drinks the magic and locks her in place to the knees.
By the time Meredith finishes threatening my decoy, six paperweights are recovered, and six coven members are like misshapen statues—Samuel, Sharon, Toby, the spellcrafter, and two others, all thoroughly cocooned.
They can breathe; the spell leaves gaps at the nose.
Mentally…
Well. It will sting.
I feel no sympathy. They tried to destroy me as House; now they have invaded my home to try again.
Richard stares at his papier-mâché teammates and simply shakes his head. His grip loosens; I pluck the weight from his hand. It winks out of sight, reappearing in the case with a protesting jolt through my nerves.
Another witch—with a plait down to her waist—looks from him to Sharon’s immobilised face.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” She drops her paperweight as though it burns and bolts for the cars, boots slipping on damp grass.
Eight collected.
My head throbs. The paperweights are designed to harm paper mages, and although their magic is inert, shifting them through the ether into the case is nearly impossible; each one now feels as if it weighs a tonne, dragging at my filaments, biting at my nerves.
Only five remain.
The next mage is quicker. Spotting the bucket, she flicks her wand and incinerates the paper mid-air before it can touch her. Flames bloom, hungry and bright, eating my careful trap to ash.
Unfortunately, that is where the statue game ends.
She pivots smoothly, eyes scanning for the next threat, and blasts the next three buckets for good measure, then the fire mage storms around the chapel, calling for Meredith as she torches the last bucket, heat shimmering in the air.
“What? What are you doing?” Meredith snaps.
“She knew we were coming. She’s taken out six of us with papier-mâché.” The fire mage’s voice is sharp with fury and disbelief. “What freak uses papier-mâché? Richard’s standing next to Samuel in shock, Toby’s entombed to his eyebrows, and Janice has runoff.”
“We’ve got her surrounded—how can she…?” Meredith’s protest dies as she spins towards the graveyard, eyes narrowing as if she can finally sense the missing piece. “She’s not in the building.” Her gaze rakes the shadows, hunting for me. “Find her,” she hisses. “And activate the damn paperweights!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Meredith is already too late;she should have activated the paperweights the moment they arrived, while the element of surprise was still hers. I will not let them trigger anything now.
As the fire mage stalks between the graves, searching for me, my hidden spells keep the others occupied. Power pours from her in hot waves. She is dangerously close, three rows of graves away. Flames lick at the dry grass, and a flowerpot blackens, the clay cracking with a sharp, unhappy sound.
That is enough.
I rise, angle myself sideways so I am less of a target, then flick my wand. A shimmering wall of water bursts into life between us. The fire hits with a hiss. Steam billows. The grass fire dies, leaving a scorched stink behind.
Sorry Jeff.
“There you are.” Her wand is already up, eyes blazing like her magic. A stream of fire lashes towards me—fast, hot.
