“If you get the chance to kill her,” he says, eyes dark, “please take the shot.”
I don’t speak. I simply nod.
Chapter Thirty-Two
George raises another ward.He looks exhausted, his magic stretched thin. I offer him another tonic, but he shakes his head.
“I’m fine.”
He does not look fine, but he is upright and casting; for the moment, that is enough.
“We have to clear the other building,” Lander says, pointing east.
The low structure—maintenance or storage, by the look of it—stands nearest the causeway, where the better fighters were probably posted. They are likely stood down now—at high tide no vehicle can reach the entrance—but that does not mean they have left it unguarded.
George is spent. Jill and Dayna are watching Samueland Meredith like hawks; that vile spell makes them our first concern.
I glance at Knox’s house, then back at the eastern building, and realise I would rather face enemies than wait to tackle that circle. Sitting idle makes my skin itch. I want to help. I want to deal with whoever is over there first.
Lander looks as though he wants me to stay put, yet a flicker of frustration betrays him: he both wishes I would remain behind and hates to let me out of his sight.
I am unsure whether that is good or bad, but we cannot leave unknowns behind.
“We clear that building first,” he says.
I nod. “Very well. I am coming with you.”
I gauge the distance between the two buildings. Imightbe able to use my magic at that range. Lander clearly dislikes the idea—his concern is plain—but everything has gone smoothly so far: we slipped in quietly, the hostages are safe, the bulk of the coven is contained. We only need to finish the job.
Lander relents. George goes back to others, and the three of us move out—Riker on point, me in the middle, Lander just behind to keep me in sight.
The island is treacherous: hidden rocks, peat hollows so deep the ground gives underfoot, springy as rubber. We keep to the paths whenever we can, feet landing carefully, bodies angled for balance.
I am armed—two knives strapped to my thighs, a paper gun in my hand, potions in my bag. I press the gun to my leg so I do not trigger a spell as we run.
I expect to tire quickly; this body is still new and hashad little exercise. Yet I do not. I move easily, breathing steady, matching Riker’s pace.
The farther we go, the stronger I feel; my magic hums back into place, a familiar vibration beneath my skin.
The paperweights clearly have a range—hence their scatter across the island, thickest near Knox and his people. Meredith was taking no chances.
We crouch behind a hedgerow. Lander sends Snack Thief ahead, straight towards the building.
Riker inhales, slow and deep, testing the air. “I can hear people,” he murmurs, “but no heartbeats.”
Lander grimaces. “The worst possible answer.”
Zombies or vampires.
Magically created zombies I can handle; vampires are another matter.
I glance at the paper gun—useless. A vampire would shrug that spell off. Anything strong enough to stop one would kill a human outright.
Riker rolls his shoulders, stows the hammer, and draws a big knife—in my hand it would pass for a short sword.
Lander exhales and grips his wand. “We should get the others—we need backup.”
“Backup?” I echo, and an idea sparks.
