When the Ministry carts the coven away, they will remember nothing. The guards, however, will recall everything; their statements will suffice for prosecution. Yet I cannot shake the feeling I have crossed a line. Beryl would have said to stab everyone. Brutal, but effective.
I tuck my night-vision goggles into my backpack and stand, brushing dust from my trousers. Lander smiles at me, and guilt twists into sadness.
He likes menow, but he won’t once he learns I tampered with the coven’s minds. He told me his world is black and white.
I am every shade in between.
Lander will hate what I have done. He warned me not to twist spells, and I did. I tell myself it was necessary—because he cannot be trusted, can he?
The Ministry certainly can’t.
I guess neither can I.
Then the fire mage attacks.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Flame crackslike thunder as her spell erupts. Instinct yanks me sideways; heat tears across my front. Had I stayed seated, I would be ash. Where I was a heartbeat ago is now a molten crater.
Fire roars up as though she has dragged a match through petrol. In seconds we are ringed by a wall of orange-white heat that turns the world into a furnace.
She has cut us off completely. No one is getting in.
Through a shifting gap, I glimpse Lander, jaw clenched, eyes locked on me. For a horrifying moment I think he might charge straight through the magical flames.
“I am okay!” I shout, throat raw. “I am okay!”
He pauses, unconvinced.
Her second blast is faster. A blue-white lance scrapespast my cheek, close enough to singe my hair. My skin prickles; my eyes water.
“You robotic-faced cow,” she howls above the roar. “What’s wrong with you, freak of nature? You look like a mannequin. Hold still so I can barbecue you!”
The next spell is pure rage: a rolling wave of fire that billows towards me.
“I was wondering where you had gone,” I say.
I do not bother with my wand. One swipe of my hand meets the flame. For a heartbeat it claws at me, licking my fingertips—then I push. The fire shears aside, arcing harmlessly away to scorch the earth.
She has no idea what I can do at full strength.
She recovers with an ugly laugh. “Got yourself a few tricks, have you, doll-face?” A flick of her wrist births a swarm of fiery motes that hover like wasps. “Let’s see how long you last.”
They streak towards me. I yank a ream of paper from my pack, twist the pattern; it stiffens, edges glowing. I raise it as a shield and the fire slams into it in a blast of heat and light. My arms quake with the impact; my boots skid on scorched stone and, for a heartbeat, I am falling?—
Beryl’s muscle memory catches me. I drop my weight, turn the stumble into a controlled slide and brace, the shield still between us.
The paper smokes but holds.
She snaps her fingers again and the air bucks—a sudden updraft of searing wind that punches into my ribs, trying to knock me flat. Heat claws at my clothes, dragging at my balance. I grit my teeth and ride it out.
She advances through the flames. Sweat runs down my back; eachbreath scalds my lungs, the air full of ash and the stink of burning hair.
“Stop hiding!” she shrieks. She snaps her fingers a third time, and the ground beneath me flares—a ring of fire at my feet.
I drop the paper shield and counter with ice; frost explodes across the floor, steam hissing as flame and cold collide.
Her eyes widen. For the first time since the fight started, she looks uncertain. “You… what are you?”
