“That wasn’t my fault,” Cas hissed as cold steel bit into him.
“Wasn’tnotyour fault, either.”
Black ichor oozed tarry-thick into the waiting crucible, the stink almost unbearable. Classic Dark witch fuckery.
“Oh, that isripe.” I threw up a little in my mouth. “Like a funeral pyre after they toss in the sacrificial goats.”
“Help,not color commentary, required, Z!” Ko rumbled. “Now sing, dammit!”
My mother’s gift rolled off my tongue smooth as bourbon. Swan cant always felt like singing through molasses, vowels stretching into feathered syllables. Blood sizzled against copper. Smoke plumes twisted into winged shapes even Escher would’ve called bullshit on.
“Fucking ants … marching up … my carotid.” Casimir’s free hand spasmed, fingers digging into the metal table like it was butter.
“Ants with tiny lightning rods.” Ko squinted at the EKG blipping erratically. “How’s your vision?”
“See two … assholes in … hi-def.”
I cranked through the second verse. Ancient power tore through our blood-bond, diluted but still packing more than enough punch. The smoking crucible erupted in a geyser of neon sparks, and Cas arched off the table.
“Done,” Ko declared. “Let’s seal the breach before he strokes out.”
“Or strokes something,” I snickered.
Casimir’s rare chuckle came out warped, like someone had dialed his vocal cords down to 33 RPM, and I hoped to hell Ko was recording this.
Layer three required a finesse neither of us possessed. Picture Van Gogh painting during an earthquake, if the canvas was Casimir’s arm and the paint was my own O-negative. Every brushstroke sparked miniature supernovae under his skin.
“Hold your damn lightning!” I barked, nearly taking an arc to the eyebrow.
“Trying… to.” Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. “Fucking… herding… cats.”
By the time we slapped the last containment sigil over the wound, the floor resembled a Jackson Pollock tribute in hemoglobin.Ko pulled out the stupid silver hand mirror and holier-than-thou water bottle.
“Really?” Cas groaned. “The Vatican special, too?”
Holy water hit the mirror. Smoke curled from the glass. No shadows. No hex residue. Just our three exhausted mugs looking like extras from a zombie flick.
“Clean.” Koa smiled.
“Great.” I lobbed a gauze pad at his head. “Now about this hawk construct…”
“Burn it,” Cas rasped. “All of it.Now.”
“Or we could return the hex to sender. Use the residual energy in the bones.” Koa’s shadow fell across the dissection slab as he adjusted the UV lamps. “Hit them with their own poison.”
“Too risky. Constructs self-destruct to prevent tracing. You’d get three seconds of screaming before—”
A hollow pop interrupted Cas as one of the hawk’s detached talons liquefied.
“Point taken,” I said. “The feathers could still—”
“Are you two allergic to simple solutions?” Cas snatched the fireproof tongs and slapped them into my palm. “Burn protocol. Iron crucible. Alchemical accelerant. Controlled incineration. All in favor? Unanimous. Good.Do it.”
“Always knew you’d embrace dictatorship eventually.” Using the tongs, I lobbed a desiccated wing into the crucible. “But fine. Let’s barbecue the bitch.”
Cas gripped the table edge for balance, then staggered toward the reinforced cabinet markedCombustibles—Do Not Taunt.
“Koa, iron filings. Zane, start layering the crucible.”
