To think she was in our clutches once. We should’ve drained her. I suddenly wonder why we held back before recalling the reason—my mate’s spell, the one that bound her life to hermother’s and daughter’s to make sure Meriam couldn’t kill Fallon. Is that spell broken or are their three lives still bound?
I suddenly hope the spell endures in case Meriam decides to drain Daya next. The visual pours blistering ire into my veins and icy fear into my heart. I grip the door handle of her bathroom and yank. The latch doesn’t click. I melt into smoke and try to slip beneath it but bang into an invisible wall. I try squeezing through the hairline crack between the solid gold hinges. I try the fucking keyhole. My daughter’s lock spell is so resilient that I cannot fucking enter.
I morph back into my Crow, tucking my wings in tight because the hallway isn’t built for creatures of my breadth, and yell,Come undo your spell, ínon! I can’t get through the door.
That’s impossible. I didn’t ward it against Crows.
Well, you must’ve spellcast wrong, because I can’t get through.I decide to hammer the door with my iron beak, but instead of splintering wood, it splinters my already throbbing brain. I burst back into skin. “Daya, can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Daya!” I punch the door until my knuckles split and spit blood onto the pale wood. “DAYA!”
Fallon arrives, slipping right through the door in skin.
“Did you soundproof the walls?” My voice crackles with frustration and terror and?—
“I did. Shit. I did.”
I sandwich my lips together as Fallon palms the door to recall her blood. I want to tell her to hurry, but never has growling at someone to make haste led to a faster outcome. If anything, it always slows people down, so I bite my tongue and wait.
“Priya’s dead,” she murmurs as she keeps palming the door. I swear she’s run her hand over every bloody inch of it.
“I heard.”
She deepens the cut on her already bleeding finger and draws the lock sigil, then smooshes her palm against it.
Nothing.
When her eyebrows bend, my fucking heart derails.
She paints a new sigil. An arrow pointing down. When the door doesn’t shrink, her complexion weakens, whitens.
“What?”
“My magic isn’t working.”
“Why?”
She bites her lip.
“Why isn’t—” I take a breath to try and regain control over my vocal cords that strain and clang as though someone were striking my throat with a flail. “Why isn’t it working, Fallon?Why?” I croak.
The fear sparking in her violet eyes torches a path straight into my heart, enflaming the organ some more. “Because my blood mustn’t be the only one on the walls.”
Her words steal down my spine like an icy finger. “What have I done?”
“Not your fault.”
“It is! I shouldn’t have left her alone. I shouldn’t have caged her inside with…” Her throat moves over a swallow. “Taytah, please let me in. Just me!” She starts banging on the door. “Please, Taytah, let me in.Please.”
But Meriam does not let her in. The same way she doesn’t let Daya out. Fallon drops to her knees to peer through the keyhole. It must be obscured because she curses.
“Assemble any member of the coven you can find!” I yell. “We need to overpower Meriam’s magic.”
Her neck creaks from how fast she peers up at me, and then she’s springing to her feet and racing out to find the others while I stand there like the pathetic, magicless human I used to be before the Cauldron gave me power.
Power I cannot fucking use to save my…to save the mother of my child. I run my hand over my mouth, down my beard, before flattening it against the wood and whispering a prayer to Mórrígan to watch over Zendaya until I can take over.
