Odessa.
Odessa’s arm.
She goes to yank her into moving, but Odessa swipes at Clare’s grip, pushing her away, and Clare stumbles. Stumbles backward. Tumbles to the ground, hits it hard, and there’s a demon there.
“No!” I scream, swinging my light in its direction.
But I’m too slow. Too late. Too hopeless.
It stabs its sharp talons into her soft belly, rips through the flesh.
Clare cries out, her face full of pain, anguish, astonishment, betrayal.
I hit the demon with my light, and it explodes into ash. Ash that floats away on the harsh cold wind and falls onto the open wound in Clare’s body.
“Clare!” I scream, running her way.
Fly is already by her side, dropping to his knees, the cobblestones soaked with her blood.
“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay,” I say. Just like Thorne, I’ll save her. Just like Dray, I’ll heal her. Just like Fox, I won’t let her go.
I run as fast as I can toward my two friends, blasting demons from the air as I go, pushing through the people with a determination and anger I think I’ve never felt before.
I drop to my knees beside Fly. He’s cradling Clare’s head. Her glasses are missing from her face, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Briony,” Fly says, his hand on Clare’s belly, attempting to stem the blood that gushes from the open wound. “Do something, Briony! Do something!”
I send my magic into the wound. I find the torn flesh, the slashed organs, the blood pooling inside my friend, the potent venom. I try to mend it, to seal it, to stop it, but there’s so much of it. So much damage. So much carnage.
And all the time, more of her blood pools around our knees, soaking into our pants and into our boots. The metallic scent of it is harsh in my nose.
Clare murmurs something. I think it’s my name.
“No,” I say. “No, no, no, Clare. Hang on. I can do this. I can heal you.”
I try again. I mend one bit only to find another bit splurging blood, and another bit.
And then there’s the poison. The demon venom. I can feel it in there too, cold and bitter and deadly.
“Beaufort! Dray! Fox!” I yell. “Help me!”
It feels like an age, but finally Beaufort’s there beside me. I feel his magic alongside mine, helping to pull at the wound, trying to shut it. I hear him grunting and groaning.
I’m working so hard, my arms tremble and sweat drips into my eyes. I can feel the light flickering, as if I might be drawing the last beams of it, as if it’s reaching its end.
“Briony, I don’t think—” Beaufort says.
“No!” I say. “Don’t say it! Don’t say it, Beaufort! We saved Fox. We can save Clare. We’re magical. We’re powerful.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just keeps on working.
Then I hear Fly sobbing beside me.
I glance at him.
“It’s too late, Briony,” he whispers, holding her precious head against his chest. “She’s gone.”
“Don’t you say that, Fly,” I scream. “Don’t you say it!”
