She was looking at them all without seeing them, talking aloud but not to them. She squirmed against the ropes keeping her in place, slipping between languages. Without effort, she managed to free herself, then ripped the side of her dress open and began clawing at the spot where the spiral scar marred her skin—as if to tear open her own flesh.
Aspen lunged for her sister, begging her to stop.
Bryony set her black eyes on Aspen, sniffing intently. “You have it too,” she said in that strange voice.
And then Bryony’s hands were around her sister’s neck, strangling her.
Emory opened her senses wide, calling on a mixture of magics—Healer, Glamour, Wardcrafter, Purifier, Unraveler—to try to exorcise whatever demonic entity had its claws in Bryony’s essence. Using so much power opened the floodgates for the darkeralignments Emory shied away from. Her ghosts pressed in as they tended to, but it was more than that now, the earth around her festering, turning black and oozing, as if she were killing it herself.
Still, whatever she was doing seemed to be working: Bryony screamed in pain, letting go of Aspen and recoiling back on herself. Emory couldn’t tell if it was Bryony’s screams or the demon’s, couldn’t tell if she was hurting Bryony more than the hellwraith possessing her.
But Emory couldn’t stop. In truth, she wasn’t sure shewantedto stop.
It was as if finally allowing herself to plunge into her magic after days of only dipping her toe in it had opened up a chasm inside her. She remembered how power tasted, how good it made her feel. That unbearable pressure in her veins was gone. The ghosts around her faded from view until all there was was her and her magic and thisthinginside Bryony whose attention was wholly on her now.
Recognition flashed white-hot in those unnatural eyes, like they were suddenly ablaze with luminous flames. “Tidecaller,” Bryony said in that deep voice that didn’t belong to her, a certain hunger in it. Like whatever possessed herwantedEmory’s power, like it craved this silver surge that was threatening to consume her.
Because that was silver dancing along her veins, heralding her inevitable Collapsing.
And yet… Emory didn’t feel like she was burning out at all.
She caught the fear in Romie’s eyes as she watched her glowing silver. And though she could hear her friend begging her to stop, to let go of the magic, Emory could not. She had the sudden thought of reaching for Romie’s Dreamer magic and using it to will Bryony towake, to pull herself from the astral plane that was also the sleepscape.
Her veins rippled silver with the effort, but still there was nosudden blast of silver, no feeling that she was teetering on an edge about to drop into the vast unknown of her Collapsing.
Sheshouldhave Collapsed, just as she should have back in the sleepscape. She was right there, exhibiting all the signs, diving too deep into her power, and yet she still wasn’t erupting the way Eclipse-born should.
Emory leaned into it, fearless and free. She could sense the ley line crackling beneath her, energy that was begging to be used. It vibrated through her, making her blood sing, and she couldn’t help but revel at the power that flowed from her and through her, this incredible, headyrushit brought, as the black slowly receded from Bryony’s eyes.
Emory smiled at the demon. He was no match for her with all this power at her fingertips.
Mediocre no more. Now she was limitless.
13ROMIE
“EM, STOP.”
The words were too faint to be heard over the din of power emanating from Emory and the screams of the witches and the eerie, pained cries from the demon possessing Bryony. But Romie couldn’t manage anything louder, not as dizziness overtook her, making her fall to her knees. She felt nauseous, lightheaded, felt as if all the blood were draining out of her though she had no wound. She barely managed to lift a hand to her face, noting how ashen her skin was, before it fell limply at her side again, her muscles weak as unconsciousness pressed at the edges of her vision.
“Em,” she tried again.
Silver lines danced on her friend’s skin, but there was no blast. No Collapsing. Just Emory’s smile, a gash of white against the night, as she grew more powerful and Romie grew fainter, fainter, fainter…
And then, all at once, it was over.
Emory was wrenched back by Mrs. Amberyl. The silver in herveins faded, her magic falling silent. Romie was still on the edge of fainting, but this sensation of having all the blood drained from her veins ended, leaving her with a heavy head and a sudden thirst and a bleak, unfathomable realization.
Because now that Emory had been pulled off the ley line, now that her connection to this amplified magic was severed, Romie understood what happened. Why she’d started feeling the way she had when Emory first stepped on the ley line and called on this magic that had her veins rippling silver.
Emory had drawn power from Romie. Leeched the magic in her very blood.
Tidethief.
Emory met her gaze as if she’d heard the slur in her mind.
And then Aspen screamed as Bryony fell to the ground, eyes their normal color again, but fixed unseeing above her.
14BAZ
