Pogue’s body stilled, a sickly gray spread across his skin. Contagious rot. Death’s caress.
No . . .It was too late.Iwas too late.
The shimmering light had faded, soul nearly gone.
I swallowed the ache in my bones and closed my eyes, inhaling. Then focused.
My Floramancy had saved me before on instinct alone. Maybe with some luck, I could pull it off again.
I called to it. Tried towillit . . .
But—nothing. Not a goddamn thing. No twitch. No tingle. Not even the slightest of feelings.
I was too buried in my Soulsayer roots, weaving down into the depths of the earth. So deep, I almost felt charged. Locked and loaded. As if those roots hit the inner core, flowing with power. The sensation was foreign.
Then came a voice. Calm, knowing. Not mine, butwithinme.
You are your own master,it echoed the reminder.
I am my own master, I repeated back.
My skin went static, every inch of it buzzing. The energy around me was shifting. Charging. Readying to strike.
My aura flared, an outer layer of skin, pulsing with power.
Slowly, I raised one arm, palm open to face out.
“No,” I said. But it wasn’t my voice. Not the one I knew, anyway.
And then, Ifeltit. That immensetug.Deep. Low. Usually an invisible rope yanking me, but this time—I was the onetugging.
What a strange feeling . . . To control. To command. To wield.
The Gorta had the audacity to side-eye me but didn’t move. Too fixated, too desperate to finish his meal.
I mentally grasped that connection, that rope, and wound it tighter around my mind. A lasso cinched by sheer will.
Then,pulled. . . And again. . .And again,stronger. . .
The Gorta’s body halted. As did the shimmering substance of what was left of Pogue’s life.
It started gagging. Gasping. Nauseating, hacking sounds bounced off the cave walls. The Gorta began to choke.
I wasverytempted to give the Heimlich. Maybe snap his spine in the process. But I held back.
Instead, I reeled it in even more. This time, witheverythingI had. Singlehandedly dragging the deadweight of a corpse out of the grave.
The Gorta’s eyes shot to mine, wide and wild, like canines piercing meat.
Ever so slowly, the essence of Pogue’s soul began to regurgitate from the Gorta’s mouth,extracting. The mist of his life, one particle at a time, reversing course.
My mental grasp held firm as I walked closer.
The Gorta fell to its knees, mouth still disturbingly agape.Decrepit fingers clawed at his throat, panicked. Each drop he’d greedily slurped down, rose back up.
It was like sucking venom from a wound. Removing an embedded tick. Forcing my ability in like a finger down his throat, coaxing the Gorta’s wretched insides to release.
I felt Pogue’s soul. Wrapped around my hand, that invisible connection still beating with life. I wasn’t going to let go. Right now . . . it wasmine.
