Wylder.
His magical signature cuts through the darkness like determined roots breaking through concrete. I feel him searching for me, calling me back. The connection between us blazes to life, a lifeline in the crushing hunger of the dark.
I grab hold of it with everything I have.
Plant magic wraps around me, pulling, tugging, dragging me away from Tharuzel's consciousness. The darkness in me fights to stay within the demon's power, to pull me back into that ancient torment, but Wylder's energy soaks into me like water feeding parched earth.
The pocket dimension fractures, and I'm rushing backward through shadow and smoke, following that thread of green magic back to my body.
Back to consciousness.
Back to?—
I gasp, eyes flying open.
The party room at Biscuits & Banter comes into focus. Mismatched chairs stacked in the corner. String lights hanging dark across the ceiling. The scent of coffee and bacon grease drifting in from the restaurant beyond.
Wylder is kneeling over me lying on the floor, one hand pressed to my sternum, his face pale and tense. Tanner hovers behind him, looking wrecked.
"Poppy?" Wylder's voice cracks on my name. "Can you hear me?"
My throat is too tight for words, so I swallow and squeeze his hand instead.
That must be enough because the room tilts and Wylder yanks me off the floor and into his arms. The hug is fierce, desperate, his face buried against my hair. His heart hammers against my chest, and I feel the tremor in his hands as they press against my back.
"You were gone," he whispers into my hair. "Your body was here, but you were justgone. I couldn't reach you.”
My arms feel sluggish, but I wrap them around him and hold on for dear life. The solid warmth of him anchors me and reminds me of who I am and where I belong.
“I'm okay," I lie.
"What happened?" Tanner asks quietly.
I pull back from Wylder enough to look at both of them. “Breaking the demon tether backfired, somehow. I was pulled back to the source with the exiled energy. I was suckedintoTharuzel’s consciousness… I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw.”
Wylder's jaw tightens. “You don’t have to talk about that now. Take a breath and regroup.”
I shove myself up on limbs that don’t want to hold me and stagger to an empty chair. “Tharuzel is gaining strength. He’s not corporeal yet, but he's close. Sebastian's wards are holding him, but they won't last forever."
I try to breathe, but my ribs won’t expand because my lungs are locked up tight. "And S’Nark… he has S’Nark chained up. That's why he hasn't answered my calls."
Wylder's expression darkens more than I’ve ever seen. But instead of pissing me off, it warms the icy darkness still aching to go back to our master.
I close my eyes and reject that sentiment with every ounce of intention I possess.
Tharuzel isnotmy master and never will be.
I am Poppy-Freaking-Hallowind and I decide who I am and what I believe in.
“Poppy?” Wylder is crouching in front of my chair and reaches a tentative hand to brush his fingers against my cheek. “Where’d you go there? Are you all right?”
I force the terror out of my system and work up a smile for him. “Not yet, but I will be.”
The kitchen smells like vanilla and brown sugar—which means Asher's stress baking has reached critical levels. I watch him pull another tray of snickerdoodles from the oven, his movements quick and precise despite the chaos of flour dusting his shirt and the counter.
"That’s your fourth batch," I observe, picking at the edge of a cooling cookie. "Are you and the house really that worried?"
"The house hasn't stopped humming since you woke up from Tharuzel's demon plane two days ago." Asher slides the hottray onto the cooling rack with more force than necessary. "And honestly? Same."
