My back hits the wall and my vision tunnels as he comes closer and closer. My throat won’t work to scream. I can hear myself screaming in my head and desperately hope that Calida can hear me as the air backs up in my lungs. Brett has a knife pressed against my cheek. I know I should use my magick, but every thought has fled. Even as I reach for power, I notice the fog beginning to dance across the floor.
“You think you’re better than me?” he whispers, his breath hot and rotten against my ear. I fight back a gag as he licks the side of my face, then freeze as he increases the pressure where the blade meets my skin. I feel the sharp pain, followed by the flow of warm blood down my face. Worse, somehow, is that I can feel how hard he is as he presses his body against mine.
For a moment, for eternity, there’s only the sound of his harsh breathing filling the space, battling the roar of blood and the rage of my heart.
And then, something breaks open.
Not outside. Not in the storm.
Insideme.
I try to focus, but a pressure in my chest erupts with an explosion of light. A gust of wind howls through the room, from nowhere, knocking Brett back against the bookshelf. Books fly by like birds. The air seems to shriek with emotion. The walls flicker with shadows dancing, along with the fog that’s continuing to grow.
Crows.
They perch along the windows, appearing from nothing. As substantial as smoke. Dozens, maybe more. Their eyes glow. They line the bookshelves, the counter, my computer. They’re everywhere.
And they speak - in words, in voices. Women’s voices. Dozens. Hundreds. Layered, one upon another, over and over, flowing like silk over stone.
You were warned.
You will not touch her again.
You will never be allowed another soul to ruin.
Brett screams. He drops the knife, tries to run?—
But the window shatters outward, shards of glass flying into the night to fall to the ground like diamonds.Brett falls to the floor as the crows rush him, hands over his face, weeping, choking, clawing at something that only he can feel.
I stare, trembling, tears running down my face, mingling with the blood from my cut cheek as it drips. I don’t look away.
This time, I don’t freeze.
Just as suddenly as it began, there is silence.
The crows are gone. Brett is unconscious. The knife he used against me lies near him. I sag to the floor. I know I should get the knife and move it farther from him, but my limbs don’t appear to be following orders anymore today.
The door is hanging off its hinges when I get home.
Rain pours in from the broken window. Brett lies crumpled on the ground—unmoving, but alive. The air is heavy with static and something else… grief, rage, power.
Old magic.
The kind that tastes like blood and memory.
Ash sits against the wall, knees to her chest, trembling—but not crying. Her eyes are wide. Golden light pulses faintly behind them.
And that’s the first thing I see when I storm through the door — her eyes. I’m across the room in two strides, kneeling before her.
“Casie.”
She blinks, slowly. Her lips part, but no words come out. Her entire body is shaking.
I brush a hand down her arm - gentle, reverent. She looks so fragile right now, I’m afraid she’ll shatter. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
Her voice is barely audible. “He had a knife.”
“I know.”
