Page 47 of When the Sky Breaks

Then finally I felt it—a wolf pack. Not too nearby, but near enough. I directed my focus and just breathed. I’d never tried to summon more than one large animal at once—the bears at home didn’t count, I’d had more than enough honey and treats for bribery without magic then—and I felt the energy drain out of me as I focused my power. Heat and a bizarre vertigo flooded through me. The vertigo I knew well—any time I tried to summon something bigger than a housecat it made me dizzy as my brain tried to reconcile my own vestibular sense with the creature’s. But the heat was new, it was like the exertion of the entire wolf pack was manifesting in my own flushed cheeks. For one terrifying moment, I worried it wouldn’t even work.

But then the pack tore through the valley. The largest had to be close to a hundred pounds—dappled grey and white, snarling, blood-streaked spit dripping in sick globules off its face. It lunged at one of the cultists—jaws snapping. The others quickly followed suit, baying and howling all the time. Two smaller wolves grabbed one of the cultists by the arms and ran into the brush, dragging the screaming, bleeding figure in their wake. Another half dozen of the cloaked figures tried to run—a few made it past the tree line, but three were cornered and backed up against the portal. One of the remaining wolves pounced on the drunk old man—disoriented and bleeding already. I flinched and covered my eyes as it went for the man’s throat. A scream, then a gurgle. I risked looking again.

Two of the wolves dove directly toward the giant eldritch beetle, snapping at the tentacles and leaping onto the carapace in search of tearable flesh. One of the tentacles ripped off in a wolf’s jaws with a sickening squelch, black blood spraying. The beetle screamed louder, then opened massive iridescent black wings, flinging the wolves off its carapace in the process, and flew back through the rift.

Then there was a loud, ear-piercing crackle. And all went still.

“You did it,” Neal said, pulling me into his chest. I could feel something dripping down my face—my nose was bleeding. My ears rang and my eyes refused to focus on anything properly. I tried to take in the destruction around us—three dozen worshippers were still running for town, the reverend hadn’t moved from his place at the pulpit, three of the cultists’ bodies lay bleeding on the valley floor, and the old man too—blood pouring from a wound on his neck and entrails spilling from his belly. The others were gone—scattered in fear or dragged off by the wolves.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, speech coming slow and challenging. “I think I did.”

And then I vomited onto the ground at our feet. Neal didn’t even flinch.

The reverend picked his way around the shattered glass, out the chapel doors, and over to us. “Did you do that?”

“Open the portal or get that hell beetle to retreat?” Ansel asked.

“Either one,” Reverend Whittaker said, shaking like a leaf.

“She got the abomination to back off,” Ansel said, gesturing at me as I still heaved, emptying my stomach on the dusty Texas earth.

“Ah,” said the reverend, “I see.”

“And now you’re gonna give us a place to sleep tonight. I’ve no clue if any of the cultists got out of this in one piece, but if they did I hardly want them tracking us back to the hotel.”

“But you see there’s my wife, and we don’t really have the room . . .” the reverend began.

“So you’re gonna make the pregnant lady sleep out in the dirt?” Ansel said. “Not very Christian of you, Reverend.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“Your fever’s back,” Neal observed as we slowly made our way toward the reverend’s house, lagging far behind Ansel. My head still spun, and I could feel the blood crusting on my face from my still-dripping nose. I’d never pulled magic like that before—not to summon the bears, not when the old mama jaguar had taken up residence after my mother died, not back when I was fourteen and I tormented the Elvish tutor Iksura sent me with a raven I’d coaxed to mimic everything he said. Never.

“It’s not just the fever,” I said, stopping. “The magic, it took something out of me. I’ve never done anything like that before. It hurt. And now I’m tired, more so than usual. My whole body feels wrong.”

I was shaking under his hands, face flush and damp with sweat, and I could see the salt already drying in ripples on my skin.

“You should have stopped,” Neal said gently, hand going to my cheek.

“I don’t know if I could have,” I said. “Once I connected with them it just happened.”

“And now you can barely stand up straight,” Neal muttered. “Come here. You’re in no state to walk.”

He gathered me into his arms and let me curl against his chest. The pain in my head started to subside as I nestled into him.

“You’re warm,” I mumbled. Then, “I need yarrow and creosote.”

“I have it in my pack,” Neal assured me.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“Thank me after I’ve scandalized the good reverend by carrying you over his threshold.” Neal chuckled, starting toward the house again. House was a strong word. Hovel felt closer. The walls were mud, not even adobe bricks. The roof was brush. It couldn’t have been more than two rooms. Ansel was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, brows knit together with worry.

“Well damn it, Neal,” Ansel exclaimed, ushering us in. “You didn’t tell me she was that bad!”

“She wasn’t,” Neal said, “until the wolves.”

Neal ducked into the cramped space. There was a fire going in one corner with no proper hearth or chimney, just a hole in the roof above. Foul-smelling smoke hung in the air. They were clearly burning cottonwood. Though whether it was out of incompetence or sheer poverty and desperation was anybody’s guess. There was no kitchen table or cabinet, just a writing desk pushed against one wall with a faded velvet chair and an expensive but out-of-date sofa near the fire. Open shelves held the couple’s few possessions, which were haphazard, expensive, and mostly damaged to at least some degree.