17. Matilda
17
MATILDA
“It’s fighting me,” I grit out, my arms trembling as I hold the bag of syphons. Each step toward Blackthorn’s office feels like wading through concrete. The jewels beat faster, their pull growing stronger with every movement.
“Stay with us, Matilda.” Vex’s hand on my lower back steadies me as I stumble. “We’re almost there.”
Morrigan leads our small procession through the empty corridors, her magick shimmering around us like a shield. Draven brings up the rear, watching for threats. Chaos paces beside me, his fur standing on end.
“Something’s wrong.” I have to stop, sweat beading on my forehead. “It’s getting worse.”
The bag vibrates in my hands. The glow is bright enough to cast shadows on the walls. Each jewel thrums with stored power, but there’s something else. Something active.
“Put it down,” Morrigan orders sharply. “Now. ”
I manage to set the bag on the floor before my knees give out. Vex catches me before I hit the ground.
“Look.” Draven points at the bag. We all stare as tendrils of power drift upward from the jewels like smoke, dispersing into the air. But instead of dissipating completely, they seem to be flowing in a specific direction.
“It’s not just storing the power. It’s redirecting it.”
“To Anu?” Luc asks.
“Not to Anu,” Morrigan finishes grimly. “Look. It’s going straight outside. The Harvesting Order is syphoning it for themselves.”
“Double-crossing a goddess.” Vex’s laugh is hollow. “No wonder they looked so smug at the gates.”
I push myself back to my feet, using his shoulder for support. “That’s why their magick was stronger. They’ve been stealing what they stole from me.”
“Clever bastards,” Draven mutters. “But stupid. What do they think Anu will do when she finds out?”
“Does it matter?” Luc grits out. “She’s locked up.”
“For now,” Draven mutters ominously.
“We need to move,” Morrigan interrupts. “They are dangerous and unstable. If the Order is drawing power while Anu is pulling from the other end...”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. I can feel it. The syphons are like a rope in a deadly tug-of-war, and I’m tied to the middle.
The floor beneath us trembles slightly, and Chaos lets out a low warning growl .
“That’s coming from below,” I say, my stomach dropping. “From the vaults.”
“She knows.” Morrigan’s face goes hard. “Anu can feel them tampering with her power supply.”
I reach for the bag again but Vex catches my wrist. “Wait. We need a plan. These things are connected to both you and Anu now. If we move them wrong...”
Another tremor shakes the corridor, stronger this time. Dust drifts down from the ceiling.
“If we don’t move them, she’s going to tear the academy apart trying to reach them,” I argue, pulling free. But as my fingers brush the bag, pain lances through my chest. The syphons’ pull has changed. It’s like they’re trying to rip it out of me.
“Fuck!” I stumble back, gasping. “They’re fighting each other. The Order’s pull against Anu’s.”
“And you’re caught in the middle,” Morrigan says. “The Praxian force in you recognises both claims on it. It’s trying to respond to both at once.”
The tremors are coming faster now. Somewhere in the distance, I hear shouting.
“We need Blackthorn,” Draven says. “These things need to be contained before it’s too late.”
I shove my hair back from my face. “We can’t take these to Blackthorn’s office. They’re too unstable. We need somewhere more secure.”
“The containment chamber,” Vex suggests. “Where they keep dangerous magickal artifacts. But it’s through the courtyard. ”
Draven shakes his head. “The Order’s still out there.”
“They won’t dare try anything with Blackthorn watching them. Surely?” Luc argues.
“They are getting stronger, Blackthorn is getting weaker,” I state. “Whatever we do with these, it needs to cut off the power supply.”
Vex growls. “We don’t have a choice but to go out there. These things are going to tear her apart if we don’t contain them soon.”
Morrigan nods sharply. “Vex, help her carry them. Draven, Luc, guard our flanks. I’ll shield us but move fast. The longer we’re exposed, the more dangerous this becomes.”
I grip one handle of the bag while Vex takes the other. The syphons’ pull immediately tries to wrench us in opposite directions like they’re fighting over which way to feed their power.
“Steady,” Vex mutters, his knuckles white on the strap.
We move as one unit down the corridor, Morrigan’s shield rippling around us. Each step sends jolts of pain through my arms, into my chest.
As we round the corner toward the courtyard doors, Chaos suddenly bristles, hissing.
Pushing open the doors, we see flares of dark magick hammering against MistHallow’s wards. The barriers shimmer and ripple under each assault.
“They’re trying to break through,” Draven warns.
“Of course they are.” My laugh comes out strained. “ They’ve been planning this since they gave me the bag and told me to run.”
The pull strengthens so suddenly on the bag that Vex and I stagger.
“Matilda?” His voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears.
“I can’t...” The edges of my vision blur. “It’s too much...”
“Put it down,” Morrigan orders. “Now!”
We lower the bag to the floor just as another wave of magick blasts at the wards. The syphons flare like miniature suns, blinding me.
A familiar deep voice cuts through the chaos. “Move. Now.”
Blackthorn strides toward us, his black robes billowing with barely contained power. The sight of him steadies me somehow. Without hesitation, he reaches down and grasps the bag himself. The syphons’ glow dims slightly, as if he is somehow dampening them. Maybe he is. “The vault. Now.”
He takes position between Morrigan and me, the bag held firmly in his grip. Another blast rocks the wards outside, but they hold firm. “They cannot break through, but I’d rather not test how long that remains true with these syphons acting as a beacon.”
Blackthorn leads the way as we hurry across the courtyard and to the main building. Racing through the twisting corridors toward the secure vaults.
The containment chamber is deeper than I expected, accessible through heavy doors marked with ancient runes. Blackthorn traces a complex pattern in the air with his free hand, and they swing open silently.
He strides to the centre of the room where a raised platform sits ringed with more runes. The moment the bag touches the platform, the runes flare to life. The pulling sensation eases immediately as layers of containment magick wrap around the syphons, muffling their hungry reach.
I sag against Vex in relief, suddenly exhausted. “That’s better.”
“The wards here will hold them,” Blackthorn says, studying the still-glowing bag with narrowed eyes. “For now. But we need to decide what to do with them before the Order finds another way to reach them. Or before Anu’s influence grows stronger.”
“I might have an idea about that,” I say slowly as my brain catches up now that the pull is severed. “But you’re not going to like it.”
Blackthorn turns to face me fully, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”
I take a deep breath, trying to organise my thoughts. The idea had come when I felt the syphons pulling in different directions, but there had been something else. A pattern in the chaos.
“The syphons are channels. They’re already redirecting magick, but in the wrong way.”
“You want to repurpose them,” Morrigan says. “Use them to create new pathways for magick to flow.”
“Instead of letting them draw everything back to the Praxian force,” I nod. “We could use them to maintain the separate classifications of magick. Like a distribution system.”
“That’s...” Vex starts.
“Incredibly dangerous,” Blackthorn finishes. “These syphons were created to steal power, not stabilise it.”
“But that’s exactly why they might work,” I argue. “They’re already designed to handle raw magick. To direct it. We just need to change what and to where they are directing it.”
“And what happens if we fail?” Draven asks quietly. “If we lose control of that much power?”
“First things first,” I say, my voice as hard as steel. “The Harvesters are still out there, and after years of their manipulation and abuse, I don’t want answers anymore. I want payback.”
Blackthorn studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “They will face justice for what they’ve done.”
“Justice?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “They tortured me for years under the guise of ‘parental discipline.’ Used me. Shaped me into their perfect little weapon. I want more than justice.”
Vex’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“Your anger is justified,” Blackthorn says. “But we do this smart. The Harvesters are still dangerous.”
“So am I.” The Praxian force stirs within me, responding to my rage. “And they made me this way.”
“Fair enough. You understand the price of what you are saying?”
“Oh, I know.”
He nods. “The vault will hold for now. We’ll need to research better containment solutions and magickal redistribution systems. You have my permission to do what you need to do.”
“They want power?” I feel the Praxian force humming beneath my skin. “Let’s show them what real power looks like.”
Without waiting for the others to catch up, I march out of the vaults and back the way we came.
My boots hit the courtyard, crunching under the frost covering the old stone. The perpetual mist has disintegrated with all the magick flying about, so I spot the abusive cunts easily on the other side of the gates.
The second they spot me, they stop their assault, and that familiar, predatory focus settles over their features as I draw closer.
If they are expecting a big catch up and chat about all of this, they are sadly mistaken. They don’t get to speak to me after what they’ve done. No words needed. No dramatic build up.
The Praxian force rises through me, and as soon as Blackthorn drops the wards, I strike first with my wild power, smashing against their shields and making the air snap with electricity. Shocked, they hesitate before they counter, their combined blast hitting the shield the Praxian has automatically raised to protect itself. To protect me .
I slam another blast against their defences, and their shields splinter, cracks of light spreading like lightning across the dark surface. They stumble back, and fear transforms their faces .
“Matilda, wait!” the bitch who said she was my mother calls out. “Let’s talk about this!”
“No talking,” I grit out and send another blast of power their way. They block it, but their shields are weaker than my magick, and it rips them to shreds.
They launch another attack, hurling dark magick towards me. I step straight into it, letting the Praxian force tear through their spell like tissue paper before ricocheting back to them. The backlash makes them stagger. I close the distance in three giant strides. Their desperate final strike comes fast and vicious, but shatters against my power like glass.
The Praxian force explodes outwards in a wave that lights up the courtyard. A flash of light blinds everything. A crack of thunder shakes the ground. The force of it rattles the windows and sends tremors through MistHallow’s walls.
When it clears, there’s nothing left but ash in the wind. No more false parents. No more manipulation. No more pain.
Just silence, and the taste of ozone in the air.