Chapter 42
Lucina
Ifly down the hall, the fiery sky outside the windows reflecting red shadows across the marble floor. Screams echo throughout the Estate, so many I’m unsure of the direction they’re coming from.
Another explosion cracks, and more fire splinters across the sky, lighting up the remains of a ruined city. I bet Phoenix is loving every second of this.
I push my legs faster, checking over my shoulder when I can. The way the clamor is reaching my ears, bouncing through the walls and reverberating off the tall ceilings, I can’t tell how close the screaming is.
Using the column to my right, I propel myself around the last corner.
The Umbra fell first, slumping to the ground just outside her rooms. Salem stuffed her into her fireplace, and I set her aflame.
I gagged the entire time she burned, but he wouldn’t let me stop until we saw bone.
So I pushed my magic as hot as it would go, while Salem left to retrieve Mr. Fairbourne's body.
He Snared back into the room a heartbeat later and tossed him atop the flames with her.
I gagged some more.
But the bodies weren’t burning fast enough, so it was my idea to split up. I needed more time, and we still had two bodies to retrieve. So Salem went to get Vance and the Countess—not before making me swear that I wouldn’t stop until I saw white.
By the time I reached bone on both of their bodies, I had stripped out of my undershirts and spilled my guts all over the carpet.
I severed my control over the fire, letting the flames continue to burn through them at a normal temperature, then I heaved my way over to the window and signaled to Callan.
The echo of the first explosion ringing through the quiet night kicked everything into high gear.
Now I’m sprinting through the Estate, covered in sweat, and I’m positive I’ll never get that stench out of my system. And there’s no point in trying now when I have two more bodies to burn.
The sound of voices drifts down the hallway, and I skid to a stop, gripping the wall to steady myself. I press up against it, holding my breath until my lungs begin to sting.
“Did you hear that?” A man asks. Not Salem. And the Hound is the only ally I have in this place.
“Hear what?” A woman replies.
The man doesn’t answer, and I think his silence might be worse than any other response. That is, until I hear the slow and steady thud of boots coming towards me. One heavy step at a time.
My fingers flex against the wall.
Footsteps nearing the column I’m hiding behind, I decide that I’m not built for making these kinds of decisions.
It’s the one thing Callan didn’t train me for—knowing when to fight or stay hidden. If I turn this corner, I’d better be confident in doing so, and I’m not sure that I am. I don’t have any idea who I’d be dealing with, but if Callan taught me one thing…
It’s not to hesitate.
“Trig,” the woman calls after him, but I hear him continue to inch closer. Close enough to the wall I’m hiding behind that I can hear him breathing.
Gods.
“Trig?” she calls again, and I whirl around the column with my hands raised.
Heat singes my skin until it’s scalding, and I surge forward, wrapping my fingers around his throat. The Rogue screams, more of that gods-awful smell spilling into the air.
He claws at my hands, attempting to rip them away, and I push back against him with all my might. His flesh melts beneath my palms, and I’m too focused on holding my grip to notice his head rear back.
The man’s skull collides with mine, and my vision goes black for a moment.
I stumble backwards, reverberations of pain rippling through my brain, a horrible throb left in its wake. Through the blurry splotches in my vision, I see Trig clawing at the open wounds around his throat, and I’m about to lunge for him again when a blast of dark magic nearly slices me in half.
I dart to the side just in time, but I nearly fall in the process, and when I look up, the woman is gearing up for another hit—yellow eyes blazing down the hall.
Moving away from Trig, I raise a firm hand in her direction.
I can’t waste much more Sol magic or else I won’t have what I need to light the last fire, but I release enough to slam her against the far wall.
Her aim is skewed, and the burst of shadows meant for me ricochets off the ceiling instead.
She shouts as her spine smacks the paneling, then crashes to the ground.
Trig lunges at me, slamming into my side, and we collide with the marble floor. His weight crushes my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
Gritting my teeth, I manage to wedge my leg between us and push on his ribs until I have enough leverage to flip him over.
The back of Trig’s head slams into the marble floor, and in my scramble for his wrists, he lands one good punch to my jaw.
I hiss through the sting, returning his hit with my own. I wouldn’t say it’s stronger, but it does snap his head to the side, giving me a full second to force his arms beneath my knees.
He bucks beneath me, thrashing his shoulders, and I’m one good push away from being thrown off when I finally get my hands around his neck.
I squeeze, smoke rising from where my fingers meet his throat.
Trig opens his mouth to scream, but it’s hardly more than a gurgled grunt. Despite my upper hand, the yellow in his eyes flares, too much fight still left in them.
There’s movement in my peripheral, and I don’t need to look up to know the other Rogue has found her feet.
Turning up the heat, I sear into his skin, trying not to hurl at the smell or the sight of dark blood spilling between my fingers.
There’s so much heat in my veins that smoke rolls past my parted lips, and my fingers are glowing as red as the flaming sky over Streatham.
Trig’s face turns a shade of purple, and his eyes begin rolling up to the ceiling—
A shackle latches onto my wrist, and like a plug being pulled, every ounce of magic drains out of me. It’s there one minute, and completely gone the next.
The emptiness is so jarring that my grip falters, and Trig sucks in a gasping breath.
The woman jolts forward to shackle my other wrist, and I slam my fist up beneath her chin. Void of any magic, I use my free hand to unsheathe the dagger at my side.
I hadn’t wanted this to get bloody, but here we are.
Turning on Trig, I slide the blade across his throat, finishing what I’d started. What I probably should have done from the start.
The woman yells, rushing towards him, and I jump to my feet, head still spinning from the sudden loss of power.
There’s nothing she can do as Trig succumbs to his wounds, faded yellow eyes rolling up to the ceiling.
I keep the knife raised in her direction, eyeing the shackle dangling from my wrist, searching for some indication of how to remove it. There’s a spot for a key—which I don’t have. If I had some time, I might be able to squeeze out of the metal, but I don’t have any of that either.
Anger simmers in the Rogue’s eyes, and with a roar her hands come up, shadows bursting from the corners. It’s an avalanche of them, barreling straight for me.
I dart backwards, grabbing at the cuff around my wrist, twisting and turning, doing everything I can to slip it off.
Dark magic races across the marble floor, faster than I can run from it.
I yank on the shackle, groaning when my thumb cracks. The unforgiving metal breaks skin, but it still won’t give.
I’m as magicless as I was before Aura’s Crossing. As helpless as I was being yanked under by a riptide.
My back hits a wall right as the shadows reach me, the frigid bite of them burning through my clothes, climbing up my legs and circling my torso. I swallow against the scream crawling up my throat, pulling with all my might on the magic-stealing metal.
The Rogue hurls more in my direction, yellow eyes so bright their golden hue reflects off the marble floor.
I grit my teeth as her shadows twist around my neck, tightening until my oxygen supply is cut. With nothing left to do, I funnel all my remaining focus into the shackle, tears springing to my eyes at the feel of flesh ripping and joints cracking.
She roars again, gearing up for what I’m sure will be my death blow, and with one final desperate tug, my hand slips free.
Magic floods my veins like a river. A damn cracking open.
I reach straight for my father’s magic, rip open the floodgates, and absorb every shadow in the hall.
All those strangling my body loosen, slipping off my neck and sliding down my legs. Just as I did with the fire on the three-headed snake in Albatross, I absorb every darkened tendril of it.
But it doesn’t charge me as the fire did, or the lightning.
It doesn’t burn me up. It ices my veins.
Everything bright within me is wiped away, smothered by darkness, and for a moment, however fleeting, it feels good to feel nothing. Great, even.
The woman stumbles backwards, eyes wide, darting her attention between her hands and me, confused as to how they betrayed her.
She reaches for something in her boot but isn’t able to reveal it as I send ropes of midnight black slithering across the floor. They strike like snakes, latching onto her limbs.
One on each wrist.
One on each ankle.
One wrapped tightly around her neck.
I close my hand into a tight fist, and her eyes bulge. This time when she looks at me, it isn’t anger…It’s horror. A different kind of scared. Like she isn’t as afraid of dying as she is of me. Like death, in her eyes, might now be a mercy.
I jerk my wrist back, and a crack sounds.
Her head slumps forward as her body sags against my restraints.
Only when I’m certain that she’s dead do I release my hold, smoke and shadows scurrying back to my side.
Her body falls to the floor.
After a few heaving breaths, I force my feet to move. Stepping over Trig and the pool of blood surrounding him, I toss the shackle to the ground and stumble the rest of the way down the hall.
I can feel my body wanting to slip into a state of shock, but I urge against it. I don’t have time to panic or second-guess or feel remorse.