Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew paced beside the wrecked Austin, every nerve in his body screaming to do something—to run, to fight, to tear the world apart until he found her—but Edmund had ordered him to wait while he assessed their next move.
Wait. The word grated like broken glass in his skull. He clenched and unclenched his fists, sparks of ice flickering between his fingers.
Somewhere out there Isla was alone, taken by strangers who had nearly killed them all. His stomach churned at the thought. He wasn’t just angry—he was afraid. And that fear burned hotter than any flame. He would have left to search for her already, but he didn’t know where to go.
Andrew’s boots squelched on the wet, muddy ground as he looked over at Edmund, who stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the long country road. Stone walls rose on either side, hemming them in. Left or right. One way would lead them closer to Isla, the other further away.
“What are you looking for?” Andrew demanded.
“Shh.”
That was the tenth shh in as many minutes. Andrew groaned. “Right, fine, I’ll just stand here doing nothing, then—splendid plan.”
“Quiet,” Edmund said again, crouching low, his eyes sweeping the ground. Then, without another word, he straightened and started toward the left-hand path.
Andrew hurried after him with Juliette close behind. “What did you find?”
“Boot prints,” Edmund replied.
Andrew blinked. “It took you all that time to look for boot prints?”
Edmund shot him a quelling look that might have silenced a regiment, but Andrew didn’t care. The man may have saved his life, but if he didn’t start explaining soon, Andrew might rugby tackle him into the nearest ditch. Well, he’d try.
“Boot prints,” Edmund said evenly, “and emotional echoes. There were prints going in both directions. Ones belonging to Isla and whoever took her, and others to the men I scared away, so I needed to be certain which to follow. I focused on the residue left behind—of emotion. To the right, I felt fear, yes, but the sharp fear of men fleeing. To the left ...” He paused, his expression tightening.
“To the left I felt raw fear. The fear of someone being taken against their will. The fear of the innocent.”
Andrew’s throat went dry. Isla.
“I don’t think they took her far; they would have needed a car to get out here, but on this country road there is nowhere to park. My best guess is they parked somewhere close by and then walked in order to ambush us.”
“What if they’ve reached the car and driven away already?” Andrew asked, his heart clenched in fear. He had just held her hand. She had voluntarily laid her head on his shoulder. He needed to find her; he couldn’t draw a proper breath—it was as if the vines still encircled his throat.
Edmund gave him a grim look. “I hope not. If they have, it makes following them incredibly difficult.”
The three of them turned a corner, Andrew now jogging ahead of the group. He would have missed the clue entirely if Edmund hadn’t called him back.
“Andrew!”
He halted and retreated a few steps, chest heaving, breath coming in sharp pulls. To the side of the road, an overgrown path led to a small dilapidated cottage. Its roof sagged, tiles missing; weeds littered the garden; and broken shutters banged gently in the cold wind.
All looked still, quiet and deserted. His gaze swept the grassy shoulder beside the road—two sets of tire tracks marred the earth, the mud smeared across the road where the cars had pulled away. A hedgehog bumbled along, not in the least aware of the current turmoil.
He felt bile rise in his throat; they were too late. He scanned the clearing, searching desperately for any clue, anything that might give them a lead. Shadows clung to the corners of the overgrown garden, dark and oppressive.
Then, suddenly, a flicker of light erupted from a downstairs window, casting the front garden in an eerie, pale glow. The light was faint, coming from deeper within the house. A muffled scream pierced the night, sharp and ragged, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.
“Isla!” Andrew breathed, lunging forward, until Edmund’s strong hand caught his shoulder, halting him.
Edmund shook him firmly by the shoulder. “Listen, Andrew. The best way to keep her safe is to keep your head. Anger will get us nowhere—and it will make things worse for her. Focus. Breathe. I’m with you on this.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. Edmund smacked his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, and Andrew stumbled slightly under the force. He righted himself, adjusted his glasses, and followed.
The cottage loomed in the moonlight as they crept closer. Andrew moved toward the front entrance, but Edmund’s hand shot out, stopping him. “She’s closer to the back of the house,” he whispered.
“How do you know?” Juliette asked, her voice tight. She had been quiet since the scream.
Edmund hesitated before replying, “Isla’s fear—it’s reverberating through the air. It’s stronger this way.” He didn’t move, merely pointed toward the back of the house. “I think you should stay here, Juliette.”
Juliette’s eyes narrowed, her usual easy charm replaced by a sharp glare that made even Edmund pause. “My best friend is in there. I am not waiting behind.”
Edmund sighed, recognizing defeat. “Very well,” he said, his voice low, “but stay behind me.” Without another word, he led the way toward the back of the house, Andrew close behind and Juliette at his side.
They all paused at the back door. It hung open a crack, as if Isla’s captors had no fear of being interrupted.
Edmund put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and motioned for Andrew and Juliette to wait for the all clear.
A sob tore through the open door, and Andrew’s resolve snapped. Hang Edmund’s instructions. He lunged forward, opening the door fully before the detective could stop him, earning a low, disapproving growl from Edmund at his disobedience.
The kitchen was dimly lit. Two men stood with their backs to him, oblivious at first to the intrusion.
One sipped a drink, laughing cruelly, while the other sent tiny lightning arcs dancing across a crystalline cocoon.
A small gap revealed itself as the man’s light tauntingly illuminated the tiny space.
“This should get her talking in the morning,” one of them sneered.
Was Isla trapped inside that small mound of shiny rocks?
It was barely bigger than her body. Rage boiled through Andrew and he positioned himself to the side of the two men.
Before they noticed his presence, his fist shot forward, striking the nearest man in the jaw.
It was a terrible hit, rather pathetic really; he had never punched someone before.
The man turned, eyes blazing with anger. Lightning crackled across his fingers, ready to strike. Before he could release it, Edmund shoved Andrew out of the way, and a sudden gust of wind burst from the detective’s palm, slamming his Aetherian opponent against the pantry cupboards.
The kitchen erupted into a chaotic ballet of elements—lightning arced, fire twisted and danced, shadows leapt, and shards of earth splintered under their assault.
Andrew sent a blast of ice toward the Terra Aetherian, aiming to encase him as he had encased Isla.
The frozen shards climbed slowly up his body starting at his feet, but before it could fully engulf him, the Terra Summoner twisted his upper body, taking aim at Juliette.
She was busy weaving shadows to blind their opponents.
Edmund jumped in front of her, taking the strike of a jagged rock in his shoulder.
He grunted in pain as blood spilled, eyes narrowing, then lashed out with a bolt of lightning.
The Terra slumped over, his body caught in a grim arc as the ice now gripped his waist, forcing him into a grotesque, bowed position.
The sigh that escaped him was chilling, echoing through the room like a haunted wind, momentarily reminding Edmund that it was Halloween.
As life left the man, Andrew saw Isla’s prison dissolve around her. Her cheek was cut, her clothing torn. He rushed to her.
“Isla!”
She sobbed as he knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms. He looked around, covering her body with his in case the other Aetherian tried to shoot lightning at her—however, it was Juliette who was in trouble. The Ventus had her, his hand around her throat, lightning crackling at his fingertips.
“Back off and she doesn’t need to get hurt.”
The coward was using her as a shield to get out.
Edmund radiated fury, his own hand aglow as he looked for a chance to strike. Juliette looked petrified, but he saw hints of determination in her eyes. Thick smoke crept silently from her hands as they trembled by her sides, unnoticed by her captor, who looked from Andrew to Edmund.
She directed the shadows around her back to the small space between her body and the man’s, where they hovered a moment before whooshing forcefully into the man’s groin area. From the grunt of pain, she had squarely struck the man’s crown jewels.
The Aetherian crumpled, gasping in pain. His eyes bulged, his knees buckled, and he folded to the ground with an involuntary wheeze that made Andrew wince in sympathy. No one who’d ever been on the receiving end of such a blow could fail to appreciate its efficiency.
Juliette’s expression, though pale, carried a flash of triumph. She darted away and Edmund pulled her behind him.
The blow to the man’s nether regions had clearly enraged him. His face twisted—half pain, half madness—and he staggered upright, eyes wide and wild. With a hoarse cry, he raised both hands, summoning a storm.
The air changed first—pressure building so fast Andrew’s ears boomed.
Then came the wind, tearing through the small country kitchen like a living beast. Curtains ripped from their hooks, old plates shattered from the walls, and soot and ash billowed from the hearth.
The storm gathered with unnatural hunger.
Lightning arced across the low ceiling, searing lines of blue-white light against the cracked plaster. It leapt between copper pans, shattering glass, setting the old wooden table alight in bursts of orange flame.
Andrew threw himself over Isla’s body where she now lay face down as the wind howled around them. “I’ve got you,” he gasped, though he wasn’t sure that was going to be enough. He held her tighter, shielding her head with his body as the storm screamed. He felt her trembling beneath his chest.
He had no idea if he could truly protect her—but he would die trying. He worried that if he shot ice toward the man, it would ricochet back to him. The air throbbed with static. Andrew felt hair lifting on his arms.
Through the chaos he looked to Edmund, who stood his ground, coat whipping in the gale, face lit by flashes of violent light. Edmund’s jaw was hard with grim resolve. The Aetherian across the room was beyond reason now, caught in his own madness—power spiraling uncontrolled.
“Stop!” Edmund shouted, though the words were swallowed by the roar of wind.
The man didn’t hear—didn’t want to. He screamed his fury into the storm, and the lightning obeyed, snapping out in wild, random bursts.
One struck the wall near Isla and Andrew, shattering stone and showering them in dust. Pulling her closer, Andrew felt something hit his back, followed by the feel of warm blood trickling down his spine.
That was the last straw.
Edmund’s hand rose, steady despite the chaos. The glow around his friend’s hand brightened, pure white and sharp as a blade. His voice, low and calm, cut through the din.
“Enough. This is your last chance to stand down.”
The man ignored him, and although the storm raged, he seemed to lack the ability to wield the storm with precision. It was violent and chaotic, not refined. It was probably why they hadn’t been hit directly already.
The storm intensified as he turned his full attention to the detective. Now that his eyes landed on one target, Andrew could see his focus intensify—and maybe the pain of Juliette’s attack had calmed a little, giving the man some clarity and not just blind rage. He was going to strike Edmund.
Edmund thrust his palm forward, his lightning, clean, focused, and absolute. He met the Aetherian’s storm in a single, blinding collision, and for a heartbeat the world became nothing but light and sound as the two men battled one another. Lightning pushing against lightning.
Edmund leaned into his powers, the larger man pushing every ounce of strength he had into the thrust. His lightning crackled and then shot forward, hitting the Aetherian straight in the chest. The man slumped to the floor, and then a strange silence descended.
When Andrew looked around, the wind had died. The man lay crumpled on the flagstones, the storm snuffed out with him.
Andrew lifted his hand, palm glowing, and water whooshed onto the flaming table before it could spread any further.
He felt Isla trembling still, her eyes squeezed shut, her cheek pressed to the dirty floor.
“Hey, sweetheart, you’re safe now,” he whispered, though his heart was still hammering. He knew how close they’d come to losing everything.
At first she didn’t respond, then slowly, she lifted her head, tears streaking through the dust on her cheeks. He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Andrew,” she sobbed. “Thank you for coming.” She threw her arms around him.
“I told you I’d always rescue you if I could,” he murmured into her gritty hair.
“I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And I believed you.”
Andrew tightened his hold on her, feeling the weight of what she’d just said settle in his chest. She was beginning to understand—he was here for her, as long as she’d let him be, and he would never let her believe otherwise.