Chapter Forty-Seven #2
She recognized the voice: Professor Davies was the Ignis who had tried to kill her that first day. He had killed his colleague Ray. He was recruiting students, preying on their fears and weaknesses.
“A little bird also told me,” he went on, a sneer curling his lip, “that the leaders of the Ossa Arcana wanted to recruit you. And you turned them down.”
“Who are these leaders?” Isla asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
The man laughed mockingly at her attempt to get inside information.
“Who knows? They could be anyone. But I do know this: every man here”—he nodded to the others surrounding her—“is more deserving of that honor than some upstart girl. You were offered what none of us were, and for what?” His eyes burned with anger.
“You’ll die today, as our clients requested.
But before you do, I want to see what they saw in you—what made them think you were worthy. ”
Isla’s stomach knotted in fear.
The four men all raised their palms, various colors flickering ready to strike, ready to take their turn at testing her worth. Pure power radiated from them. These men may be strong, but she was one of the few female professors in the country, and she would defeat them. In her own subtle way.
Overconfidence, my dear sir, is a hazardous companion, Isla thought as she summoned plush, silvery mushrooms to bloom in her hands, encouraging them to shoot a fine, pale somnolent dust from the fungus pores toward Professor Davies.
His eyes behind his balaclava went heavy as his breathing slowed.
Lulled to sleep, he sank to the earth into waiting vines, the roots binding him.
It all happened in seconds; she had to scramble behind a tree as a lightning bolt shot toward her.
It crashed and seared into the tree’s massive trunk.
She summoned a bitter, resinous sap and directed it toward the Ventus who had just tried to strike her.
It fell slick across the man’s face. She encouraged it into his eyes and to slip down his mask and into his mouth.
As planned, the man began to gag as an intense, nauseating bitterness burned his throat.
He staggered and began to vomit, collapsing on the ground, no doubt wishing he no longer wore a mask.
Two men remained. One stepped toward her, eager to prove his superiority. Electricity crackled across his knuckles, the air around him humming with the promise of lightning.
Isla braced, feinting right, hoping he’d take the bait and send the bolt that way with the intent of moving in the opposite direction, but he read her strategy perfectly.
She didn’t even have time to scream as a split second later, instead of a lightning bolt, a gust of wind slammed into her with the force of a battering ram.
The blast hurled her backward, slamming her mercilessly against an oak tree. The world blinked white for a heartbeat.
Her breath fled her body in a painful rush, and she crumpled to her knees, choking on air that refused to enter her lungs.
She looked up and saw his lips curl in a condescending smirk as she tried to draw breath. Her ribs throbbed. She tried to push up—but her limbs trembled beneath her, refusing to obey as she tried to catch her breath.
The Ventus was already closing the distance, lightning once again gathering at his fingertips. He moved with calm, chilling precision, like a man who already knew the outcome. She had to slow him down.
Isla targeted his boots and the ground beneath them. In seconds, the leather and sole went soft with rapid decay. As he lunged, the man slipped and lost his balance, crashing to his knees.
She tried to wrap vines around him, but before they could take hold, her determination faltered—her resolute will waning into uncertainty.
Then came the memory of Professor Davies’s voice threading through her mind. “You had to survive and drag all your friends into the mess.”
Her heart clenched. Her friends. They were fighting for their lives because of her.
If she hadn’t existed, none of this would have happened.
George wouldn’t have been hurt on his first day in the pottery training session.
Andrew wouldn’t have nearly fallen through the floor of her greenhouse.
Edmund looked exhausted—hollowed out by the weight of everything, and she had added to that burden.
Juliette’s scream from earlier echoed in her mind—Juliette, warm and full of life, yet she could already be gone.
They’d all have been better off without her. Happier if they’d never met her. They didn’t need her. They shouldn’t want her.
Then—Andrew’s blue eyes flashed through her memory, cutting briefly through the fog. Her breath caught.
The man stalked closer; his palm glowed faintly. A Ventus Summoner. Was he doing this? Was he weaving these thoughts into her mind, bending her emotions like wind through reeds?
She went to lift her palm in defense and felt the tightening of the scarred skin. So much pain. She had experienced so much pain. She lowered it, trembling. So much suffering and fear. Choking, drowning, fire. Every agony she’d endured pressed against her chest.
She didn’t want to fight anymore. She couldn’t.
Despair poured over her like water, heavy and cold. It would be better if she ended it—if she gave herself up.
Edmund had sacrificed himself for her when he conjured that storm. Andrew, when he’d stood his ground atop the university roof. Juliette and George—her light, his kindness. She couldn’t bear to let them suffer because of her any longer.
Slowly, Isla stepped out from behind the tree. Her heart was steady, unnervingly calm. The man with the missing boots lifted his hand, lightning coiling in his hands, palms aimed straight at her heart.
He looked satisfied. And she felt ... peace.
She was doing this for them. Once she was gone, the fighting would end. They would be safe.
She hesitated for just a heartbeat, doubt flickering—she had so much left to live for—didn’t she? But then that strange pull in her ribs—that unnatural tug—drew her forward again, toward the man, toward the end.