Chapter 36
Poisoned. My coven sisters and their guests have been poisoned.
For a moment, all I can do is take it all in. Blood is pouring from ears and eyes, mouths and noses. It drips on the table, on clothes, onto the food and the floor.
The only creatures that don’t seem to have been affected by it are the familiars. Many of them now dart between tables and chairs, clearly distressed, or else they’re circling in the air above. Merlin is one of them.
My eyes drop from him, and I choke on a cry when I see Sybil, who has fallen out of her seat several tables away.
I run to her, my feet crunching over broken glasses and plates that have shattered in the melee.
Behind me, Kane and Nero follow, and I have a brief moment where I hope my panther can avoid the jagged edges of the smashed dinnerware before I fall to my knees next to my best friend.
“Sybil, I’m right here,” I say as my hands find her body. “I’m going to heal you.”
She chokes out a response, blinking away blood from her eyes as she tries to see me.
“Sawyer,” Kane says dropping to his knees next to me and clasping his fallen packmate’s hand, “I’ve got you.”
Kane glances over at me. “Can you heal them?”
I swallow, taking in Sybil’s bloody face.
“Yes,” I vow as Nero moves to my other side.
Another quick scan of the room makes it clear that I’m the only witch at the moment able to help.
I call on my power, forcing it down my arms and out through my palms.
“Heal,” I incant in Sarmatian as I press my magic into Sybil, willing her body to purge the poison and mend itself.
I sense it sink in, feel it swarm where she’s hemorrhaging, but…
Nothing happens.
The blood flow doesn’t stem; the tissue doesn’t heal. The problem itself isn’t fixed.
My breath catches when I finally understand.
This isn’t simply poison. This is a curse.
I begin to speak the English version of the Moche curse-breaking spell Memnon taught me weeks ago.
“Begone poisoned death that corrupts the spirit. With love I destroy you.”
Beneath my palms, another wave of magic pulses out.
I notice distractedly that it looks a bit more shimmery than usual, and as it twists, for an instant, I catch a flash of indigo in its plumes.
I don’t have time to dwell on my power, however, before it sinks into Sybil, moving through her veins until it finds the corrosive curse and begins destroying it.
Within seconds, thick rivulets of inky black liquid trickle out of Sybil’s eyes and ears, nose and mouth.
The curse.
I shudder when I see it. Almost as soon as it’s expulsed, it begins to smoke and sizzle until nothing remains but an oily trail of smoke.
Sybil gasps, coming up for a full breath of air, then coughs out the last of the blood in her lungs.
I exhale, nearly sagging with relief.
Sybil meets my eyes for a split second before—“Sawyer.”
With her new shifter reflexes she flips to her feet and rushes over to where Kane cradles her mate in his arms. Sawyer continues to choke as he lies in Kane’s arms.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sybil croaks out, her teeth a little sharper than usual. Kane glances at me as well, his wolf in the back of his eyes.
“It’s a curse,” I say. “But we can break it.”
It’s then that the screams and choked cries from the rest of the room come roaring back into my awareness.
My eyes sweep over the bloody, agonized faces. Most of the people harmed seem to be coven sisters—meaning they have magic of their own. That’s a good thing, considering what I mean to do.
I place a hand to my throat and whisper a spell. I wait a moment for the magic to sink in, and then I speak.
“Coven sisters!” My voice booms throughout the dining hall, louder even than the screams. I head down the table I’m standing beside until I get to a witch who’s slumped forward in her seat.
“Listen closely,” I say to the room, though hardly anyone can hear me over the noise. “This is a curse. To break it, place your hand on an exposed patch of skin.” I demonstrate by placing my own hand on the forehead of the coven sister beside me.
This should be just like healing oneself. If I can get these witches to incant the spell, they should be able to lift the curse from themselves.
“Now,” I continue, “repeat after me: Begone poisoned death that corrupts the spirit. With love I destroy you.”
As I speak, magic pours from me again. It thickens around my sister’s face before it enters her. I sense the moment my power encounters the dark spell. Quickly, it pushes the curse out of her body, dissolving it as it goes.
Around me, there are still screams and blood and darting familiars, but some of the noise is replaced by incantations.
I can hear Sybil’s own voice echoing the words I just spoke, and across several tables, I see plumes of various colors sift out from other witches, followed by the hissing sound of burning curses. I exhale. Some heard me and acted.
I hear my best friend cry out, and when I glance over at her, Sawyer leans forward out of Kane’s arms and kisses Sybil like his life depends on it.
The sight fills me with relief—relief that is quickly squashed when the remaining, fractured screams in the room rip my attention away.
“Coven sisters!” I say, my voice booming once more. “Find someone injured and repeat the curse-breaking spell!”
There’s a flurry of movement. Chairs screech and shoes slap against the floor as witches move through the room to get to those still bleeding.
… Selene … Memnon’s voice whispers across our bond.
That’s all the warning I get before a wave of indigo magic sweeps into the room. If the sorcerer’s voice in my head was a water drop, then his power is a deluge, the rolling expanse of it hurtling directly toward me.
From somewhere within the thick clouds of Memnon’s power I hear, “Crone’s fucking cane.” And that would be my father.
Memnon’s form comes into view then as he strides into the room, his magic continuing to pour from him. His hair has already begun to stir, and there’s panic in his eyes that’s only quelled once they land on me. I see him relax further when he realizes I’m fine.
He crosses the room to me, his hands going to my upper arms. “Est amage, what’s happening?”
“My coven sisters are cursed!” I don’t mean for my voice to boom across the room, and I have to rip apart the spell still encircling my throat.
Memnon’s jaw clenches, and his eyes rise from me to take in the dining hall. His power follows his gaze, fanning out farther across the floor.
At the sight of it, I tense.
Beloved though his power is, it can be a violent, destructive force, one that’s much more inclined to rip humans apart than it is to heal them.
But when he moves from me to two nearby witches still bleeding out, he speaks the curse-breaking spell in its original Mochica form. Within seconds, dark magic purges out of them, and he moves to the next person in need of help.
I follow after him, Nero on my heels, and I only stop when I nearly trip over an older gentleman.
He’s likely a parent who was merely here to enjoy a final meal with his daughter before he finished moving her out.
I glance over at my dad, who’s helping a witch up from the floor on the other side of the room.
A deep anger takes root in me, stirring my power as I place my hands on the older man’s neck and repeat the curse-breaking spell.
My voice joins others as we recite the incantation.
A mixture of colored magic rises to the ceiling as we work, hanging like a haze above us all.
Once the older gentleman is healed, I move on to the next struggling person.
Time blurs as Memnon and I and several other witches heal the last of the victims.
As soon as the final person is saved, Sawyer and Kane whisk Sybil out of here, and no amount of objections from my best friend stop it from happening. The Marin Pack protects their own.
All that remains in this room are the few of us supernaturals who are still checking on one another. Coven sister to coven sister, parent to child, stranger to stranger.
Memnon is talking to my father near the entrance to the dining hall, and he’s placed a comforting hand on my dad’s shoulder while my dad wipes tears from his cheeks. Benjamin Bowers does not have a stomach for violence.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting on the dining hall’s floor next to Nero, taking a moment for myself. I press my trembling hands to my temples, only belatedly aware that there’s blood on my fingers. Nobody died tonight, but fuck, someone so easily could’ve. Had everyone in this room not worked together…
I draw in bracing, measured breaths when my phone buzzes from my pocket.
I grab it with a bloody hand and bring it to my ear, a touch dazed. “Hello?”
A pause.
“Did you enjoy your farewell dinner?”
Immediately I stiffen when I hear the lilting voice across the line. A voice as sweet as it is barbed.
“Eislyn.”
Fury rises in me, and rivulets of my magic pour out of me, the orange ribbons of it catching the light and glimmering blue for a moment.
Across the room, I see Memnon’s spine stiffen. Slowly, he turns to me. He must’ve overheard who I’m talking to.
“It’s not nice when someone comes into your home and ruins it for you, is it?” the fairy continues.
She must be referring to the booby traps. I allow myself to feel a petty spark of joy that maybe, just maybe, that means that at least one of the spells worked.
My phone nearly slips through my bloody grasp, so I press it tighter to my ear as rage wells in me.
It’s one thing for Eislyn to target me, another for her to go after those I care about.
“You know,” I say, tearing my gaze from Memnon, who’s already striding over, “I read the most interesting story about this pathetic fae who was as ruthless as she was incompetent.
Apparently she was born a princess and had every conceivable privilege laid at her feet, and yet she was still a miserable little shit.
“I heard she even tried to stage a coup in her kingdom but failed, and in a mercy she didn’t deserve, she was exiled to Earth, where she’s been trying to control kingdoms ever since in an endless quest to prove herself like the pathetic fucking cum stain she is.
But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Eislyn? ”
Eislyn doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, “I’ve only just whetted my appetite for vengeance, little human.”
Click.