Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Flame cracks like thunder as her spell erupts. Instinct yanks me sideways; heat tears across my front. Had I stayed seated, I would be ash. Where I was a heartbeat ago is now a molten crater.
Fire roars up as though she has dragged a match through petrol. In seconds we are ringed by a wall of orange-white heat that turns the world into a furnace.
She has cut us off completely. No one is getting in.
Through a shifting gap, I glimpse Lander, jaw clenched, eyes locked on me. For a horrifying moment I think he might charge straight through the magical flames.
“I am okay!” I shout, throat raw. “I am okay!”
He pauses, unconvinced.
Her second blast is faster. A blue-white lance scrapes past my cheek, close enough to singe my hair. My skin prickles; my eyes water.
“You robotic-faced cow,” she howls above the roar. “What’s wrong with you, freak of nature? You look like a mannequin. Hold still so I can barbecue you!”
The next spell is pure rage: a rolling wave of fire that billows towards me.
“I was wondering where you had gone,” I say.
I do not bother with my wand. One swipe of my hand meets the flame. For a heartbeat it claws at me, licking my fingertips—then I push. The fire shears aside, arcing harmlessly away to scorch the earth.
She has no idea what I can do at full strength.
She recovers with an ugly laugh. “Got yourself a few tricks, have you, doll-face?” A flick of her wrist births a swarm of fiery motes that hover like wasps. “Let’s see how long you last.”
They streak towards me. I yank a ream of paper from my pack, twist the pattern; it stiffens, edges glowing. I raise it as a shield and the fire slams into it in a blast of heat and light. My arms quake with the impact; my boots skid on scorched stone and, for a heartbeat, I am falling—
Beryl’s muscle memory catches me. I drop my weight, turn the stumble into a controlled slide and brace, the shield still between us.
The paper smokes but holds.
She snaps her fingers again and the air bucks—a sudden updraft of searing wind that punches into my ribs, trying to knock me flat. Heat claws at my clothes, dragging at my balance. I grit my teeth and ride it out.
She advances through the flames. Sweat runs down my back; each breath scalds my lungs, the air full of ash and the stink of burning hair.
“Stop hiding!” she shrieks. She snaps her fingers a third time, and the ground beneath me flares—a ring of fire at my feet.
I drop the paper shield and counter with ice; frost explodes across the floor, steam hissing as flame and cold collide.
Her eyes widen. For the first time since the fight started, she looks uncertain. “You… what are you?”
“Complicated.”
Then Lander shoots her in the head, and she drops to the floor, unconscious.
“She’s strong.” He snaps an anti-magic cuff to her wrist, then secures her hands behind her back with plastic ties. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he adds.
“Thank you for the help.”
The air reeks of my burnt hair, and irritation prickles. Bloody fire mages. If Lander had not dropped her, she would probably have burned herself out anyway; rage-fuelled magic never lasts long.
I glance over to make sure Lander is all right, and see his hands: red, burned. They must hurt like hell.
Without thinking, I step forward, cup his hands in mine, and send a cool wave of magic through him. The burns ease, the angry red fades; his skin knits together.
“You can heal?” he asks, startled.
I shrug. I can master most things mages specialise in, if I put my mind to it. The effects of the ley line—and of my transformation—have been fascinating.
A throat clears behind us.
Knox stands a few paces away, a jacket thrown over a plain T-shirt. His gaze skims the molten crater and scorched ground.
“Is it over?” he asks.
“For now.” I nudge the unconscious fire mage with the toe of my boot. “I found a missing coven member. Sorry about the mess.”
“Lucky all of us,” Knox mutters. “You did it. I’m guessing the circle’s gone and the remaining paperweights—” He glances towards the buildings. “I can’t feel them any more.”
“Riker has been very enthusiastic.”
He studies me more closely, hesitates, and when he spots Meredith—still breathing—disappointment flickers across his face.
“I see our friend Meredith is still alive.” His voice is flat. “What are you going to do about the coven’s knowledge of the unwilling soul magic spell? It can’t get out.”
My stomach tightens, but I hold his gaze.
Lander stands a few metres away, checking his phone, with Dayna and Jill beside him—close enough to hear if we raise our voices.
I keep mine low. “I could not let that spell survive,” I say. “Not in notes, not in heads. Not again. It is like… pages torn out of a book.”
Silence stretches. The wind tugs at my hair, carrying the smell of smoke and sea.
Knox’s eyes lock on mine—sharp, knowing.
He exhales, shoulders dropping. “Good.”
“You are not… angry?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” he says, “but not with you. They came into my home, tried to rip out my soul and use it as a spare part. I’ll never stop being angry about that. But what you did—” He shakes his head. “Thank you.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice further. “They’ll drag you over the coals for it, you know—the Council.” His gaze flicks to Lander and back. “Some will pretend it’s about ethics. Mostly it’s about control.”
“I know.” My throat is dry.
“For what it’s worth, you won’t be standing there alone. I’ll testify—publicly, on record. They touch you, they’re touching every paper mage who ever signed our treaty.”
Emotion pricks, sudden and sharp. “Thank you.”
“You saved my people,” he says, jerking his chin towards the cells. “You saved me. This is me returning the favour. And, Harper—”
“Yes?”
“You’re one of us.” His mouth crooks. “Which means, I’m afraid, you’re ‘family.’ And paper mages are stubborn about family.”
A startled laugh escapes me.
He smiles properly then, for the first time since we opened his cell. “I need to get back to them. They’re… clinging.” His expression softens, then hardens again when his gaze lands on Meredith. “Meredith and her lot won’t walk away from this. I’ll see to it.”
“I know you will.”
He nods once, brisk and businesslike, and walks away.
Overhead, rotors thunder. We hear the helicopter long before it appears. Knox keeps a helipad, so the great beast sets down in a blast of wind behind the main buildings, the blades slicing the air. Ministry guards pour out and fan across the compound, boots pounding on concrete.
George, Jill, Dayna, and Lander direct them briskly, pointing out the unconscious coven and their hired muscle. Within fifteen minutes they have been rounded up: twenty-four guards, thirteen magic users. A few have begun to stir.
Detective Wallace is already awake: shirt stained, chest damp with what looks suspiciously like spit.
“Do you know who I am? It was a sanctioned job, not my fault if you lot can’t do paperwork.” He keeps grumbling, his voice rising.
A guard gives him a flat stare. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll slap a silencing charm on you.”
Detective Wallace falls silent, though he continues to glare at me as if this is all a personal inconvenience to him.
The coven stirs next—blinking blearily, heads lolling. One wizard focuses on Lander, confusion twisting his features.
Here we go.
“What’s going on? What happened? Why am I here?”
Lander steps forward, slow and deliberate. He squats, hands dangling between his knees.
“Richard, you’ve been a very bad boy. Forbidden spells, treaty violations, listening to Meredith. Not your smartest move.”
“Lander, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Richard says, shaking his head. “We haven’t done anything. Why am I here?”
Lander cocks his head, weighing the confusion.
Janice, the witch with a plait down to her waist who ran away at the chapel, starts to cry. “I don’t know where I am,” she sobs. “I don’t understand…”
And then it begins. One by one: the questions, the panic, the blank faces.
Meanwhile, the guards insist they were acting under contract.
The difference between the two groups is startling.
Lander turns to me. “Harper?” His voice is careful, controlled. “What did you do?”
I step back, boot catching on the scorched earth where the fire mage struck. A mental flick, and I wipe her memory as well.
Lander advances. The calm is gone, replaced by fury; his pale eyes darken, voice low and dangerous. “What did you do?”
He looks exactly as he did the first time I met him: spiky black tendrils of magic smoke coil around him.
Snack Thief perches on Knox’s roof-ridge, “Bad,” he croaks in alarm, wings half-spread.
I glance at the raven, then at Lander.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Before he can reach me—before I have to hear what comes next—I seize my power.
And I fold.