Chapter 27 Brynn
brYNN
Isquint against the glare of Bonneville's sun—way brighter than I expected for this time of year.
After that biblical-level storm we just escaped in Darkbirch, the clear sky feels almost offensive in comparison.
The Salt Flats stretch out like some alien landscape, this ridiculous expanse of nothing but white crystals meeting blue sky.
My tongue feels coated with salt just from breathing.
Each step crunches under my boots, like I'm walking on the crushed bones of some ancient, forgotten world.
“It's hot as balls out here,” Chad mutters, practically melting in his Darkbirch uniform.
I'm sweating too, but whatever—I've got Hedder's notes to focus on. The salt stings where it hits the cuts on my hands from yesterday's spell-casting.
“Imagine the dragon flew all this way without anyone noticing,” I say, scanning the endless white for any trace of those runes. “All the way from Heathborne.”
“Cross-realm flight,” Chad says, turning slowly.
“We'll be searching forever.” I sigh. “Twelve miles of nothing but salt. And according to Hedder, we're looking for a portal, not some actual physical entrance.”
“There's no underground cavity here anyway, geographically speaking,” he adds.
His eyes narrow, fixed on something in the distance. It's creepy how still he gets sometimes. I follow his gaze and spot them: three black dots against all this white and blue.
“Who are they?” I ask.
Probably just normies with their stupid selfie sticks.
I take a swig from my water bottle, using the move to casually brush my hand over the Darkbirch insignia on my jacket. Like muscle memory at this point—see normies, hide magic, get gone. They freak at the smallest hint of anything supernatural.
Last summer, this lady at a mall saw a protection rune tattoo I had and literally crossed herself.
Can’t really blame her—it's better when our worlds don't collide.
First year history taught us about these old-school covens that would kidnap talented nonmagicals and jam-pack them with magic until they either evolved or exploded. Metal, but also super messed up.
“Tourists, maybe,” Chad says, but his voice has that edge I've learned means trouble.
“What aren't you telling me?”
He gives me this look—half worried, half something else. “It's going to sound weird, but I'm hoping you'll trust me on this.”
I roll my eyes. “Already on the edge of my seat.”
“I can smell them,” Chad says, nostrils flaring like some predator.
The dots are getting bigger now. Three men. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with that military precision that screams trouble. Not dressed in Darkbirch colors either. As they get closer, I make out white coats with those distinctive blue piping lines that make my stomach knot.
“What can you smell, exactly?” I ask, though the answer is already forming a lump in my throat as the three men break into a run toward us.
“Clearbloods,” Chad confirms, voice tight.
My breath catches. “They followed us here?” My limbs suddenly feel like they're filled with cement, my brain stuttering between running and fighting.
Chad's already got his knife out, carving a spell rune into his palm. “They must've been tracking us from Darkbirch.”
A drop of his blood falls onto the salt flat, and I can't help staring at the way it spreads—not soaking in like normal, but blossoming outward in this weird crimson pattern that's actually kind of beautiful in a morbid way.
“They've had eyes on the coven this whole time,” he mutters. “Which shouldn't come as a surprise.”
I drag my gaze away from his blood-art. “Why'd they decide to show themselves now, then?” I fumble for my own blade, etching the familiar curves of a Gaudian Pulse into my skin.
Chad glances over, frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing for a Gaudian Pulse,” I say, like duh.
“We're far from any burial ground, Brynn. You won't summon much for that.” He flashes his palm at me, and I recognize the elemental spellwork. “We need to go long distance for this and summon the elements.”
A cold shiver runs through me as memories of failed elemental castings flash through my mind—Professor Lorent's disappointed face, my classmates' snickers. “Oh, okay,” I stammer, suddenly feeling like a first-year all over again. “Sorry, I told you, I'm more on the theoretical side of things.”
“And there's plenty of theory about the elements in those books of yours, Brynn,” he says, voice edged with impatience. “Surely, you know how to summon the winds, for example. Or the earth.”
I glance at the clearbloods: fifty yards and closing fast. My window for not looking like a complete idiot is shrinking by the second.
“I know how. I've just... rarely ever done it.” And by rarely, I mean catastrophically.
Chad whips around, his face a mask of pure what-the-actual-hell. “Are you serious right now?!”
I mean, fair. I'd be pissed at me too.
“Duck!” he shouts, shoving me down as he throws his arms wide. A shield erupts between us and the clearbloods, this shimmering, pulsing wall of energy that makes my teeth vibrate. Their attack spells slam into it with a sound like thunder cracking directly overhead.
Okay, Brynn. Think. I've got this. Probably.
I drop to my knees, palms slapping against the salt flat.
My blood—the stuff dripping from my half-assed spell carvings—seeps into the white crystals.
It spreads in these creepy little tendrils that honestly freak me out a little.
But I push through it, exhaling slowly like Professor Lorent taught us.
Let my spirit guide the blood. Let it find its target.
The salt erupts into crimson spikes under one of the clearbloods. He goes down screaming, clutching his leg where a salt-dagger the size of my forearm just impaled him. Gross, but effective. He fumbles for a healing potion, blood pooling beneath him.
“Stay back,” Chad warns, already charging the other two.
Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna hide while he gets his ass handed to him? We might hate each other’s guts, but we're stuck together in this mess.
I scramble to my feet, hands already tracing the sigils for an air pulse. Something quick and dirty to knock one of these bastards off balance.
“Kill both the darkbloods!” the injured clearblood snarls from the ground. “For Heathborne!”
“For Heathborne!” the others echo, and I roll my eyes so hard they nearly fall out of my head. Seriously with the battle cries?
Fine—revenge for Heathborne. My blood’s actually heating up. These guys are just speed bumps on my path to finding my sister. The faster we clear them, the faster I move on.
“Brynn, watch out!” Chad screams. Before I can blink, a blast of blue flame hits me square in the chest like a mini tornado. I’m hurled backward, gasping for air. My attacker strides forward, sword raised for the kill. Chad’s wrestling another goon—blades flash, metal screeches.
I catch the red glow in Chad’s eyes, the blue fire swelling between our guy’s white-gloved hands.
He’s itching to end me. “Finish her!” the wounded clearblood bellows.
Chad’s roar shatters the silence: “NO!” The ground quakes as he flings his arms wide.
I hear flesh tear, see black claws sprouting and slicing into the clearblood nearest him.
Pinned by pain and shock, I can’t move. My attacker whirls—too late. A wave of pure darkness surges in Chad’s wake: eyes glowing red, fangs glinting, claws dripping blood.
“Oh hell,” I manage, which barely covers it.
The injured clearblood tries to haul himself up on that mangled leg but collapses in a whimper. His potion’s no match for Chad’s assault. I consider tossing him a healing vial but nah. I’ve got my own breathing to worry about.
“Leave her alone!” Chad snarls, launching himself at my attacker.
I look away, stomach twisting at the sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bone, the man’s final screams cut short by a dull thud.
When I glance back, he’s dead. Eyes wide, mouth frozen in terror, sinking into the salt like some ghastly statue.
I look up, and holy crap—Chad's standing over me looking like he wandered straight out of a nightmare coloring book.
It's still him, but with the saturation cranked to eleven.
His eyes are literally on fire, like someone jammed two burning coals into his eye sockets.
Those little red flickers I'd been noticing? Yeah, full-blown inferno now.
“You're... You're a demon,” I stammer, because what else do I say?
“Hold on,” he mutters, then stalks back toward the injured clearblood who's suddenly found humility.
“No, no, no, please, don't!” the guy sobs, all pathetic now that he's on the receiving end. Whatever. Even with his leg gushing blood like a broken pipe, his only priority was watching me die. Hard pass on the sympathy card.
Chad doesn't hesitate. One flick of those wicked claws, and the clearblood's throat opens like a second smile. Gross, but efficient.
When he walks back, my pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my eyeballs. Every breath feels like someone's jabbing a hot poker between my ribs, thanks to that blue flame spell. Like someone lit a match inside my chest cavity and forgot to put it out.
“What the hell, Chad?” I wheeze. “You're a demon?!”
I can't stop staring, though. Is it weird that I kinda dig this version better? He seems more... authentic. Like the stick up his ass finally dissolved… a bit.
His crimson eyes lock with mine for what feels like forever, and I swear the temperature rises ten degrees.
“Half-demon, actually,” he rumbles, voice like gravel in a garbage disposal. He clears his throat, and the red fades from his eyes like someone turning down a dimmer switch. His emerald greens return while his claws and fangs retract with a soft *snick*. Freaky but fascinating.
“Half-demon,” I echo. “Still... Dude.”
“I know,” he sighs, suddenly looking exhausted.
I reach for his hand to pull myself up, but white-hot pain explodes through my side and I flop back down like a landed fish. “That blue fire... did a number on my ribs,” I hiss, clutching just below my right boob where it feels like someone's stabbing me. “Son of a—”
“Don't move. You might've broken something,” Chad interrupts, all business again.
Chad kneels beside me, his face all concerned doctor-mode.
“You're a frickin' DEMON, Chad. Would you mind elaborating on that part, please?!”
“What's there to elaborate? Surely, you've dealt with demons before,” he says, like I'm the weird one for being shocked. A red flicker dances across his eyes again, and my heart does this stupid little skip.
“Wait, what are you doing with that... with the glowy eye thing?” My voice comes out higher than I want it to. But come on—five minutes ago he was Mr. Perfect Academy Boy, and now he's something straight out of Darkbirch's “Creatures to Kill on Sight” handbook.
“Two cracked ribs. The bottom two, to be specific,” he announces.
“Did you... did you just X-ray me?”
Chad shrugs like it's nothing. “Minor perk.”
“My insides are still private!” I slap his shoulder, then immediately regret every life choice as I fall back onto the salt. Pain spears through my side.
“Just hold still,” he mutters, digging through my bag without permission. “Do you have any healing potions ready?”
“Nothing for broken bones, but I have the ingredients. Get me somewhere safe, first.” I glance around the salt flat. “There could be more of them coming.”
Chad looks back at the dead clearbloods, frowning deeply, then gives me this approving nod that I don't need. “Smart girl,” he mutters. “Let's do that.”
“Wait, what are you—” And suddenly I'm being lifted, cradled against his chest like some damsel. Great. Just great. Can't fight him. Can't jump down. Can barely breathe without wanting to scream. “Ow. Ow... OW!”
“It's going to keep hurting until I set you down, Brynn, I'm sorry.”
Yeah, he should be sorry. For the ribs, the demon thing, and especially for the way his arms feel way too secure around me right now.