Chapter Eighty-Two
ELARA
Elara couldn’t see, blinded by Enzo’s light and body, but beyond them she saw the flickering shadows, saw the door slam.
‘She’s here,’ Elara said faintly. The same shrouded shadow from the Graveyard. Piscea.
Ariete’s eyes were wide with terror as they tracked the wraith’s movements, the god paralysed.
From the shadows beyond, two nightwolves leaped with barbed tails of stars.
They lunged and snapped at Elara’s friends, who shouted in alarm.
Leo was already conjuring lightning, Isra wielding her ice, though the wolves seemed to absorb the magick, biting into it with sharp teeth as it disappeared.
Enzo sprang up, light and fire racing towards the figure and the beasts, but the shadow tutted. A long black fingernail held something in the air, a black thread, and she began to twist it between her fingers.
Enzo cried out in pain as his magick sputtered out.
The figure chuckled, lowering her hood.
Elara’s ears rang, the world sliding out from under her.
Her skin was paler than the last time Elara had seen it, with delicate black veins running under the surface. Her eyes were black, rather than the grey Elara had known. And more than that, a wicked, dark power buzzed and morphed around her, not a comforting dark, but one of terror. Elara reeled.
‘Now,’ Sofia crooned, stepping into the light, ‘is that any way to greet an old friend?’