Chapter 19
MOIRA
The wave crashes down with the force of a falling mountain.
Water and fury and magic so raw it turns the air electric. The Sound becomes a maelstrom. Whirlpools form where moments ago there was only corrupted stillness. Pressure builds until it should crush bone, collapse lungs, shatter anything living caught in its path.
No holding back. No restraint. No fear of what I'm becoming.
The remaining corrupted corpses scatter under the assault.
The bound souls inside them scream—silent to human ears but deafening to my magic-heightened senses.
Catalina's hold on them fractures. Cracks.
The necromantic bindings she wove with such precision begin to unravel under the sheer force of clean ocean magic.
One by one, they fall.
Bodies collapsing into the water. No longer animated. No longer weapons. Just corpses returning to the deep where they belong. From each one, a translucent shape rises—a soul freed after years of torment. They look at me with gratitude I don't deserve, then fade into the night like smoke on wind.
But Catalina remains.
She stands on the corrupted water, unchanged. Unmoved. That terrible smile never wavering.
"Is that all?" Her voice carries across the chaos. "The great Siobhan Flynn's heir, throwing tantrums like a child?"
Heat floods my chest. My hands shake with it. More power pulls from the ocean. Deeper. Harder. Drawing from the trenches where ancient things sleep. From the heart of the Atlantic itself.
Another wave rises. Bigger than the first. Towering over the Sound like a wall of water and wrath.
It crashes toward Catalina with everything I have.
She raises one pale hand.
The wave hits her. Should crush her. Should drive her deep into the Sound where even her necromancy can't save her.
Instead, she absorbs it.
The corrupted water around her pulses. Grows darker. Thicker. The death magic intensifies until the stench of rot makes my eyes water even from here.
She's stronger. The wave made her stronger.
"You're feeding me, little witch." Catalina's laugh echoes across the water. "Every drop of power you throw at me becomes mine. Every wave. Every spell. I've been merged with the ocean's darkness for years. I am the deep places. I am the drowning. I am death and water combined."
My breath comes in ragged gasps. The magic I've unleashed is taking its toll. My body wasn't meant to channel this much power. Gran warned me about this. About the cost of letting go completely. About what happens when sea witches push too far.
Declan's voice crackles through the comms. He's made it to shore, dragging Rafe with him. "We've got him. I'm working on the wound. The corruption's spreading but he's stable for now. Finish this, Moira."
Rafe's life force fades through the connection that's formed between us. The bond that came with love and proximity and shared magic. Even through the pain, he's staying quiet. Not calling out. Not distracting me. The silence from him is worse than any scream.
Every instinct screams to go to him. To run to shore and use every drop of healing magic left to save him.
But Catalina stands between us. Catalina who's been building this ritual for months.
Who murdered people to raise an army. Who weaponized my sister's guilt and turned her into a tool for revenge.
If I run now, she wins. She'll complete her ritual. She'll turn Stormhaven into a graveyard and build her army of the drowned until nothing can stop her.
But I can't beat her. Every attack feeds her power. Makes her stronger. We're at a stalemate, and Rafe is dying while I waste time fighting a battle I can't win.
Unless.
The realization hits like cold water.
Catalina needs deaths to complete her ritual. She raised corpses to fight for her. But I freed most of them. She only has Elspeth left. She needs more deaths. Needs me to either die fighting or join the drowned willingly.
That's why she's taunting me. Why she's not attacking. She wants me angry. Wants me to exhaust myself throwing power at her until there's nothing left. She'll strike when I'm defenseless. Take what she needs.
The magic settles. Waves calm. Pressure eases.
Catalina tilts her head. "Giving up so soon? How disappointing."
"You can't complete the ritual without me." My voice is steady. Certain. "You need deaths. You only have one corpse left. You need me to die."
"Very clever." Her smile widens. "But knowing doesn't change anything. You still can't beat me. And your panther is still dying on shore. Tick tock, little witch. How much longer does he have?"
Through the bond, Rafe's pain burns. His fear. Not for himself—for me. He's begging Declan to let him go. To get back to me. To help. But his body won't respond. The corruption has spread too far.
A choice forms. Clear. Terrible. Necessary.
"You want me?" I walk to the edge of what's left of the boat. The wood creaks under my feet. "Then take me."
"Moira, no!" Rafe's voice cuts through the comms. Desperate. Broken. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare give up."
"I'm not giving up." My eyes stay on Catalina. "I'm changing the battlefield."
Off the boat. Into the water.
The corrupted liquid swallows me whole.
Cold crashes over my head. Invasive. Wrong. The death magic tries to seep into my skin, my lungs, my very blood. But water is my element. Even corrupted water has to obey certain rules.
Down. Past where sunlight reaches. Into the deep where Catalina's power is strongest. Where she's been building her ritual. She follows me down. This is what she wanted. Me in her domain. Me where she thinks she has every advantage.
The water grows darker. Colder. The pressure increases until my ears ache and my chest feels crushed. Swimming deeper. Diving. Following the thread of death magic to its source.
The ocean floor appears beneath me. Rocky. Covered in black sand that shifts with unnatural currents. Carved into the stone are binding circles. Hundreds of them. Interconnected. Pulsing with blue necromantic light.
This is where she does her work. Where she binds souls to corpses. Where she's been preparing to raise an army of the drowned.
Catalina materializes from the darkness. Here in the deep, she looks more monster than woman. Her skin has gone translucent. The corruption flows through her veins like ink. Her eyes burn with blue fire.
"Foolish girl." She circles me like a predator. "Did you really think you could beat me in the deep? This is my domain. My power. I am the ocean's darkness now. I am death and water merged. I am—"
"Drowning." The word cuts through the water. Through her monologue. "You're drowning. You've been drowning for years. And you're so deep in the darkness, you forgot what the ocean really is."
She lunges.
Death magic lashes out like whips. Black tendrils that seek to bind. To corrupt. To drag me down into the same darkness she inhabits.
No fighting with rage this time. No walls of water or crushing pressure. Instead, reaching for the other part of my magic. The part Gran spent years teaching me. The part I've ignored because destruction is easier than healing.
Life magic.
Clean water rushes in from the deep Atlantic currents, from places Catalina's corruption hasn't reached. Light follows—bioluminescent. The glow of deep-sea creatures responding to my call. Tiny points of light in the darkness that multiply and spread, turning the black water blue-green.
The binding circles crack under the assault.
Catalina screams. The sound is silent underwater, but the vibration rattles my bones. My teeth. Something ancient and angry realizing it's losing.
The fight truly begins.
She sends tendrils of corruption spiraling toward me. They move through the water like living things—seeking, grasping, hungry. Each one carries the weight of death. The cold of the grave. The despair of drowning.
Clean water forms barriers. Shields that deflect and redirect. But the tendrils are relentless. They probe for weaknesses. Find gaps. Slip through defenses.
One wraps around my ankle. Ice spreads from the contact. Numbness. Death trying to take root.
Life magic burns it away. Painful. Costly. Each purge drains reserves already running low.
My lungs burn. Life magic sustains me down here, keeps oxygen flowing despite the impossible depth. But it's a strain. A constant drain. The pressure makes every second cost more than it should.
But giving up isn't an option. Rafe is dying. Elspeth is trapped. Old Tom is still captive somewhere. Too many people are counting on me.
Pushing deeper into Catalina's defenses. Looking for the source. The center of her power. The knot where she bound herself to death magic all those years ago.
There.
A mass of corrupted binding magic wrapped around what's left of her heart.
Pulsing with stolen life. Festering with rage and grief twisted into something monstrous.
The place where she sacrificed her humanity for power.
Where she chose revenge over peace. Where she stopped being Catalina and became something else.
I reach for it. Not with destruction. With healing.
Pure ocean magic flows from my hands. The kind that remembers what water is supposed to be. Clean. Life-giving. The medium through which all living things are born. Pouring it into the corrupted knot at Catalina's center.
She fights. Claws at me. Sends waves of death magic crashing against my defenses. But I don't stop. The memory of the woman she was before she drowned surfaces. Before revenge consumed her. Before she lost everything to pride and heartbreak.
Compassion for that woman. Pity for what she became. Understanding of how grief and rage can twist someone into a monster.
That compassion is stronger than her hate.
The corrupted knot shatters.
Binding magic explodes outward in a wave of blue light. The circles carved into the ocean floor crack and splinter. The death magic holding Catalina together unravels like thread pulled from cloth.