CH. 55 The Gargoyle Want to Eat Me
The moon hangs fat and smug over Gazaar — as if it knows there’s going to be another ball tonight and is personally judging everyone’s wardrobe.
I, meanwhile, am running through the forest path toward the Supreme’s domain because my curse is malfunctioning.
Again.
Which is rude.
And illegal.
And deeply inconvenient when one is supposed to attend a grand royal ball.
---
The moment I step inside the shimmering barrier of the coven’s land, a dozen witches whirl around me like excited storm sprites.
“Shhh! Don’t crowd her!”
“She’s blinking weird — is that normal?”
“DID YOU SEE HER IN THE TRIAL OF SPIRIT? SHE ATE FIRE.”
“I want her autograph. On my cauldron.”
I blink. “Um. Hi?”
They descend on me like loving vultures.
Vivi, Gigi, Lili, Mimi and Bibi would fit right in here.
A younger witch grabs my hands. “We LOVE watching you.”
“You’re an icon,” another says reverently.
“She said ‘icon,’” I whisper back.
“I heard,” says another. “We rehearse saying it.”
Then the Supreme parts the crowd like an annoyed grandmother parting the soup.
She looks me up and down. “You are still beautiful.”
I groan. “I know. I hate it.”
“It means the curse is weakening,” she says. “We will talk. Come.”
The others follow us deeper into the coven’s sanctuary, gossiping loudly behind me:
“She’s an absolute beautiful chaos.”
“Radiant menace.”
“The prettiest disaster I’ve ever seen.”
“Her hair is a spell and a warning.”
Honestly? I love them.
---
We reach the Supreme’s hut, thick with charms and simmering magic.
I sit.
I breathe.
I mentally prepare for emotional damage.
And then —
The wards scream.
Every single witch freezes.
The barrier cracks, shuddering like glass under a hammer.
A voice slithers through the trees:
“Such pretty protection… shame if it didn’t work on me.”
The gargoyle lands first — massive, stone-skinned, wings scraping the ground.
Its eyes glow with feral hunger.
Then she steps out behind it.
A woman draped in tattered midnight robes.
Hair white as bone.
Eyes like dead embers.
A witch.
One that feels like a curse walking on two legs.
My blood turns cold.
The Supreme steps forward, staff raised.
“Who goes there?”
The stranger smiles — too sharp, too thin.
“I’ve come to fix a curse.”
Her gaze lands on me.
“Her curse.”
My veins jolt.
She crooks a finger at me. “It’s malfunctioning. I don’t like when my work malfunctions.”
My breath stops.
She.
She is the one who cursed me.
The first time in my life —
I am terrified.
---
“YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!” the Supreme thunders.
“Oh, I know,” the witch purrs.
“I’ve never been welcome anywhere.”
She lifts a single hand.
The gargoyle roars.
And then—
everything explodes.
---
Fire. Stone. Blood.
Witches scatter.
Charms shatter.
Cauldrons topple.
The Supreme blasts a shield of violet flame.
The witch deflects it lazily.
“I only need the girl,” she says.
I take one step back.
Two.
Three.
The gargoyle lunges.
Claws slash across my arm.
Pain slices white-hot.
Blood spatters the ground — sizzling like my fire-born magic.
The gargoyle sniffs it.
Its eyes widen.
Then it goes feral.
“Mistress,” it growls, voice rumbling, “she burns.”
“Yes,” the witch hisses. “Her blood is wrong. Fix it. Break her. Bring her to me.”
“Nope!” I squeak. “Absolutely not. Unsubscribe.”
The Supreme shouts, “DREW, RUN!”
I don’t hesitate.
I run.
Branches whip my face.
My blood drips fire behind me.
Something crashes through the trees like thunder.
The witch’s laughter follows me like smoke.
“Run, little curse,” she croons.
“You won’t outrun me forever.”
---
And so Drew runs
Toward the palace.
Toward the ball.
Toward Sorien.
Toward the last trial.
Toward fate.
Bleeding.
Terrified.