Chapter 26 #2
I’m here for Lily and Violet… and any other victims they have inside. My commitment to my sisters outweighs all thoughts of revenge.
Orion’s white tiger hits the door at full speed, nearly four hundred pounds of supernatural muscle and fury.
The door shatters.
The frame gives way.
We pour inside.
The interior is bare bones at best, concrete walls and floors with buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. I’m bombarded by the scents of sweat and stale air as we find a rectangular room with six closed doors on each of the long walls.
Magical energy presses against my skin, and I bristle. It feels wrong… like I ran into a cobweb of ick and now sludgy mucus is sliding over my nerves and pressing down hard enough to make my magic curl inward.
My power doesn’t vanish—it flinches.
“Ugh… what is that?”
“A dampening spell.” Wylder raises his hand and begins weaving a counter spell. “I’ll try to shut it down.”
“Yeah, please do. It feels disgust—”
Before I finish, the doors on both sides of the room swing open and we’re under attack.
Not by demons.
Not even by Laurel and her despicable witch leeches.
It’s a dozen kids and teenagers with matted hair and rags for clothes. They hemorrhage out of the side rooms, their vacant gazes lock on us with violent intent.
A sickening realization hits. “Don’t hurt them. They’re enthralled!”
I’m frantically trying to find my sisters in the seething crowd, but it’s impossible. With the chaos of the attack, the disheveled state they’re in, and not having seen Lily and Violet in five years, I can’t be sure who’s who.
I raise a quick shield to avoid getting a thrown chair to the head.
Wylder's vines snake across the floor, wrapping around ankles, pulling the controlled witches off their feet without harming them. Orion bowls through three more, his massive paws batting them aside like cat toys.
Asher stays close and drops his bow. The two of us are behind my shield as a wave of crazed teenagers throw themselves at us.
He grabs a boy with red hair and his guardian glow surges. The boy falls limp in his grip, and I lurch forward to help ease him to the ground.
“Did I kill him?” Asher asks, horror in his wide eyes.
I check the kid over and dismiss his fear. “No. He’s good. Just out cold.”
Another girl, blonde and about twelve, jumps us from behind. Again, the moment Asher’s energy touches them, they seem to be freed from the compulsion and fall peacefully to the ground.
“What’s happening? I swear I’m not doing anything to them. Or, not intending to, anyway.”
The more I think about it, the more I’m sure. “Your power is straight from the Goddess Mother. These witches get their gifts from her. I think when you touch them, you’re rebooting their system and they’re falling back to factory settings.”
He seems to consider that for a moment and then nods. “I can get behind that. Should I continue doing that?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Now that he’s got a task in mind, golden light bursts from his hands as he moves through the mayhem of the room.
One-by-one, he grips the arms or shoulders of the irate witches, and the magic enthralling them is canceled out.
And one-by-one, they fall limp from his touch, and he lays them on the ground.
Wylder, Rowan, and Orion soon clue in to what we’re doing, and before long, they’ve corralled the last of our spelled attackers, and Asher has knocked them out.
“My sisters aren’t here.” The words escape as a piece of my heart tears in two.
Wylder rushes forward. “Are you sure?”
Am I? Even with five years lost, I’d recognize my sisters, wouldn’t I?
Rowan helps Asher settle the last of the young witches and straightens. “Use your blood bond to track them. If they’re here, you might be able to sense them.”
Well, if it works when I’m tracking Tharuzel, it makes sense that it might work with my sisters.
Closing my eyes, I stretch my neck from side to side, but it does nothing to relieve the tension. With a deep breath, I try to relax enough to sense the Hallowind bloodline.
I know the way the soul energy of my ancestors feels… how the energy of our family intention honors our connection with the Goddess Mother…
If I can sift through all the magical chaos outside and find that…
At first, there’s nothing.
Then something shifts.
It’s not a direction exactly. It’s more like a tug.
Soft and familiar.
The bond with Tharuzel always feels sharp and wrong, like barbed wire brushing my ribs from the inside. This is nothing like that.
This feels warm.
Two sparks flicker at the edge of my awareness—separate, but unmistakably connected to me. I feel the energy of their souls through the distance and somehow know it’s them. Like recognizes like.
Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle.
“They’re here. Both of them.” And now that I know what I’m feeling, the connection steadies.
“You go,” Rowan says. “I’ll stay with these guys in case they wake up.”
I squeeze her wrist. “Okay, but be careful. And shout if you need us back here.”
“Will do. Now, go find your sisters.”
I race deeper into the building when a thundering crack shudders the building around us. Explosions of magical energy rattle the walls, and dust rains from the ceiling.
“Garrison and the Order are still in full assault outside,” Wylder says, peering out the window to the courtyard beyond.
They can destroy the world around us, for all I care. All I want is to find my sisters and to take them home.
Where are you? Lily, Violet, where—
There.
“In the basement. I can feel them below us. Someone find the stairwell.”
We spread out, and everyone is opening doors, searching.
“Got it!” Wylder shouts a short time later.
I hit the stairwell at a dead run. The others follow. Outside, the sounds of battle intensify—shouts, crashes, the sharp crack of both magic spells and physical battle.
We burst into the basement, and I stop cold.
Rows of metal tables. Forty, maybe more. Each one holds a body—teenagers, young adults, pale and motionless. Tubes snake from their arms, glowing with siphoned magic that feeds into a central collection tank.
The tank pulses with stolen power, a grotesque heart pumping energy to gods-know-where.
"What the actual fuck?" Asher's voice breaks. “What is wrong with people?”
Wylder moves between the tables, checking pulses. "They’re alive… barely.”
I miss the rest of what he says because I'm running, scanning faces. There. Second to last row.
“Violet.”
Her dark hair fans across the metal surface, longer than it was. She's thin—too thin—her cheekbones sharp. But her chest rises and falls. She’s alive… and beside her—
"Lily." Her name tears out of me. My baby sister. Sixteen now. She’s unconscious and drained, but she’s here.
I move to start unhooking them, but Wylder grabs my shoulder. “Poppy, we can’t disconnect them. We don’t know what’s being done or how it works. If we just rip the tubes out, the magical backlash could hurt them."
An explosion rocks the building.
The ceiling cracks. Lights flicker. And through the walls, I feel it—a surge of power so massive it makes the earlier explosions feel like nothing.
The air splits. The building shakes. A portal tears open in the center of the basement, edges blazing silver-white. Power pours through, wild and furious.
As figures step through, the four of us ready for another attack… but nothing comes.
A woman leads the new group. Dark-haired and fierce, her eyes blaze with grief and rage. Behind her, a dozen more witches enter, all wearing the same expression. All carrying the same magical signature.
The Draven family.
"Sienna?" I breathe.
Davina’s mother sweeps the room with her gaze, taking in the captive witches, the siphoning equipment, the horror. When she speaks, her voice shakes with barely contained fury. "Where. Is. Laurel?"
Behind her, Amber steps through the portal. Our eyes meet. For once, there's no sneer, no hatred. Just cold, deadly purpose.
"On the roof last we saw. Fighting Garrison and—"
Sienna Draven raises her hands, and the power that erupts from her is staggering. The entire Draven clan channels through her, their combined magic forming a spear of pure elemental fury.
The column of energy punches straight up, through three floors of concrete, and the Draven witches rise in a tidal wave of vengeance.
The sounds from above intensify.
This is not just a battle anymore—it’s war.
Another thundering crack hits, and the building shifts and creaks around us. “The Dravens are going to tear the building apart. We need to get them out of here."
“How?” Asher looks to Wylder. “Any ideas?”
Footsteps slam down the concrete stairwell before Wylder can answer.
I raise my hands and turn, but there’s no danger.
Garrison is leading a group of the Order, and he takes in the gruesome scene in the basement. No hesitation. No speeches. He assesses the situation and starts pointing, barking commands.
“Portal them back to the infirmary, table and all. We’ll assess them once they’re safe. Go!”
His people obey his orders like a tactical strike team, and I’ve never been so relieved to not be the one in charge in all my life.
Magic snaps in the air. One by one, Order enforcers grab the metal tables and they’re gone.
Garrison directs the evacuation like a military general, and I couldn’t be more impressed. “The witches upstairs are safe, and your shadow friend has been extracted—”
“What about Laurel? Did you get her?”
“No, but we will. For now, let’s focus on the rescue.”
Another crack of power slams through the building overhead. Dust rains from the ceiling. Something heavy collapses somewhere above us with a grinding roar.
“It’s time for you and your friends to go.” Garrison waves over a man in black tactical gear. “Rexton, these two next.”
When he gestures to my sisters, I exhale a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
He dips his chin. “Thank me when everyone is safe and recovered.”
Another thunderous crack splits the air above us, and Wylder, Orion, and Asher close in around me.
Rexton vanishes with the two tables my sisters are bound to and Garrison takes my hand. “Everyone take hold. It’s time for you to go.”