DAMARA
My muscles are knotted with inflexible, relentless panic.
I’m stuck in this prison bed without my ancestors’ Crafts and I’m increasingly convinced that Clare will figure out a way to read the deleted conversation I had with Vitt. I never knew of such a spell, but it must exist by now, and if any witch would know of it, it would be her.
When the door opens hours later, I think it’s her, that she figured out the only way to kill me. But then I hear a different voice. “Babe?”
Hope pulses against each of my quick heartbeats.
“Up here,” I say, as loud as I dare. “Did they see you?”
“I parked in another street, like you said.” I can hear Vitt’s footsteps approaching. “I waited so it was dark enough and they wouldn’t see me get in. And I brought my ukul…” His voice peters out as he climbs the last step and sees the thick roots caging my legs. His face goes pale.
“Give me the ax,” I say, extending my hand.
He walks hesitantly toward me and drops a backpack at his feet, gaze never leaving the roots. “What’s going on?”
“The ax.” I snap my fingers, out of patience. It’s only a matter of time before Clare finds out he’s here. “The thorned water. Now.”
“Uh…” Vitt blinks at me, but then he gets a water bottle from the bag and a short ax. “What’s it for?”
“What do you think it’s for, Vittorio?”
I shake the thorns in the water, bite the interior of my cheek and spit my blood and saliva in the bottle, then pour the mixture all over the roots. They hiss as though I threw oil on a hot burner, and they tighten up around my legs, transforming my numbness into a fresh ripple of pain.
I bring the ax over my head and give it all I have, aiming between my ankles and not over-thinking it.
“Babe!” Vitt exclaims, jumping away.
The roots splinter and groan. I axe another big chunk on the left side and use my hands to rip the remains off me. Finally, I manage to break free and crawl out of the bed, legs shaking but blissfully intact. Vitt won’t look away from the roots, which are now emitting a soft whimper.
“Do you have the necklace?” I ask him.
“In the bag,” he says in a little voice. “What was that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I kneel on my weakened legs to reach the bag, then frantically search all the pockets until I finally find the right one.
The moment my fingers touch the Blood stone, I feel better. A current of energy courses through me and I exhale, putting the chain around my neck and tucking the medallion under my shirt.
Vitt finally tears his gaze away from the roots to look at me, but he doesn’t say anything, his mouth gaping.
“Thank you,” I say. “Are you sure nobody saw you?”
“I…”
Before he can go on, a loud thunder resounds above our heads, blue light flashing through the cracks of the walls. Rain starts pattering on the roof heavily, so loud it sounds like pebbles on tin.
“We need to go,” I say, sliding Harlowe’s leather jacket over my shoulder and searching for the flip flops I left under the bed. “How far is your car from here?”
“Not that far,” he mumbles. “Um, is everything okay?”
“As soon as I’m out of here, you can go home and forget all of this happened, I swear.” I don’t mention the fact that my grandmother had the ability to erase people’s memories, so now that I have the necklace and the Crafts of four generations, I can actually make him forget. I quickly slip my feet into the sandals and run down the stairs just as another thunder growls outside.
I wish I had the ingredients to make a fogging spell, but we’ll just have to hope the rain and the darkness will be enough to cover us. “Get ready to run,” I call to Vitt, who’s already struggling to follow, things falling out of his bag on the way down the stairs, and the ukulele swinging on one shoulder.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
But I don’t even get to come up with a lie. The moment I touch the doorknob, I’m sent flying to the other side of the garage. I’m so surprised I don’t even scream. I just land like a rag on a toolshed, feeling every sharp end poking into my already aching body. Tools tumble down to the floor in a chaotic din.
“Harlowe! Are you okay? What was that?”
The impact is so painful that I can’t see anything except for black dots floating in front of my eyes. When my vision settles, Vitt is right in front of me, helping me to my feet. His gaze falls to my belly and his face drains entirely of color. He turns around and pukes right over the scattered tools on the floor.
I look down and wince. A screwdriver stabbed me through the ribs and blood is welling at my waist. “Oh,” I say, the pain too erratic and intense to manage anything else.
I brace myself and pull the screwdriver out, throwing it with the rest of the tools. “We’ve got a problem,” I say, glancing at the door.
Vitt gags and holds his stomach, eyes riveted to the ground, where the bloody screwdriver lies. “Just don’t move. I’ll call 911. It’s going to be okay.”
“Not that.” I start searching the garage, the pain at my ribs already dissipating, replaced by an uncomfortable itch. “We can’t get out. There’s a Watcher in here.”
“What?”
“The only way out is with the Wickens’ permission. Or a very efficient explosion.”
It’s usually not recommended to take that route because the risks of asphyxia are pretty high, but when your Craft is self-healing, it’s different. I’ll just have to make sure Vitt makes it out safe and unharmed.
“Harlowe, I’m going to pass out,” he announces. And just like that, he does.
He falls on his side, missing the puke from just a foot. “But babe,” I whisper. “You’re going to miss the fireworks.”
I gasp and freeze because that sardonic tone was definitely not mine. I don’t know where that came from, but I can’t ponder on it for too long. I continue my search.
I find an old mower and crack open its hood to check the can of gas. Full.
Excellent.
I bring the mower to the door, rip the bloody hem of my shirt, and throw it on the can of petrol. Then I hurry to Vitt’s side to protect his body with mine. I direct a hand toward the mower, giving a silent thank you to my great-great-grandfather who had a knack with explosives. I don’t have the concentration necessary to conjure the Craft without a little help though, so I rack my brain for the incantation.
“Et soluti,” I try, and the whole thing goes up in flames, sparks, and smoke.
Vitt regains consciousness with one long scream that’s almost entirely smothered by the explosion. The door shatters, and so does a big chunk of the wall and the roof. Splinters of scalding wood bombard my arm and back.
Vitt is still screaming under me when the explosion calms down. What remains of the mower keeps burning, little flames gently tamed by the torrential rain. Lightning tears the sky, a vibrant blue that glows on Vitt’s pale face.
Then the opposite side of the garage explodes, the sound even louder than the thunder, so much that I feel it reverberating in my bones. But it’s not my magic.
It’s Clare’s.
Vitt goes quiet, watching her with wide, confused eyes.
The witch stands through the debris, fiery dust mixing with the harsh rain. Her black dress floats in the breeze, sleeves billowing as she raises both arms up to keep what’s left of the garage from collapsing on our heads and killing Vitt, because we both know by now this wouldn’t be lethal for me.
“I know you like to know things,” I shout over the storm so she can hear me. “So I wanted you to know I’m leaving.”
She smiles through the rain, her dark hair soaked. “You’re cornered, Damara. There’s no way out.”
She jerks her chin to the left and I follow her gaze to see Jaden a few meters away with his eyes closed, muttering something as he touches the grass with both hands. I look over my shoulder, where the door used to be, and see Peverell doing the exact same thing over there. They’re locking the perimeter in a triangle. I can feel their united power humming through the rain: it’s strong.
A wall of light shimmers up, and soon the pyramid will close above me at the tip, a whole new prison.
“There’s always a way out, Clare,” I call out to her as I grab Vitt’s hand, which is cold and sweaty against my blood-stained skin.
It happens fast. Everybody talks at the same time.
Clare shouts, “No!”
Peverell says, “Please.”
Jaden begs, “Wait!”
Vitt asks, “Babe?”
But I ignore all of them. I pull Vitt against me and call for my favorite ancestor’s Craft.
Flying.
We soar up through the opening of the pyramid, then through the roof and into the core of the storm.
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