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She’s dead.
Coming into the challenge, I knew it would be difficult. I knew it would be dangerous and was warned it could be deadly, but I wasn’t prepared for anyone to lose their life here tonight.
Even staring straight into the unseeing eyes of my fellow witch, I don’t want to believe it.
Fiery pain erupts from my ankle, and the sound of my own shrill scream fills my ears as every other sense is overwhelmed by the searing agony radiating up my left leg. The world tilts on its axis, but I push myself up enough to peer over Delaney.
I want to throw up.
The skin from my shin down to my foot is burned away. The edges of the wound fester and sizzle, and I realize the spell is eating away at my flesh. It chews past the muscle until I see bone.
With the battle still raging on around me, I don’t have time to do anything other than counter the spell with one of my own.
“Medeor.” My voice shakes as I cast, but the gentle glow that wraps around my leg brings immediate relief, turning the pain down a few notches. It still feels like I dipped my foot into a boiling pot of oil, but it’s manageable for now.
I hope that means I can walk, because Summer is after me again.
Seriously? There are a dozen other witches to go after. Why is she fixated on me?
No time to ponder that. Summer launches a spell towards me, a yellow-green blast that makes me flinch—as much as I can with the dead weight pinning me in place. Thankfully, it misses its mark and catches Delaney in the shoulder instead.
The spell eats through the silk sleeve of her dress in less than a second, but I don’t wait around to watch it devour her skin like it did mine.
My battered feet scrape against the dirt, frantically pushing to get me out from under Delaney’s dead weight before I become Summer’s next victim.
Every part of me protests, but when Delaney’s body finally rolls off me, I scramble backward only to run into the thorny blackberry shrub again. This time, I bear the pain and use the bush to my advantage.
I call on my connection to Mother Gaia and feel her power wrap around me like a protective shroud. With the goddess on my side, I push my magic into the plant at my back and send its branches flying at Summer.
She screams when the first few vines catch her by surprise as they snake up her body. I command them to tighten, and rivulets of blood begin to flow down her arms and legs.
It won’t keep her distracted for long—her acidic touch is already making quick work of dissolving the vines into an oozing puddle of green-brown gunk around her.
I use the momentary distraction to sink into the background, letting the bramble swallow me up and hide me behind a thick wall of thorns and berries.
“Good game plan, Jo!” Rune is cheering for me like a crazed fan at a World Cup match.
He’s right though—I’m using green magic on a level that would make Elara proud if she were here to witness it. She’ll have to settle for listening to me tell the story over tea and beignets tomorrow morning. If I’m still walking and talking come sunrise, that is.
The network of shrubs encircling me keeps Summer out even as she hurls a spell at its entwined branches. I grimace as I funnel all my magic and focus into reinforcing my hiding place until Summer gives up with a growl of frustration.
Ha! I’m not such an easy target now, am I?
“Come out here and face me, Dumont,” Summer calls. She backs away from the circle of shrubs, giving them a wide berth as she searches for another way to get at me. “Real leaders face the challenge head on. They don’t run and hide.”
I don’t miss the not-so-subtle jab at my grandmother. She’s only trying to get a reaction out of me and throw me off my game. It won’t work. I close my eyes and trust my magic to keep me safe while I take a moment to slow my heart rate and reorient myself.
“Is this what the powerful Dumont line of witches has become?”
“Piss off, why don’t you?” I glare through the mess of thorns and bunches of half-ripe berries.
It isn’t Summer that catches my attention next…it’s one of the other witches in the ring.
Yzma is encased in a dense force field bobbing in the shallow fountain. The other witches dodge for cover as Yzma’s shield ping-pongs dozens of attacks back at them in wild ricochets of magic.
My heart bangs against bruised ribs, watching the relentless barrage of spells coming from all directions. I’ve been playing the defensive too, and I’m barely holding on.
Quickly scanning the courtyard, I count less than a dozen witches still up and fighting. I’ve made it to the half-way point. I consider holing up here until a few more of my opponents are knocked out, but decide against it for two reasons.
