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She gurgles, spitting up fountain water, and I stumble back, horrified with myself as the witch I almost killed gulps in a desperate lungful of air. “I yield,” she chokes, voice scratchy. “I yield!”
Delaney releases her hold completely and we both watch as our opponent slumps to the ground, defeated. Delaney raises her dead, unseeing eyes and stares at me like she’s waiting for me to tell her what to do next.
“I’m sorry for what I made you do,” I say to her quietly, “and for bringing you back in the first place.” I swear there’s a spark of recognition in her empty gaze for a moment.
Moving close, I let go of my control and ease her to the ground as she goes limp. I send her off with a silent prayer of thanks and hope that her soul is at peace. Rest well, sister.
As I leave the witch’s body on the ground, a sharp whistle rings out across the courtyard, signaling the end of the battle and bringing everything to an abrupt standstill. When I look around me, sure enough only four other witches are left standing—Summer, Beatris, and two others I don’t know.
Reality hits me then.
I did it. I made it through the first trial.
I turn my attention to the flapping of wings above me and correct myself as Phi descends.
“We did it!” I’m exhausted, probably have a concussion, and may very well lose my foot, but I ride the moment of triumph before it all comes crashing down around me.
The bubble barrier pops, and the crowd of witches stream into the courtyard, onto the battlefield to envelop those of us who competed—eager to congratulate the final five and to tend to the wounded.
Well, Phi says as we’re surrounded, after tonight, everyone will certainly know the Dumont family has made their return to the Big Easy.
No kidding.
It’s not surprising that none of my sisters rush to my side. Especially after witnessing me using Delaney’s body like a puppet. Still, it’s a stabbing reminder that I don’t belong here.
“Zana!” Finn shouts frantically. “We need a healer, now.”
Am I really that bad off?
When I look for my Celt, I find the crowd parting, and my vampires come into view. Fintan’s spike of fear diminishes when I give him a weak thumbs up.
“Well done, cher.” Rune bowls past him to scoop me off the ground and into his arms with a celebratory whoop.
Sebastian doesn’t come any closer than the edge of spectators, but he does give me an approving nod, which from him, is as enthusiastic as Rune pumping one fist in the air.
He spins me around in his arms, his hand firmly on the curve of my ass, holding me against him.
I celebrate the moment along with my Viking, ignoring the way my body protests, pain flaring with every movement. I could really use Zana’s healing magic. I don’t care—I’m proud of myself and I want to celebrate my win.
When he finally sets me down, I hop out of Rune’s arms, intent on including Phi in the moment as well. My new familiar is already gone. Scanning the night sky, I spot the dark outline of wings cutting through the stars above before she disappears over the roof of the mansion.
Blessed be, little demon.
“Well done, sisters.” Francine raises a hand to quiet the crowd. “We have our five. The second trial will be to create a new potion and present it to the coven in two days’ time. The potion will be judged on strength, purpose, and originality. Happy conjuring, ladies.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN
Even my slumber is not safe from Celine’s reach. One moment, I’m drifting off to the unconscious bliss of being enclosed in the dark comfort of my coffin and the next I’m opening my eyes in a hazy dreamscape.
As a vampire, I don’t dream. But this isn’t a dream—and if it were, it would be a nightmare.
No, this is me being forced to live through my memories. And Celine always shows me the worst ones. To be fair, there is no shortage of horrible experiences in my long existence to choose from.
I look around the bedchamber and take in the haunting allure of the grand canopy bed draped in rich crimson silk. Ah, yes. This is a particularly cutting memory. It’s the night of Manon’s death.
The worst of the worst.
