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Nerves fizz under my skin as we rush across the courtyard to the door. Roan is the first to charge up the steps, ready to break it down if necessary. But the handle turns easily, and we fall through into the quiet chamber behind the door.
It is quiet, eerily so. We all share a look, Seff nudging my hand with his giant wolf head. Panic seizes me. Is it a trap? Are we too late? Did that cat manage to alert her of our presence? Urgent panic, my desperation to find Tor, to get him to safety, clouds all rational thinking, my hand twinging with potential power, my irrational state fraying the last vestiges of my control.
I quickly take in our surroundings while Edith strains to hear anything that may give us a clue. The dark wooden walls are dirty with age and lined with decrepit wicker baskets hanging from the walls.
There is a long wooden bench lining the far wall, cluttered with what looks like rusted and decayed gardening equipment. Next to the door we just entered is a short stool, a thick layer of dust coating the seat, and next to the stool, an old, dust-covered jacket hanging from a peg above a pair of wilted leather boots.
Opposite the entry and the bench are two unremarkable wooden doors, again closed.
In the untouched stillness of the room, a place seemingly frozen in time, we hear a sound behind one door. The same echoing disembodied voice I knew in my bones. Without waiting, or even a lick of common sense, I storm towards the sound.Is Tor there?
My fears scream almost audibly.What is she doing to him?The door slams as I recklessly push my way through it.
And there she is, glowing and golden in all of her hideous incorporeal glory. Her back is to us; somehow, despite our,my, blundering we have managed to maintain the element of surprise. Both her arms are raised high above her head when she swings to face us, both her ever-changing faces twisted into murderous fury.
The shriek she unleashes on us slices at our eardrums and when I physically recoil, I stumble into Roan. Her screech turns into a hissing murmur as she moves away from the table, floating towards our paralysed foursome. The pulsing power of her magic pins us in place, like ropes of pure compulsion locking our bodies until Edith manages to shake it off, firing back with her own spell.
The magic isn’t powerful enough to completely halt the fae, but itisenough to make her pause.
And then it is on.
My friends charge at her, Seff snarling and tackling her with a running leap while Edith distracts her, sword aloft. Roan’s shoulder slams into mine when he pushes past me, intent on getting to the long wooden table on the other side of the room. There is a small body lying there, prone and still. Deathly still.
Theo.
I take in everything like I’m stuck in a dream, completely detached from the moment the fight begins. Explosions of wayward magic ricochet around the room, destroying the jar-filled shelves lining the walls. It feels like an eternity, but it’s seconds, maybe more, watching Edith send a pulse of electrified magic towards the ancient fae.
When the fae parries Edith’s attack with a blow of her own, sending the witch flying across the room, power—not mine—wild and intense, balls in my hands. Channelling my fear for my friends and my desperation to leap into the fray and help, the magic surges, but I stay rooted on the spot. The power is too unstable, too dangerous, stronger than anything I have manifested previously.
There is just as much chance that I could hurt my friends as save them. The impotency of my position screams in opposition to my need to act. Seff’s giant jaws snap and snarl, trying to catch the fae while also dodging the blasts of magic she fires at him. The pungent smell of herbs, freed from their smashed vials, overpowers the room. It is a strange thing to notice, so mundane amongst the chaos, but it is what my brain latches on to.
“He isn’t here. GO!” Edith yells as she runs at the fae again, Monty held high. The blow of the sword glances off the fae, easily shielded by her magic.
My feet finally unstick, and I spin to flee the room, the sounds of Seff’s yelp and a dull thud as he hits the wall chasing me from the doorway. In a daze, I rush to the second door, flinging it open, revealing the unlit stairs to the basement below.
With a final glance at the explosive brawl still occurring in the other room, I blindly make my way down the narrow stairway. The stairs feel precarious under my feet, rickety and uneven. I have to restrain myself from rushing ahead into further unknown danger.
My heartbeat pounds loudly in my ears and I swear loudly when one step, heavily warped with age, threatens to give out completely under my foot. A boom rattles the house. I duck reflexively, protecting my head in case anything has been shaken loose, but I only receive a heavy shower of debris and dust while the stairs quiver. After that, I hasten my steps further, thanking the Gods out loud when my feet stumble on the last step, the stone floor jarring me.
My shaking legs struggle to keep me upright, the pitch dark leaving me completely disorientated. I reach out cautiously, trying to find anything to reorient myself. I spin in a slow circle, but catch only air. Just as the panic rises in my throat, a single torch bursts into flame, burning my retinas as it illuminates the room and three more doors.
I fling my arm over my face to give my eyes time to adjust and run for the closest door, swinging it wide. It slams on the wall with a sharp crack, but reveals only an overturned cot and torn blanket.
“Fuck!” I scream my fury, shoving my hand through my hair to tear at the strands. Rage boils through me as I bolt to the next door. The handle won’t turn this time. I smack the door with the palm of my hand, screaming Tor’s name.
This time, Iknowhe is on the other side. I canfeelit. So I try the door again, but it is no use, it won’t budge. I have no other choice but to knock it down. I ram it with my shoulder once, twice, pain blooming from the impact. But I ignore it, growling in frustration as the door rattles. My palms tingle again with that burning potential—what I now know is magic. The knowledge all falls into place, and I feel… calm.
I take a step back and breathe deep, focusing on that connection to Tor. Finding him. Saving him. Continuing to breathe, I hold onto that tie that binds us, finding its root, and draw upon the energy until it buzzes beneath my skin.
It is the strangest feeling, heady and far too powerful for me to naturally handle, but I channel it the best I can and run at the door one more time. This time I feel the lock giving way, the door smashing open, rebounding off the wall behind it. It would have taken me out, but I am already in the room, because there he is.
Tor.
I am sliding across the stone floor before I recognise my own movements, slamming into him where he sits on his own rickety cot, staring at me in morbid disbelief. His fingers have a death grip on the edge of his bed, and he looks paler than I have ever seen him, the pearlescent sheen completely gone from his skin. His clothes are filthy, still in the same sweater and pants he was wearing the day he had been taken, his hair in limp clumps around his face. I take everything in as I kneel before him, my hands trembling as I grasp his shoulders as gently as I can, even though everything in me is begging to crush him against me and never let him go. His eyes are bloodshot, and more tears pool in their icy blue depths. His mouth quivers, but he sits still as a stone.
“Tor, baby. Gods, look at you. I’m here. You’re safe.” The words tumble from me and I raise my hands to cup his jaw, wiping away the grime and tear stains on his cheeks with my thumb. This breaks the moment between us, and Tor’s eyes squeeze shut, tears falling again, his chest heaving with choking breath.
“Caelan.” His voice is raspy, broken. I lean my chest against his knees, aching to get closer, his fists clenching the cot edge tighter. “You shouldn’t have come.”
