Page 51 of Too Hexed to Handle

I scramble to my feet and break into a run, whizzing down path after path, the echo of the wraith’s cries spurring me forward like a tailwind. I keep expecting shadows to burst from the hedge, to reshape in front of me, but every turn leads to more empty pathways, as though the maze is finally sympathetic to my plight and is opening the way through.

I’m panting by the time I arrive back in the clearing. Imminent death must have finally cleared everyone’s powder-induced haze, because those who remain standing are now cowering in a huddle, watching as five wraiths swarm towards something on the far side, shadows stretching and elongating, blocking my view of whatever it is they’re approaching.

I scan the faces of the crowd, along with the bodies on the grass, to confirm Astin’s not among them. Which means . . .

One of the wraiths shrieks again, and I was wrong before. The sound’s not pain. It’s frustration. Astin appears a moment later, finding a way to slip through the mass of shadows and feinting to the left, then right, narrowly missing claw after claw like it’s a practised move at this point, but he’s only human, he can’t keep this up forever, he needs to stop antagonising them and run.

‘Astin!’ I call out. ‘Come this way!’

He looks around, panicked, and I immediately realise my mistake because a wraith uses the distraction to send him flying through the air. He lands some distance away, skidding through mud before coming to a stop by one of the hedges.

‘Astin!’

The wraiths charge forward, arms extended, ready to rip and tear and kill while I stand here powerless. Astin rolls out of the way and scrabbles to his feet, swerving another swipe of claws, but there’s five of them and one of him, and he’s either tired or injured, because he’s slow. Too slow.

They’re going to kill him.

I suck in a shuddering breath, and I’m hit with a blast of citrus and steeped tea. My chest heaves. Until now, my terror had stopped me noticing anyone else’s, but now it’s all I can sense. All I can taste. Pungent and acidic, like a blade slicing through a lemon. The girl nearest to me reeks.

Astin’s back hits the edge of the maze. The wraiths close in. He’s got nowhere to go. No way to save himself.

But I do.

My body shakes. I’m not powerless. I’m not insignificant. I’ve been so afraid of my magic, of the chance I might hurt someone again, I never considered the possibility that not using it could cause as much devastation.

I just about survived losing Michael. I wouldn’t survive losing Astin.

Astin ducks an outstretched claw, barely, but there’s another already reaching for him. I don’t know how much longer he’ll last.

I take a deep breath. Another. Fear. Worry. Panic. I drink it all in and my fingers flex. My mouth waters.

I grab the person closest to me – the girl, I think – and latch on to her arm. Dig my nails in hard. I gasp. Gag. It’s too much. Her fear tastes so sharp it’s like swallowing knives, nettles, broken glass, all at once, until my veins are bursting with it, and then I’m the one that’s terrified. It’s all I can feel. My heart’s more in overdrive than it’s ever been, my whole body shaking, tears streaming down my cheeks, and it’s too awful, too much, nobody should have this much fear inside them, and the more I take, the worse it grows. I want to curl into a ball and hide.

And yet.

And yet.

I also want more. I can’t help it. The emotion might be awful, but it’s an emotion, and I want it. My knees buckle, and yet the more I take, the stronger I feel. I press my nails deeper. It’s not enough. More of her terror slams into me, a river breaking free of its dam, and it’s such a feast. I choke. Someone is screaming, but I can barely hear, can’t understand where it’s coming from. All I know is I’ve been half starved, and now there’s a banquet in front of me. If I channel all her fear, what else might there be for me to sample?

Shadows darken my vision. I blink, suddenly dizzy. The wraiths have abandoned Astin in favour of stopping me, and they glide in my direction, all rippling smoke and shadow, but they don’t attack.

They’re afraid.

I force myself to pull my nails free of the girl’s arm – the screaming continues; who is screaming? – and face them. I’m stuffed full, brimming with magic, but I don’t have a clue how to will it into something that’ll stop the wraiths. I wave my arm in the air, hoping for something to happen, and the intent must be enough, because a great ball of fire blazes from my hand. The flames are black, sizzling and spitting smoke that burns hotter and hotter. The wraiths rear up, and I throw it in their direction.

It explodes on impact, sending me soaring backwards, my teeth rattling as I crash to the ground. I recover as fast as I can, leaping to my feet and focusing on the fire, urging it to keep blazing. Flames dance and swirl around the remaining wraiths. Shadows spurt in the air, followed by cries of agony, but it’s hard to tell what’s wraith and what’s my fire, because all the magic is dark, dark and awful –

Something golden clips across my vision, a small spark that catches alight when it hits the teeming mass of black, and the wraiths scream louder, burning from the inside. Yes. Joy erupts in my chest, because this is working.

I’m using magic for the first time in my life, and it’s for good. Destructive, yes, but I’m destroying something that deserves it. Maybe once the wraiths are gone, the Souleater who did this will come out of hiding to face me.

Let them come.

In fact, I hope it is the Souleater who attacked Shiverholde, here to stop Damian’s plans. I’ll take delight in stopping them instead. I’m the one who’s all-powerful now, crackling and fizzing like I’m filled with lightning.

The wraiths let out one final scream, before erupting into ash that’s stolen by the wind. I allow the flames to die.

Stillness descends, and I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sigh.