Page 167 of Echoes of the Banshee

He raises an eyebrow but gestures toward B. I bend down to help him up, noticing the confusion in his eyes. He missed the whole conversation.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly.

“We’re getting out of here,” I whisper as I wrap his arm over my shoulder. Together we shuffle down the hallway. I hadn’t thought this through, my arm is protesting every step. We’re lead to a messy office, Grunt sits behind a desk, his sharp yellow eyes watching us, casually playing with a knife.

“He doesn’t look well,” Grunt observes. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I told you, witch cuffs kill goblins. You need to take it off him.”

“You look like shit,” he comments. And I can feel the other goblins inhale sharply. “Not going to be winning any more goblin favors looking like that.”

“Do you know what I did to get those favors?” I ask him and continue without waiting. “I defended B when another witch said that all your women chose to die rather than be with one of you.” The room shakes as all the goblins attempt to reign in their fury, causing a small earthquake. “Tell me who wanted me brought here and let B out or take me to whoever is actually in charge, Grunt.”

Grunt’s lips twitch, his eyes darting between the two of us, clearly thrown off by the directness.

“My name is Varik,” he grits out. “You think you can give me a command?”

I lean forward. Big mistake. Pain lances through my side, and I swallow a wince I know he catches. Still, I mirror his posture with a smirk of my own.

“You wouldn’t have told me your name if I’d asked, and now look at that. A goblin named Varik. Shouldn’t be too hard to track down when we leave.” I offer him an award-winning smile that’s probably terrifying.

Grunt’s eyes narrow.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, doll.”

“No,” I retort. “I’m getting straight to the point. You need to let B go. He’s dying.”

Grunt loses control, standing abruptly and stabbing the knife into the desk.

“I’m the one in charge. You don’t get to make demands!” he snarls. “If you don’t stop testing me, I’ll—”

“I’ve had everything taken from me, Grunt. But I’m not letting you kill him.” I don’t give him the chance to respond. He left an opening, and I take it.

My hand darts out, grabbing the goblin knife. He jerks away instinctively, but he misreads my intentions and now it’s too late. In one swift motion, I slice through the cuff binding me. The enchantment snaps like a taut wire, and a rush of magic floods back into me like a storm breaking free from its chains.

I hand the goblin knife to B so he can free himself as I let the overwhelming energy, ferocious and uncontrolled, surge up through my veins. It pours into me, crashing through every fiber of my being.

I shove aside every scrap of restraint I’ve ever clung to. I don’t fight it. I don’t try to be careful, or small, or safe. I let go.

And in that terrible letting go, I don’t feel freedom. I feel abandon.

The wind screams around me, tearing through the room as flames lick the edges of my vision. The walls shake. The floor cracks. Heat and power ripple outward, bigger than me, beyond me.

I don’t know if I can stop.

I don’t know if I want to.

“Who wants me?” I roar in a voice that isn’t just my own, the force splitting the very air. My body glows with wild, terrible light, fire devouring the oxygen around me. Grunt stumbles back, terror slashing across his face.

“It was some witch! She paid me to take you! Wanted me to scare you off goblins!” he chokes out, shaking.

“You ready to be scared of witches?” I snarl, the flames surging higher with my wrath.

I don’t give him a chance to run. I move without thinking, magic sizzling at my fingertips.

My hand closes around the tether of his soul.

I tug.