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As she shielded herself, she chanced a glance over her shoulder to see him forty, maybe thirty yards behind her, running furiously and gaining on her. Devil’s horns, he was fast. Another flare of white blazed by her, followed quickly by a purple ball of fire that hit her shield and dissolved.
Fuck. She was certain she hadn’t taught him that hex. It was clear he’d been practicing as another spell deflected off her shield.
Sweat dripped down her neck as she raced onward. Her heart pounded, her fear exacerbated by the heat of smoldering fires, the taste of ash that coated her tongue. She spared another glance back at Killian to find his expression livid—just as it was in all of her dreams. Her chest tightened at the sight, but she couldn’t stop to think about the pain she’d caused him, not as he sent another curse her way.
The street wasn’t very long, and buildings rose directly ahead of her. She slipped down a side street, sliding in the gravel but recovering quickly. Killian skidded after her.
Transport away! she demanded of herself, but she couldn’t do it. She had to talk to Killian and explain her side of things. She had to make things right—or at least better.
But he clearly wasn’t in a talking mood. He sent another hex her way, then sent a flash of green light ahead of her. The light hit the ground and jutted upward, forming a wall nearly eight feet tall that spanned the width of the street. By instinct alone, Elyse flicked her hand and levitated herself over the wall. She landed hard, kicking off the ground as fast as she could. When she looked back, Killian was scaling the top of the wall and hurdling himself over it. Had he managed that climb without magic? She wouldn’t be surprised.
She couldn’t keep running. Killian was faster than her, and he would inevitably catch up to her. She refused to send any hexes back at him—he wasn’t her true enemy.
At the end of the street, a building loomed ahead of her with a bell tower jutting into the sky—a church. Its wooden exterior was scorched, but it appeared mostly intact. It would have to do.
Killian sent more hurdles and hexes at her, but Elyse dodged them easily. She passed a tall statue of three females—the statue—she realized. The one from Sera’s visions. But she didn’t have time to linger or compare it to the picture in the book. Instead, she bound up the stairs of the church, flung the double doors open, and tried to escape Killian’s wrath.
Even inside, the air was heavy, laden with ash. Three massive iron chandeliers hung from high rafters, with dozens of candles that illuminated the rows of benches in a flickering glow. All traces of prayerful solace had been desecrated.
In the center of the aisle, a man lay splayed on the floor, his robes spread around him, drenched in blood. His ashen face was frozen in anguish. For a moment, Elyse forgot about Killian as she sprinted toward the body. She let her shield down and grabbed the man’s blood-covered wrist, but no pulse greeted her fingers.
Peculiar symbols drawn in blood surrounded the priest’s body. Elyse squinted, trying to study them in the dim light, but she heard Killian’s footsteps. She looked up to see him cresting the stairs, and she flicked her hands to slam the doors shut. With another quick twist of her wrist, the benches slid across the floor to barricade the door. It wouldn’t keep Killian out for long, but she needed whatever time she could get to analyze the scene.
Boom came the sound of Killian’s body slamming into the doors. “Elyse!” he screamed, but she blocked him out.
Her heart raced as she looked back toward the symbols. There were six of them, forming a hexagonal shape around the priest’s lifeless form. Familiarity scratched at Elyse’s mind as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She had seen these symbols before but couldn’t pin down where. The feeling nagged at her, pleading to be remembered.
Boom, boom, boom! Each time Killian’s body or magic slammed against the doors, the sound reverberated through the sanctuary, shaking the mighty chandeliers. Elyse rose and strode toward the barricade of benches. She compelled her voice to sound strong yet calm, pleading yet demanding as she called, “Killian?”
The pounding at the door stopped.
“Killian, please listen,” Elyse shouted. “I can explain everything. I don’t know what’s happened here, but—”
The tiniest shiver blew its cold breath up her spine—an eerie warning. She threw up her hands defensively, forming a shield of hard air around herself, just as the doors and the benches burst apart in a vehement explosion.
Chapter 12
- Killian -
Anger and hatred fueled Killian as he tore down the street after Elyse, sending blasts of power her way. The zeal of combat surged through him, entrancing him. He was finally able to put his training to use—and against her of all people. His spells were sharp and strong, his aim mostly true, but no matter what he sent her way, Elyse dodged or shielded it artfully.
Now she had locked herself inside the half-scorched remains of a church, leaving Killian outside, pounding on the doors. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers again. Last time, he had been weak. He had hesitated, shown mercy. But the last two months had wiped out any dregs of sympathy he might have felt for the witch.
Killian threw his shoulder into the doors, but they didn’t budge. Whatever she had done would require magic to break through.
“Killian?” he heard her call from the other side.
He ignored her as he balled his hands into fists. How dare she speak his name. Before the day was through, he would make sure that treacherous mouth of hers would never utter another word again.
He took a few steps back and paced along the steps lining the church doorway. There was a spell he could use—a hex that he’d tried once before. He’d blown the hay-stuffed training mannequin into a million pieces, a satisfying yet formidable feat. Killian squared up to the doors and lifted his hands.
“Desidrio!” he shouted as he thrust his hands toward the doors.
Smoky white light shot from his palms and assaulted the double doors before detonating into a bright cloud. The whole building shook. He couldn’t see the damage behind the cloud, but he heard the doors ripping from their hinges and the clatter of debris. Then all was silent again.
Killian didn’t wait long before stepping into the slowly dissipating fog and crossing the threshold into the church. He needed to see Elyse—to make her suffer the way he had, the way King Cyril had, the way Queen Andrielle had suffered through her grief. Yet just before he emerged from the haze, his heart gave a small lurch. He imagined Elyse lying dead on the cold floor, and with the image came a fleeting anguish.
Shattered planks of wood littered the stone floor. In the center of the room, standing with her shoulders back, was Elyse. Her silvery hair shimmered in the light of the candles that somehow still illuminated the vast space, giving her an almost angelic appearance. Killian scoured her for cuts or blood, but found nothing. As his eyes roved from her face down her body, and then to the floor, he realized why. The floor around her was clean, creating a perfect circle free from shards of wood and debris. She had shielded herself.
