flick of his hand and layers of the horde peel away, flung hundreds of yards into the distance.
“Be ready,” he growls, focus hardening his tone.
Asher has already swooped Mack over his shoulder and is poised to charge like some conquering sultan carrying off his bride. Eclipsa and Inara dig their heels into the ground, ready to do the same.
And then, Eclipsa pats her pocket, frowns, and snarls, “Where’s that damn sprite?”
An iridescent flash of wing draws my attention twenty yards behind Eclipsa. When I realize what I’m seeing, I have half a mind to kill Ruby myself. Her butts up in the air, head shoved deep into burned brush, searching for only Darken knows what.
Inara veers away without warning. “I’ll get the idiot.”
Eclipsa and I watch in shock as Inara jogs over to grab Ruby. An argument ensues until finally Inara plucks the stubborn sprite from the ground and holds her up.
Eclipsa peers at the scene, mouth parted in disbelief. “Did that just happen?”
I have a whole slew of stern words loaded on my tongue as I wait for Inara to finish running back to us.
Only she doesn’t.
The darklings come from seemingly thin air. Five huge males that look like they were bodybuilders before they were turned into hairless zombies. She doesn’t see them, and for some reason, she’s too distracted arguing with Ruby to hear them until they’re on top of her.
Ruby breaks free, squealing, fighting to escape the onslaught of rabid creatures.
My mind is weirdly blank.
I know I’m running.
I know I won’t make it in time.
And I know Inara is going to die if I don’t do something.
Blistering heat builds in my chest before slamming down my arms. Orange flames dance around my fingers like static electricity, and then I fling the fire magic into the churning mass of darklings.
They catch flame immediately, their screams so human that I clap my hands over my ears. Inara emerges from the fiery nightmare.
Our eyes meet as she streaks past me, and I know that she knows I have magic.
In a world where secrets are weapons, I’ve just given her a grenade that could implode my life.
Ruby darts for me, clinging to my face, and I peel her off. “What were you doing?”
“My last green sugar baby fell,” she whispers, eyes cast down, hugging a dirty Sour Patch Kid to her chest like it’s a real life child.
A part of me wants to comfort her while the other, very annoyed part that’s nearly died umpteen times in the last eight hours threatens to shout until my lungs burst.
Before I can do either, Valerian commands, “Now!”
The land around the portal is momentarily cleared, but we only have a few minutes before the darklings return. Inara and the others leap through the portal, but Valerian waits for me at the edge. Despite the dangers all around, he patiently holds out his hand. Taking the time through the chaos to ensure I make it safely to the other side.
Right before we jump, he meets my stare, those haughty silver-blue eyes conveying a promise that goes beyond words.
A promise to never leave me. To fight for me, always. To love me for eternity.
And, if necessary, to die for me.
All I can do is hope the last promise never happens.
44
After all of that, Bane and the others hardly get a slap on the wrist. Inara claimed that she wasn’t aware of their plot until it was too late, and that she jumped through the portal to save us. Despite our testimony to the contrary, they believed her over us because, duh, Evermore never lie.
The headmistress refused to even listen to my recording. I’ve never felt quite as powerless as I did that morning leaving her office. On the way down the stairs I passed Bane, Lyra, and Reina coming up. Their arrogant sneers said they already knew they were immune to any real punishment.
And facing them at school is worse. It’s only Monday, the first day back after they tried to kill us, and already I don’t know how I’ll survive the week. Inara hasn’t shown up to class, but they’re somehow more ruthless than when she was here.
Professor Orenthall moved our law course to the roof over the west wing for seventh period. Asher, Mack, Richard, and I sit on a blanket listening to a lecture on the archaic practice of ceartas, a form of accepted justice outside the Fae courts.
Shocking exactly no one, our tormentors have taken up residence behind us. Asher’s the only