how Clay behaved toward him.
A direct order could force him to vouch for Asa with me, but it couldn’t make him like the guy.
Clay didn’t give nicknames to people he didn’t like. Well, okay, nicknames used in the person’s presence.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered under my breath. “Wand, don’t fail me now.”
A black witch had power in proportion to the amount of magic she consumed, aka hearts eaten.
A white witch had spells, charms, or potions from her spell kit, made in advance, and her own essence.
If I swaggered into the ring bent on reliving my glory days, more like gory days, I would KO myself.
Prowling closer to the enraged pecan tree, I let Clay do the hard work of distracting the dryad while I got in position behind her. The downside of using a wand was the fact it required contact with its target. The flick-your-wrist spell-slinging in movies was wishful thinking. Wands were conduits for power and intent. I had to mentally prep a spell and then make a conscious choice to unleash it on someone or something.
The wand was thirteen inches long, which meant I had to get close. Handy as a cloaking spell would have been right about now, I couldn’t risk expending my power willy-nilly until I rediscovered my limits.
I was out of practice sneaking, but I crept in until three feet separated me from the splintering trunk.
“Black witch,” the dryad spat. “I smell the death caked on your soul.”
A limb wider than my waist swept in an arc that almost knocked my head off my shoulders.
“You’re no better than I am.” I dove into a roll. “I saw your handiwork a few minutes ago.”
“You’re wrong.” Blistering rage shook her leaves. “I’m not like you.”
A hard yank on my ankle dumped me on the ground. A rootlet was hauling me within killing range.
Gathering my will, I pushed power from my core into the wand then struck the hairy root with its tip.
Smoke sizzled down its length, gaining speed as it ran up the trunk like reverse lightning, cooking the old limbs and charring the dead leaves.
A scream rang out as a pale blur was expelled from the tree. The creature sat up, blinked her wide green eyes, then hooked her fingers into claws and charged me. The dress she wore glittered hot with embers.
Blinking away gold spots in my vision, I readied my wand, prepped a spell, and hoped it wouldn’t kill me.
“Oh, shit.”
That was Clay. Definitely Clay. But I couldn’t see him.
Probably because my body gave up and fell sideways like a sack of potatoes.
One more spell was all I needed, but nope. I was out of juice and out of luck.
A bestial roar vibrated through the ground under my cheek, but whatever made it could take a number.
The line to eviscerate me was forming behind the rabid dryad.
A creature taller than Clay, from this perspective, stepped over me to stand between me and the dryad.
I don’t know what compelled me to inch a hand forward until I could brush a fingertip down the back of its nearest ankle. A head injury, maybe. The skin was dark red, feverish to the touch, but black rosettes made stunning patterns over its heel. The creature tensed under my touch, torquing its muscular upper body to inspect what I was doing and whether or not I meant it harm.
The bones of its face had shifted when he did, widening his cheeks and forehead, but it was Asa.
Thick black horns curled from his temples back over his head, and his hair had come undone. There were miles of it. Black silk. I would have reached for that too if I had the strength, but I couldn’t get my fingers to twitch, let alone my arm to rise.
He was still staring down at me with those burnt-crimson eyes when the dryad smacked into him. A low growl of annoyance curled his lip, revealing thick fangs, and he returned his focus to subduing her. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind the dryad was beyond saving. Even if she were salvageable, the director would put her down for the death of a Black Hat agent.
Knowing both those things, I gasped when Asa punched his fist into her chest and ripped out her heart.
And I recoiled when he offered it to me on his wide palm like a gift…or a snack.
“Eat,” he rumbled, blood dripping through his fingers. “Heal.”
“Ace,” Clay warned, his speech much improved, “that’s not how she rolls anymore.”
“Eat,” Asa