Page 175 of The Mirror of Beasts

“Don’t worry,” she told me coldly. “It’ll be a swift end.”

“No!”

Caitriona’s expression changed then, as if a stone mask had fallen away to reveal the familiar flint in her eyes. Her face came alive with new focus, her body rising to its full, impressive height.

Shame scored my soul, because I understood then why Olwen had held me back. Wait, she’d said. Wait. Not out of denial. Not out of fear.

It was faith.

Caitriona turned her back to us, addressing Lord Death with steel in her voice.

“I am the High Priestess of Avalon,” she said. “And I serve only the Goddess.”

A ragged cry erupted from Caitriona’s throat as she thrust her hands forward and called her magic to her.

Golden fire exploded through the air, racing toward Lord Death’s dark figure. He threw a protective arm up, a pulse of silvery magic flaring around him to deflect the river of flames to the open moorland and small stream behind him.

The remaining Children descended from the trees, called to their master’s defense. Caitriona had an answer for them, too. She dropped what remained of Excalibur and sent writhing knots of fire toward them—one, three, five—leaving them screeching as they collapsed into blazes or fled into the sanctuary of the gnarled trees.

“Olwen!” she called.

Her sister answered, racing after the Children, driving them back and back with yet more fire.

“You fool,” Lord Death thundered at Caitriona. “I offered you a life of glory, but I’ll gladly enslave your soul in death!”

His magic struggled against hers, pushing forward across the clearing, silver devouring gold. Caitriona’s arms shook, beads of sweat dripping from her face as she screamed again. The fire fought back, and the renewed clash sent sparks of magic scattering among the souls still hovering nearby.

Watching, I thought. Powerless to stop him without form.

“Tamsin,” Caitriona got out between gritted teeth. “Tell Neve … tell Neve I’m sorry.”

“You tell her yourself,” I shot back, rising to my feet. Fear rippled down my spine at her bleak expression.

Useless, I thought desperately, watching the warring magic. After everything, you’re still useless.

I tried to reach out for the magic I’d felt around me before, sensing those flickering pulses. The potential they had to be reborn into something new. Something that could help us. I had to figure out the right way to call it.

The white rose. That had to be the key.

“When I drop the ring of fire around us, take your brother,” Caitriona said, her feet sliding back with the force of the warring magics. “Take him and Olwen and run.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I told her. The stone of Lord Death’s pendant was lit from within, stirring with the souls imprisoned inside. “Cait, look—!”

The warning came too late for either of us to dive away from the roots that burst from the ground, crackling with death magic.

“No!” Caitriona shouted, but the word died on her tongue as the roots lashed around her body like a vise and threw her to the ground. Her golden fire went out with one last desperate flare as her body was caged against the boulders. She fought, trying to twist herself free.

After so much light, the clearing, the forest, the world—everything seemed darker now.

“There is no magic stronger than that of Annwn. Nothing can defeat it, least of all a quarrelsome girl who cannot accept her own wretched weakness,” Lord Death told her. His sword appeared again in his hand, sparking with power. “Perhaps I won’t claim your soul at all. How well you would do as one of my Children.”

Caitriona strained, arching her back to try to break the magic’s hold on her. The roots covered her mouth, silencing whatever words or spells still burned in her eyes.

“Defiant to the end,” Lord Death drolled.

I lurched toward Caitriona, trying to intercept him. Lord Death didn’t so much as glance my way. His hand rose, the stone glowed—I leapt away, but the roots tackled my center and banded around my waist. I fell forward as they dragged me back away from Caitriona.

I fought for purchase in the rocks and decaying leaves. Mud packed painfully beneath what remained of my broken fingernails. Vines of death magic yanked me back. My jeans tore against the rocks, taking my skin with them and leaving a trail of blood in my wake.

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