Instead, Delina sits on the armchair, ignoring the meow of protest from underneath it when she does. “So what’s the plan now?” she demands once Gurlien hangs up the clunky satellite phone. “I don’t know what prep work you guys can even do, I don’t know how to help, I barely know anything.”

Gurlien has the gall to look at her as if she’s the illogical one. “So we wait. Either the state troopers will clear the road and we can get out, or we wait for the weather to be nice enough to walk into town.”

Neither of these sound particularly great at the moment, so Delina squeezes her eyes shut, desperately wishing she could actually affect something for once. Actually do something.

“If I step in that bio-trap,” she starts, and both of them in front of her perk up, “what are the chances that I’ll be able to do something to that tree?”

“Maybe!” Chloe says enthusiastically.

“About four percent,” Gurlien replies, a bit more clinically, but he too is staring at her over his glasses. “Especially without training, it would require natural power of a specific type to do that right off the bat.”

Delina glances at the closed door to the bedroom. “And…would Maison be able to tell I did that?”

“Depends on how in depth he was in your wards,” Chloe says, only halfway muffled by the couch. “Freddy or Lutes, it wouldtell them immediately. Devin would get a call from someone else.”

“I can’t believe his name might be Lutes,” Delina says, because her filter seems to have gone the way of her patience. “Lutes is an objectively stupid name.”

“If it’s Lutes, stepping into it would be a giant road flare,” Gurlien continues, “he’d know where you were and how to get to you.”

“Freddy, too,” Chloe says, and Freddy might be a worse name. “Though that would be from the sleeping with him part, not the bio-trap.”

“Frederick might just collect her in a few minutes,” Gurlien responds.

With as much power as she can muster, she turns towards the room, and behind her Gurlien hisses out a breath.

“I don’t want to just wait for someone to come and collect me,” Delina says, and even she doesn’t know the reason for her hesitation. Doesn’t know the reason she’s holding back. “I don’t want to face someone who can lift a fucking tree with fucking magic.”

“Chloe, get the first aid kit,” Gurlien says behind her, his voice far away. “In case this goes bad.”

That doesn’t help the hesitation, and she can see the paint circle from where she stands, just the corner of it from the door.

“Do you think my mother would hurt me?” she murmurs, but even she doesn’t know the answer to that. “She sent me here for a reason.”

“Yes, and —”

Outside, a giant thud reverberates through the cabin, and they all flinch.

“What?” Delina asks, turning back towards the door. “How…”

The door shudders, then, with a crash, splinters.

7

Four things happen in fast succession.

One, the beautiful door with the stained-glass shatters apart, wood splintering all over the bucolic sitting room. Shards of glass spike into the wall, slashing open the wallpaper and imbedding into a pillow. Delina jerks herself back, pressing herself against the bedroom door as if that could help her.

Two, Gurlien grabs the gun and snaps off a shot, striking the doorjamb and splintering even more wood away. The bang blasts through Delina’s mind, plugging her ears and ringing her brain.

Three, the cat hisses, spitting and arching its back, yowling before dashing away.

Four, in the doorway, his eyes flashing red, half crouched, the paint circle ablaze in fire, is Maison.

There’s a quick, vicious moment of silence, before Gurlien aims the gun again and snaps off another shot.

Maison just shifts, still in the circle, the bullet passing harmlessly by.

“Where is she?” Maison growls, his voice distorted by the circle around him. The very air wavers, and his eyes glint, unreal. “Where did you take her?”