Page 138 of Shadow Spell

“Do you think to try for me again? Do you think to destroy me with song and your weak white magick?” He waved a hand and the flame on Fin’s sword died.

Fin simply lifted it, caught the fire again.

“Try me,” Fin suggested, and stepped forward in front of the three.

“My son, blood of my blood, you are not my enemy.”

“I am your death.” Fin leaped forward, swinging out, but cleaved only fog.

The rats came, a boiling flood of them, red eyes feral. Those that streamed to the circle screamed as they flashed into flame. But Meara saw one of the candles gutter out.

Now she drew her sword and sang.

Aine reared, hooves flashing. Her eyes rolled in fear. Fin grabbed her reins, used the sword to set a ring of fire around her. While the two stallions crushed the rats, the hawks dived for them.

The bats spilled out of the sky.

Connor saw another candle wink out.

“He’s attacking the circle to get to her. It must be now, Branna.”

“We have to pull him closer.”

Connor threw his head back, called the wind. The torrent of it tore through those thin wings until the air filled with smoke and screaming.

Meara’s voice wavered as a single twisted body fell at the circle’s edge, and a third candle went out.

“Steady, girl,” Boyle murmured.

“I’m steady.” Drawing in air, she lifted her voice over the screams.

“I’ll slice open your throat and rip your heart out through it.” Cabhan, his eyes nearly as red as his stone, threw black lightning at the circle.

Boyle took an opening, jabbed through with his knife, drew first blood. The explosion of air knocked him back. The blood on the tip of his knife hit the ground and sizzled black as pitch.

“It has to be now,” Connor shouted, and began the chant.

The power rose up, clear heat. Again he heard voices, not only Meara’s and Iona’s, but others. Distant, murmuring, murmuring through the thinning Veil. Over them Meara’s song rang, filled his heart with more.

Fin swept his sword so the candles reignited, so the flames ran straight.

The rats turned away, flowing toward the three. Cabhan dropped to all fours. The wolf charged Kathel.

Connor felt Branna’s fear, turned with her as did Iona to shoot power toward the wolf. But the ground heaved under it—Fin’s work. Kathel’s jaws snapped over the wolf’s shoulder, and Roibeard dived.

It screamed, fought its way clear to run toward the trees beyond the clearing.

“Cut it off,” Connor shouted. “Drive it back.” But his heart stopped when both Boyle and Meara ran clear of the circle to join Fin.

It darted right, turned and, desperate, began to charge. Meara’s sword flamed. The tip of it scorched fur before the wolf checked, turned again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor caught movement. He glanced over, saw three figures by the cabin. A wavering vision, as their voices struggled to reach through the Veil.

Then he knew only his sister, Iona, only the three and the hot rush of power.

She suspended the vial in front of them, and with hands linked, minds linked, powers linked, they hurtled it toward the wolf.

The light exploded, a thousand suns. It charged into him, through him.

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