Page 13 of Alpha Exile

There's a kind of poetry to that. The flowers, like my heart, have been scorched irrevocably. But they can rise up more powerful from the ashes, and I'd like to think I can do the same.

It's ironic to think that Delphine's attack against Juniper may have lent me something I can use to fight her. I'm hungry for power, so I tug on the threads eagerly, wanting more of the warmth that's settled into my stomach from growing the first flowering vine.

As I pull at the threads, though, they slip from my grip. Frustrated, I tug at them a second time, and they bend to a point where they almost snap.

"Go slowly." Kerry crouches beside me and places cool palms against my wrists, her voice a gentle tone in my ear. "Weaving is a delicate art. You'll lose the threads if you try too hard."

"Will they break?"

She hesitates, biting her lip. "Sometimes. It's possible, at least, though I've never been able to break threads myself. Most weaver witches can only bind. I've lost threads, though—they run away like minnows swimming through a current. Take care."

This time, I bring my fingers to the threads more gently, and coax them into my palm. They feel taut and warm on my skin, almost like real threads, but more vibrant and alive. Tugging at them, I lace them together and watch them settle into a strong, strange weft.

Again, the ground beneath me rumbles. I give the flowers space, and they shoot out from the earth, vibrant and alive. A second spot of warm energy settles into my stomach, stretching towards my chest and nestling against my throat.

"I feel like I could do something with it." Calling on the energy, I let it pool in my right hand, and watch in awe as my skin begins to glow faintly. "What spells could I use this for?"

Kerry is watching me, her eyes slightly wide. "You've woven the energy into yourself as well as the flowers. I've never—well, that's rare indeed."

Blinking, she shakes her awe off, her eyes going distant as she consults whatever spellbooks she's had printed into her mind with magic. "You should be able to create a spark or stoke a flame. The more energy you draw into yourself, the more power there will be. And if you've truly woven yourself into the flowering vines by awakening them, you may be able to draw on that energy from a distance."

The thought excites me. So I swallow the magic back down, hungry at the thought of arealflame, one that might scorch even Delphine's hide. Kneeling, I coax the fiery threads together again, feeling a kind of rhythm and ease to it that wasn't there before.

A third flowering vine bursts from the ground. Then a fourth, and a fifth, until half the backyard is covered in creeping, flourishing, and ever-growing vines. The only thing that stops me from bringing more to life is the sudden rumble in my stomach and a strong hankering for coffee.

That, and the fact that I feel so much magic bursting inside me that I think it might pour from my skin.

"I'm ready. What should I do with it?"

"A controlled fireball might be nice. Though I'd rather you didn't scorch me with it."

"There's an idea. Let me find a safe place to do it." Pacing away from Kerry, I scan the burnt-out house and empty road, then laugh humorlessly. "I could throw a fireball almost anywhere right now, and it wouldn't hit anything that hasn't already been burned."

"We want to avoid starting another flame," Kerry warns. "The dry tinder will spark easily. Here—aim it at this instead."

Kerry paces over to the side of the house and picks up a long, flat piece of wood that must have, at some point, been part of my back door. What’s left of that door is hanging off half its hinges now, axe wounds stretching across it, a painful reminder of the fire brigade's necessary work.

At least this piece of my home is a good target practice. Kerry leans the target up against an old paint carton, setting it up about thirty feet away from me. Staring down the hacked-up, soot-stained wood, I try to imagine Delphine's face on it.

Her smug, horrifying face.

Those long, slender fingers reaching out. Touching my mates.

Kissing them. Grabbing them. Maybe even—

The thought has barely occurred to me when I feel heat pour into my palms. Raising them, I smile in triumph at the glowing magic that pools against the surface of my skin. I settle my weight back on my right foot, sliding the left out, and focus all my wrathful violence into my right hand.

The magic responds, heat and energy building and pulsing. It warms my palm and makes my fingers glow. I stare down at my skin in awestruck horror, spotting waves of heat rising off my hand and into the air, so hot it should have burned me to a cinder.

"Release it! Now!"

Kerry doesn't have to tell me twice. Winding up my arm like I'm about to throw a game-winning pitch, I let all that energy out and throw it forward, remembering at the last second to aim at the doorway.

Fire bursts from my skin like a falcon from a cage, racing out of me and crackling in the air. Scorching down the front of the doorway, it leaves blackened, ashen marks behind. The wood crackles and sizzles at the edges, where traces of flame race across it and dissipate in the air.

When I look at my palm again, the skin is pink and pale, untouched by heat or fire.

My pulse is racing, some strong emotion soaring inside me. It takes a long moment for me to realize that it's hope. Because I've now proven myself as a weaver witch, and what's more, I have an ace up my sleeve Delphine won't be able to expect.

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