Page 58 of Bitten Vampire
At about three in the afternoon, they take their places. Thirteen of them, each standing on a precise point of the design they have created.
Without signal or cue, they begin to chant.
Their voices rise and fall together, rhythmic and exact, like a metronome striking inside my skull. The words are unfamiliar, ancient, and powerful. The language of magic makes pressure build behind my eyes; a headache blooms.
I cannot understand what they are saying.
House surely does, yet she has fallen silent—probably preparing, calculating, ready to fight or move us.
The chanting swells to a crescendo; the circle flares. A line of white fire ignites and begins to rotate around them, growing so bright I have to squint and turn away.
Only then do I notice a faint, shimmering strand of magic hanging in front of my face—thread-thin, almost invisible, just millimetres from my skin.
They have breached the wards.
I gasp.
A glance out of the window confirms my fear: the circle has altered. It is no longer just a circle. It has become a pentagram. Thin magical lines now criss-cross the centre, slicing straight through House’s wards.
I reach out, fingertip hovering from the strand. The air buzzes. A sharp spark zaps my skin.
Don’t touch it,House whispers.
I snatch my hand away and scan the room for morethreads, but for now there is only the one. I shove the chair aside and retreat.
“This is really bad,” I murmur.
Yes,House agrees.
A deep, unnatural vibration rolls through the floorboards. The walls quiver; furniture lurches out of place. The bed judders a foot across the room.
Afraid the flying furniture might injure Baylor, I clip his lead to his collar. “Come on, buddy, let’s go downstairs.” My voice shakes, yet he obeys—tail low, ears flat—pressing against my leg as we hurry down the stairs.
We take up a new position in the living room.
“Is there anything in the basement we can use? Anything at all? I want to help. I want to fight for you.” My words tumble out in a rush.
No. There’s nothing you can do, Beryl says gently, floating at my side.
“I’m so sorry, Beryl. This is my fault.”
Hush, no, it’s not, kid. Sooner or later it was bound to happen. House has been running a long time. We both have.
A flicker of hope sparks. “Look!” I cry. My nose almost touches the window. “The circle is fading!”
One wizard collapses—then a witch, then another—each dropping to their knees, clutching their heads. All thirteen are not powerful enough to beat House. The circle dims as more of the magic-users falter; the pentagram sputters, its perfect symmetry breaking.
“We might actually win this!” My voice cracks with hope.
But just as the circle begins to crumble and I dare tobreathe, movement catches my eye. Lander Kane steps forward.
No.
He is neither chanting nor part of the original thirteen. His face remains calm; his white-blond hair lies perfectly still despite the wind whipping around him. His gaze fixes on House, and for the first time since this ordeal began, cold fear crawls up my spine.
“House…” I whisper.
I see him.
