Page 44 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
Pain flickers in his gaze. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I have no place with your company. I thought perhaps I had friends at last. But as always, I am useless and unpleasant. I will go.”
He brushes past me as if to head back into the forest. And then two things happen at once.
First, I realize how strange it is that Alice didn’t rebuke me for my outburst.
And secondly, the panther-beast leaps past me in one fluid bound. Snarling, he plants himself on the road, blocking Jasper’s way into the woods. As if he doesn’t want the Scarecrow to leave.
I’m about to yell at the beast when a quiet thump draws my attention.
It’s Alice. She has toppled right over among the flowers.
Riordan hurries forward with a grating clank of armor and kneels stiffly at her side. “She’s unconscious, but breathing.” Relief floods his voice.
The panther-beast prowls over to her, moaning a little in his throat. His shoulders and hindquarters swell larger, his form increasing in bulk, synchronized to his distress. His tail lashes, a thin black whip snaking through the air. A guttural roar bursts from him, while his claws lengthen and sink into the soil. One great front paw tears up a clump of the flowers, and the other lands dangerously close to Alice’s prone form.
Riordan pulls Alice away from the beast’s claws, but the sharp fingers of his armor cut her arm a little in the process.
Jasper leaps forward, hands outspread, crooning to the beast. “Softly now, my friend, softly. You’re in no danger, and she’ll be all right.”
But the beast screams in his face—a hideous nightmare shriek—and slaps him with a mighty paw.
Jasper’s head whips aside with a snap of spine, and his body flies some distance away, dropping amid the flowers.
He’s Fae; he’ll heal. I’m more concerned for the rest of us.
Riordan is shouting, “Caer, calm yourself! Dorothy, stop him!” But I don’t know what to do, how to fix this. I dare not lay Fiero down for fear the monster will step on him, yet I need my hands for magic—I can’t do it only with my mind. The Tama Olc burns in my pocket like a mental flame, a jolt to my consciousness, but there’s no time to hunt for a spell.
I’m backing away from the raging beast, my mind racing—I won’t run, but I can’t stay—
“Dorothy!” Riordan calls again.
His voice—it’s blood calling to blood, it’s the tether that drew me here, that brought me home. I can’t abandon him. The monster might not be able to kill Riordan, but it can kill Alice, and that will destroy my half-brother as surely as any physical death.
I run a few steps, lay Fiero down, and turn, hands lifted. “Beast!” I scream. “Turn and face me!”
When the monster whirls toward the sound of my voice, I push my magic into the movement. I keep that whirling momentum going so that he can’t stop—he’s spinning round and round, just like the crows kept flying in circles under my command. There’s a drain on my energy since he’s so big, but I can keep it up for a while.
“Take Alice and run,” I call to Riordan.
He staggers to his feet, burdened by Alice’s weight—or by something else. His movements are heavy, slow, as if he’s slogging through some thick, viscous substance.
“Go!” I scream, but Riordan falls, his armored limbs crashing into the flowers while Alice’s limp form tumbles away, half-disappeared beneath the blooms.
It’s the damn poppies. They’re putting everyone to sleep.
The drain on my energy is growing, suctioning more of my power to maintain the beast’s spinning motion—because he, too, is lagging, slumping. Thanks to his sheer size he’s the last to fall—except for me.
I break the tether of magic between us, halting the beast’s spinning movement. He groans, shuffling a few steps before collapsing in a great black mountain.
Helplessly I stare at the fallen bodies of my companions. Is this a natural essence from the poppies, or is it a spell? And why am I not affected? Is it some test the Wizard has laid in our path, or—
“Kin-Slayer,” purrs a voice behind me.
Of course.
I whirl to face him, and my breath catches because every time he’s away I forget how fucking tall and gorgeous he is. He’s smirking, lashes lowered over dark eyes that glitter with mockery.
“What did you do?” I snap.
