Page 66 of An Amateur Witch's Guide to Murder
The room isn’t huge. Just a normal basement. A good size but not massive.
Which means fitting two large, person-holding magical circles side by side, really means side by side. There’s less than a foot between the two magic captivity rings. When Ethan turns, Topher’s right there.
But he’s no longer on the ground.
He’s on his feet in only the most technical sense of the word, swaying, shirt bloodstained and eyes like a hunting owl.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Topher throws himself at Ethan.
None of them expect it.
Not Ethan, not Mateo, and somehow least of all Topher, who’s the one doing the bodily throwing.
Ethan makes a bird squawk of surprise and stumbles, catching Topher’s weight awkwardly and both of them spin out of Mateo’s limited sight.
At the same time, creepy Yoga Wife steps right up to Mateo’s side, strong yoga fingers pulling at chains.
“What the f—” he starts to ask, but she interrupts.
“Shut up, Teo. This is crazy hard.”
It’s Yoga Wife saying it, Yoga Wife squatting her yoga thighs to tug at chains beneath the table, trying to work out how to loosen them. But the words are Ophelia filtered through the suburbs. Her body’s still behind the ugly curtains, he’s pretty sure, but she’s somehow possessing Yoga Wife. A thing she absolutely couldn’t do yesterday, but there’s no time to celebrate. The pressure on the chain around his neck increases alarmingly for amoment, and then slackens completely, the sound of metal dropping onto concrete jarring in the space.
A glance to Topher and Ethan, and they’re having the stupidest fight he’s ever seen. Topher very obviously doesn’t know how to fight so he’s just slapping, and Ethan maybe does know how to fight, except he can’t land a solid punch through a series of stumbles, frantic weaving from Topher, and a badly placed floor pillow that takes them both down again.
“Phee,” Mateo pleads softly, but he doesn’t say anything else. Her hands are shaking, that prim blush pink lipstick that Ophelia would never wear set in a grimace of concentration.
On the floor, Ethan and Topher roll around—still looking ridiculous—and Ethan manages to get himself on top of Topher. But Ethan hears the second chain hit the concrete, the one that was strapped across Mateo’s pelvis, and he finally looks.
“Hey!” Ethan yells upon seeing his horrible wife trying to release Mateo, and he struggles to get off of Topher.
Except Topher’s having none of it, wrapping arms and legs around Ethan like an uncomfortable Cirque du Soleil contortionist experience. And he’s committed, looking like hell but holding on for all he’s worth.
Ethan’s struggling to get an arm between himself and Topher to push him off while also looking at his horrible wife in dismay. “What the hell, Becky?”
“You named your evil wife Becky?” Mateo shouts.
“Oh, shut up!” Ethan yells back, slipping an elbow between Topher’s upper body and his own. “Becky, stop.” She doesn’t. “Becky, I command you to stop.” Still nothing. He manages to get his lower arm against Topher’s throat, grimacing as he pushes down and yells: “Unmake!”
It’s a power word. A spell. Yoga Wife’s body, leaning over him as Ophelia tries to get the chain from around his thigh, shudders violently and then crumples. The tight-ponytailed head hits the metal edge of the table with a thick crunch before sliding to the floor.
“Ophelia!” Mateo doesn’t mean to yell, knows it’s not her body, but she’s never possessed anyone before so he has no idea what getting damaged in someone else might do.
It’s exactly the wrong thing to say.
Ethan turns in the direction of Ophelia’s body, but he’s still got Topher squirming and clawing at him, turning blue beneath Ethan’s forearm and the weight of his upper body against his windpipe. He lets up enough for Topher to get a single ragged breath but it’s not out of charity. Whatever protection Topher’s luck offered outside of an evil wizard’s home, his body’s still that of a hundred-and-thirty-pound computer guy. Ethan punches down viciously and it’s exactly as devastating as a boxer hitting a baby. Fist to face and back of head to concrete, Topher stills with the solid sound of his skull being hit from both sides.
It’s the second most terrifying thing Mateo’s ever seen. He has to believe Topher’s just unconscious; that Ethan needs him for his sacrifice—but he doesn’t actually know that.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mateo pants, struggling against his chains again. He can almost sit up, abs burning as he has to use his nonexistent core muscles to pull at his arms.
Ethan drags himself to his feet, approaching the curtain. “She’s a Traveler?” he asks the room at large, haphazardly ripping the curtain down. Ophelia’s still lying there, bound and curled on her side, but her eyes are open and completely white.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Mateo yells, trying to split his attention between freeing his arms, Topher unmoving on the floor, and whatever Ethan’s doing in front of Ophelia. The chains won’t budge, the metal cuffs around his wrists digging in painfully as he pulls. Ethan’s ignoring him, has the back of his hand on Ophelia’s forehead, and Mateo can’t allow it.
Between the cuffs and his body, he only needs one of them to give and this body is more malleable than the metal. He strains and the edges of the cuff cuts, rips, and then peels skin. A series of cracks and another vicious blood-slicked tug and one hand is free, scraps of meat left behind. The yell that escapes him draws Ethan’s attention, though Mateo’s unaware he’s shrieked in a way that’s not possible for something human. And unaware that Ethan’s looking stressed for the first time.
