Page 128 of Samhain Savior
“You’ll keep your filthy hands off her,” she whispered, the threat clear. Crouching low, Mex held the knives up, her body ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Inside me, my magic stirred, and I got the feeling it was watching, waiting for something, but I didn’t know what.
“What do you mean to do about it, Murmur?” the man questioned, his tone mocking. “After all, it’s not like you have a great track record for keeping those in your care alive, is it?”
Her back to me, I saw Mex’s shoulders stiffen and the insult landed, but her knives didn’t lower an inch.
“Yeah, you right,” she said, her tone sad. “But all that means is…I ain’t got nothin’ left to lose.”
With that, she leapt at him, her blades flashing in the moonlight. He reacted, but not quite fast enough, one knife slicing down his cheek before he could duck out of the way. Blowing out a curse, he moved, taking up a new position beside Orla and the hound and drawing his own weapon, a fancy-looking pistol.
“A gun?” Mex questioned with a brittle laugh. “How terribly boring.”
“I thought the same thing when I was gifted this little beauty by the Order. But it turns out they’ve been cooking up some pretty impressive shit. Let’s see if you think this is boring,” he called, then raised the gun and fired. The bullet struck Mex in her shoulder, the impact spinning her around, and as she met my eye, I could see the shock and pain on her face as her body landed heavily in the grass.
“No!” I called, rushing to her, my bare knees sliding against the damp ground as I pressed my hand to her shoulder, trying to stop the black blood that was leaking out. “Mex!”
“Careful,cher,” she whispered, her face a shocking shade of gray. “They—they gonna take you.” Her words were quiet, her Creole accent deepening as she shook with pain.I could feel the life draining from her, the blood pooling on the grass beneath her body.
I couldn’t believe what was happening; I had thought demons were practically immortal. How could something as simple as a bullet have caused so much damage?
“What did you do to her?” I screamed, unable to take my eyes off my friend, even as the tattooed man approached to stand over us both.
“Neat little trick, isn’t it?” he asked casually. “Turns out if you etch an exorcism ritual onto a slug, you can cause a lot of fucking damage.”
“Hold on, Mex,” I whispered, my hands pressing against the wound. Closing my eyes, I tried to fix it, doing my best toshovemy magic into her body, begging it to do what it could to help her. Panic and desperation raced through me, the shadow collar at my neck vibrating at a frequency that I hadn’t experienced before, and as I stared down at my hands, I could see both the light and the dark magic pouring out of me, shadows and sunlight mixing before my very eyes.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Time to go.” The tattooed man grabbed me, his rough hand curling under my arm as he began to haul me away from Mex.
“No!” I screamed, twisting and scrambling, as I tried to stay with her, unable to bear the thought that she could die due to my stupidity.
I should have waited. I should never have left Archer’s side.
This was all my fault.
“Get off me!” I screamed, and without thought, a blast of my magic erupted from me, striking him in the chest and throwing him back across the clearing where he landed hard in the grass. Stunned, his companions could only stare as he shook his head and climbed to his feet.
The man chanting the ritual stuttered to a halt, his words freezing in his mouth as he watched his leader stagger back toward me.
“Merde!” Genevieve hissed, the loss of the binding spell allowing her to attempt to shake off the hand in her hair.
“Jed! Hold her!” the tattooed man shouted, and the man—Jed—began the ritual again, his tainted magic once again holding Genevieve in place, her body frozen, her face painted with horror at her predicament.
Ignoring them all, I hurried back to Mex, once again holding my hands to her wound, trying to feel the bullet inside her and the spell it contained. The ritual was working its vile magic on her body, essentially unstitching her demon soul from the flesh vessel that housed it. I could feelthe separation, the way her body wanted to expel the soul, as if doing so would stop the damage the spell was causing.
I had to stop it, but I didn’t knowhow.
My heart raced, my head nothing but panic, the tattered threads the exorcism ritual was leaving behind dancing in and out of my grasp as my magic fought me at every turn.
I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t hold tight enough to keep the separation from happening.
Mex was going to die because I was a useless, untrained witch.
I choked on the truth of that statement, my hands shaking as I fought my magic, my panic, my own self-doubt.
Suddenly, a wave of calm washed through me, like a cool rain on a hot summer day. I could feel my heart slow, the steady beat a comforting cadence that soothed my soul and tempered my mind.
Archer.
