Page 36 of Wicked Ends
The third section is a pit of writhing shadows. Thorne hesitates, then launches herself across, using her magic to form stepping stones out of frost and light. I’ll admit, it’s impressive.
But Jasmine isn’t here for impressive.
She’s here for carnage.
Halfway across, the stepping stones dissolve. Thorne plunges into the pit. The shadows wrap around her legs, biting and clawing.
“Hellspawn,” Soren murmurs. “Jasmine has invoked them and kept them hungry in the pit, by the look of it.”
Thorne screams, but she manages to claw her way out, blood streaking her face, hands torn. When she hits the ground, she’s shaking but still upright.
The crowd is deathly silent, all the color drained from their faces. But Jasmine is smiling, and even her familiar snake draped over her shoulders looks like he’s pleased.
Thorne staggers to one of the last obstacles, a stone ring etched with wards. She’s supposed to get through the ring, and it looks easy enough after the pit of shadows. Except as soon as she steps in, the wards flare, and she’s blasted back, hitting the ground hard. The air stinks of burnt skin and blood.
She tries again. Same result.
Blood is dripping from her nose now, and her left hand is twisted at a bad angle. But she tries a third time.
This time, she’s lifted right up off the ground and slammed viciously over the stones. She lets out a choked, broken sound, then collapses in a heap, unmoving.
Jasmine boos. Loudly. “Well, that was underwhelming.” She sighs. “If you’re all so terribly delicate, perhaps we’ll try again after lunch. Dismissed.”
The crowd scatters. Soren and Lucien flank me, but I shake them off before they can go all overprotective.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though my stomach is rolling. “I’m not Thorne’s biggest fan, but that was beyond hard to watch.”
Lucien gives me a searching look, but lets it drop. Soren squeezes my arm, then says he’ll be in his office if we need him.
I hang back, scanning the grounds
Thorne’s friends are gone. The faculty is gone. Jasmine and Ash are gone.
Thorne is not gone. She’s dragging herself toward the edge of the field, face and hands bloody, her shirt torn and splattered. She collapses against the wall, cradling her arm, teeth grinding against the pain.
I don’t want to get involved. Honestly, I don’t. But I’ve been the girl with nobody to help, and I can’t walk away, so I approach, slow. “You okay?” Which is stupid, she’s clearly not.
Thorne looks up, eyes glassy with pain. For a second she’s not an evil bitch, she’s just a girl, scared and hurting and alone.
She doesn’t answer.
I crouch beside her. “Let me see.”
She tries to jerk away, but the movement makes her groan. “Fuck off, Smith. I don’t need your help.”
I ignore her. Her hand is a mess, blood welling up from a deep gash, and her wrist is definitely broken. I don’t know why, but I reach out, pressing my hand gently over hers.
“Don’t move,” I mutter.
Thorne glares, but she’s trembling now, the adrenaline gone.
I focus, trying to remember what Ash said about magic, to stop thinking, just feel.
The power comes easily, like flipping a light switch on. Warmth flows from my hand into Thorne’s skin. The bleeding slows, the wound knits together, her bones shift under my fingers as the break mends itself. Gold light glimmers between our hands, but it’s faint enough not to draw attention.
Thorne gasps, her whole body going rigid.
“There,” I say. “You’ll probably want a boatload of painkillers tonight, but you’ll live.”
