Page 80 of The Wolfing Hour
Fennel picked up on my distress. He raced to the witch’s side, looked from me to her then did the only thing he could without introducing even more magic into the situation.
He bit the absolute shit out of her ankle.
She yelped and grappled for her bare foot. “What are you doing, gato tonto? You know how important it is that I complete the spell without interrupt—Betty.” Her gaze went from the chalk whorl where the soil had been to me. “My goddess … your face. Por favor, ayúdame, diosa.”
Please help me, goddess?I couldn’t decide if she was breaking out the Spanish because she was panicking or praying.
Her gaze fell on the spot where the clip and strands of hair were—had been. They were gone. “Stay focused on the spell, Betty. Remember everything.”
It was then that I became aware of something vital—I wasn’t breathing.
And yet, I wasn’t dying. Given Margaux’s reaction, I should’ve been freaking out even worse, but I wasn’t doing that, and I had every right to. My insides had felt as if they’d been charred with a blowtorch a moment ago. Now they didn’t hurt at all.
Margaux gentled her voice. “Use your magic. Harmonize with the spell. Tell me what you see.”
Lights danced above my head like fairies in a wildflower garden. The sky was both darker and brighter than before, the stars like shiny metal screws bolted into a walled-in galaxy. The garden room was illuminated by a harsh yellow light, and it felt as though hours had passed. As if it were noon instead of midnight.
Cecil scrambled to the edge of the circle, a sobering charm tucked into his beard. His hat glowed. The sable ends of Fennel’s fur glimmered—I saw each individual strand.
Margaux’s hair had come loose from her braid and framed her face. Without her severe makeup and hairstyle, she looked young. Her russet eyes were round and glossy, spilling over with terror. She wore her fear like an elegant dress that swirled around her, the hem dancing around her bare ankles.
Her words floated through my head:“My goddess … your face.”
Oh no. I wasn’t in pain because the numbness had returned. The apathy.
The demon.
“Not now. I can’t do this now.” My croaking voice was small and fragile. If I’d been able to feel, I’m sure it would’ve hurt to speak. “Please go.”
Margaux appeared confused. “You want me to go?”
Fennel flattened his ears and thumped his tail on the floor. Cecil stood beside him, purple hat lying flat, mimicking the cat’s ears.
The demon said nothing, but her power wrapped around me like a python, squeezing in pulses that slithered along the edge of pain. Pain I wanted to drink like wine. Pain that felt like sheets whispering against bare skin, like breathless ecstasy in the darkest part of the night.
Ronan.
“Please stop.” I forced out the words.If you don’t, I’ll lose him. And if I lose him, I lose me—us.
Lose… us?The voice sounded like me but felt removed.
“Yes.” The power stroked up my thigh, and I shuddered. It wouldn’t take long now. Another squeeze, another delicate susurration in my ear, another tempting promise of retribution.
“Lose us.” I whispered the reminder as the last of my worry rode the winds of apathy into oblivion.
The numbness held on for another few seconds. Was Demon Betty weighing her options? It felt that way, though I didn’t know if she ever thought twice about anything. She was a driven creature, a thing of pure, delicious intent.
Pain slammed into me. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a wheeze. The apathy was gone. In its place was an agony so deep it ripped at the marrow of my bones.
Margaux scooted to the outside edge of the circle, beside my partners. Her fear was no longer beautiful. It was an ugly thing, and it hurt to look at.
Tears clouded my eyes as I mouthed the word, “Help.”
Margaux put her arm out to hold back Fennel and Cecil, who, if I was reading their expressions correctly, had been gearing up to jump into the circle.
“Pour your magic into the pain. Give it as much power as you can. You’ll have to lean into it if you want the spell to work.”
Cecil chittered at her. Fennel looked ready to bite again. With the apathy gone, I wanted to pass out from the lack of air and the agony of trying to reach for it.
