Page 79 of Of Flame and Fury

Aric nods. “I know.”

Gemini leans back on his heels. “You’re thinking about surrounding Celia with the connection she shares with Misha.”

Aric kisses Celia’s shoulder. “That’s right,” he says.

I give it some thought. “You’re also keeping the magic Johnny is poisoning the house with, out,” I determine.

Aric raises his thick dark brows. I dig my nails through my hair. “This sounds great in theory, but Johnny took that theory out, stomped on it, and made it his bitch. I don’t know, Aric. Everything we’re trying to do against Johnny is only firing back on us.”

Celia isn’t convinced. She leans forward, her green irises shimmering with hope. “This is your magic, Taran. Your power,” she says. “Johnny can’t touch it the same way because it’s not connected to the covens.”

“No, but he can muffle it,” I remind her. “My magic hasn’t worked as well as it needs to.”

“It’s worked well enough, Taran,” Celia says. “We’re all still here, and so are you.”

If this was my choice alone to make, it would be a hard pass. I glance at the Catholic schoolgirls, where they sit on the floor, holding each other. Their faces are blotchy and tear-stained, and their fear palpable. The vamps are dangerous and sadistic fighters, but they aren’t masters. Another master could claim them and do what he or she wished. Already I see Ileana eyeing them up.

There are masters out there who are cruel. Edith has told me as much. They could order Misha’s family to fight to the death, and they would have to do it. Would Ileana? Who knows? She plays the queen, but her majesty once almost took out the entirety of Europe.

I look to Celia. She won’t demonstrate her fear and worry like the vamps will. She’ll bottle it up until it becomes too much. I know she’s terrified. Just as I know she loves Misha and wants me to help.

Edith crawls across the floor, extending her hand and offering me a piece of chalk. It’s pink and thick, like those children use to decorate sidewalks and driveways. I play with it in my hand, wishing I knew for sure that one day, I’ll see my little nephew color his design, in a safe, loving home that he and his parents deserve.

Celia smiles. She knows I made up my mind. “Thank you, Taran,” she says.

I shake my head. “Don’t thank me yet.” I have my reservations, lots of them. Ultimately, I do it knowing Celia will remain protected within the circle because the magic comes from me and is meant solely for her.

Misha’s vampires gather around me, staying close, but far enough away to allow me to work. TheweresEmme healed gather, too, curious yet guarded. The witches keep their distance all the while observing my every move.

I force my magic into the line as I walk. There must be a specific location spell that could help me, or one of the thousands of chants the witches know by heart. Except even though I technically graduated witch school after saving the coven’s ass, I’ll never be that true witch, the one who knows how to stir a potion just so and hex her way through an evil army.

“Help Celia find Misha,” I whisper. “Let her see the way. Allow her to be the guiding light to his return.”

It’s not much. It’s just a little something.

As I reach the completion, I add one last bite of mojo. “Power,” I say, feeling my irises go white. “Givemepower.”

The circle locks.

I lose my balance.

And fall into oblivion.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Something hard strikes my shoulder, forcing me out of the blackness surrounding me. My eyes water as I blink them open.

Standing over me is Johnny, shirtless and barefoot, munching on an apple. “Looks like you found me.”

I shove my right hand out and fire. The strike I mean to blast him with dwindles before it can start, sizzling down to minute sparks that cascade onto the mud-streaked ground.

Johnny slaps my hand away when I try again. My limb falls as if carrying a large weight, it can’t possibly hold. “That’s not going to do shit,” he tells me. “You’re in my realm now.”

My focus darts briefly to where Sparky rests unmoving. I move my fingers to make sure I still can. “That’s the last time you’ll ever touch me,” I say, returning to Johnny.

My voice is surprisingly calm, considering how furious I am.

“Is it?” he asks. He takes another bite of his apple, ignoring the way the tats on his arms crawl along his skin. The cobra hisses at me, baring its fangs and spitting venom. The spew of poison misses my fingers by a fraction, disintegrating the small sprigs of grass poking through the mud. “I’m not sure about that, T.”