Page 9 of Of Flame and Fury
“Aric.Aric. Celia needs you.”
Nothing. Nothing but the dwindling moans.
“Emme…Bren!”
God damn it. No one can hear me. I need someone to hear me.
Sparky cuts us right, then left, then left again. The sizzling sound of grilling meat breaks through the quiet ahead. Apoofof fire follows several rounds of loud clapping. “Bravo, Chef.Bravo.”
I’m almost to the kitchen and out of this maze. I pick up my already ridiculous pace, yelling as loud as I can. “The mate of Aric Connor is in danger!”
The clang of piling dishes and orders to move faster infuse with the overpowering aroma of freshly diced herbs.
I round another bend, and another, the long hallways shortening and the voices of the guests growing clearer.
I holler, my throat burning. “Protect Celia. Protect the Mate!”
Light, brilliant and blinding, bursts alive. I skid past the kitchen and almost fall. I’m back in the main part of the manor and no longer alone. I grip the molding along the entryway, taking in painful gasps of air through my paper-dry throat.
Several Lesser servers pass me, enthusiastically communicating in French as they heft trays of food onto their shoulders. I reach for one and almost fall, my feet cemented to the floor. I try to slip out of my shoes, but everything below my ankles feels encased in stone.
A heavy-set server grumbles by me, admonishing the others for carrying less than her share.
“Wait,” I say. “Don’t leave.” I clasp my knee and pull, trying to break away from whatever has me. No one stops or even looks in my direction.
“What are you doing?” I demand. “Celia Connor needs help.”
My right hand smacks another Lesser witch on the arm. She glares over her shoulder, although Sparky barely appears to graze her. The anger she presents with dwindles into confusion. She doesn’t see me either.
“Shit,” I yell.
Another Lesser bounds forward, bumping me hard and into the next waiter who follows. His tray rattles and tips to the side, but only slightly. I’m here, yet not here. My efforts and presence a ghost of what I really am.
A voice whispers close to my ear. “Nyte,” he says, laughing.
“Bullshit,” I whisper back.
My focus travels to the floor, where the source of the magic appears linked. I crouch low and stretch out the fingers of my right hand along the slick wood. I sigh with relief when I realize the magic can’t adhere to Sparky’s flesh.
“Okay, bitch,” I mutter. “Want to play? Sparky, let’s show this freak how we play.”
I inhale slow and deep, tapping into my magic and willing it to meld with the ancientweremagic that created my arm. I push it out leisurely, not wanting to release too much too soon. Sparky brims with light, anxious to burn, and more than willing to fight. Except I don’t need to set the whole place on fire, I just need enough to crack the spell holding me.
I repeat the motion, exhaling as if time is on my side and not as precious as it is. Gradually, my power slides down the length of my arm, pouring from my fingertips and encircling the area around my feet.
“Release me,” I order.
The floor creaks but doesn’t give. My feet remain glued.
I bare my teeth, forcing through more power. Blue and white mist corkscrews out through my fingers and ribbons along the floor, the ends petting the heels of a Lesser witch. She jumps as if shocked and barely hangs on to her tray.
As she regains her balance, she circles the area, sensing magic, and more than once passing me.
“Nara,” she says. “Something is happening.”
“Yes,” a woman with scraggly hair and a voice to match admonishes. “It’s called a party. Get the food out there before Chef has your head.”
I ignore them, knowing I can’t count on them or anyone else. It’s up to me, and I want out.