Page 41 of A Cursed Noel
“Get out of here,now!” I yell.
Taran topples overShayna. “Son of a bitch, we’re trying!’ Taran fires back.
She and Shayna don’tquite make it to their feet when heavy chains ribboned with fire bustthrough the mangled yard and up. They crisscross in the sky, forminga star.
“Oh, fuck,” Taranmumbles. “This can’t be good.”
It’s not.
Clouds as red as bloodswirl together, latching onto each point and creating a pentagramcoloring everything beneath it an unsettling shade of red.
As the disturbing redlight washes over us, strange symbols appear against our skin. Thepentagram spins, strengthening the force of the wind and turning itdeadlier.
Rocks, dirt,anythinglittering the ground pelts us from all directions. I haul Emme on topof Celia, followed by Shayna and Taran. I’m last, protecting themwith my body.
Emme’s light pokesthrough, challenging the sick red glow as she adds more power.
She knows her light canlift the veil and make her sisters see.
I lift up from them,punching the cinderblock flying toward us into rubble.
“Taran, can yousurround your sisters with fire without burning them?” I shake herwhen she doesn’t answer me. “Taran.”
“I feel it,” shesays. “That thing that’s in there.”
She’s crying. I hearit in her voice and sense it in her demeanor.
“I can too, T,”Shayna says. She’s about as composed as Taran. They’re all losingit based on the months this thing has leeched from them.
“It’s okay,” Itell them. “I’m going inside to kill it.”
“Kill what, exactly,dude?” Shayna asks. “You said it’s magic. How do you killmagic?”
If my hearing wasn’tas keen as it is, I wouldn’t be able to hear them over the churningwind and all the flying debris. I speak loudly, over the wind andsounds of destruction. “If I can destroy the spell, I’lleliminate the magic it created, and any creature born of it.”
“You know how todestroy a spell, werewolf?” Taran asks.
Not all, but enough.“Yes. Just keep each other safe, all right?” I remember whatCelia said to me. “Just like she’s always done for you.”
Taran nods. She getsit. “Okay, werewolf,” she replies.
I edge away, hoping theaggression she meets me with will help her to combat this power. Thecyclone within the perimeter picks up speed, the malevolent magicsurging. It’s trying to amp up whatever is in the house.
I’m amped up, too.
I punch through thebroken shutters the wind rips from the house and fling away a heavybranch that flies at us. The branch collides against the wall of redlight, splintering it like glass. It doesn’t break through theshield, but it shows me it’s not indestructible. The girls may beable to charge through it if they have to.
With a growl I push on,my lids lowered to protect my eyes from the dirt peppering the air.We’re being bombarded from all directions, the noise alone enoughto scramble my senses. I urge my wolf, bringing him as close to thesurface as I can withoutchangingto keep me oriented.
It takes me smashingthrough flying fencing and more branches before it’s finally safefor Taran to stand. The wind is wicked, striking us so hard, shebarely keeps her balance.
Taran screams. I thinkshe’s scared and won’t make it. But then she curses, slams herfists into the ground and screams again.
Blue and white flamescut into the beat-up earth, encircling Taran and her sisters. Theribbon of flames spiral upward, forming a fiery tornado that sheltersthem in.
A lawn chair strikesthe edge of the tornado. The dark magic challenging Taran’s light.Taran raises her middle finger, watching the chair melt into a warpedpiece of garbage.
I don’t know thisyoung woman. They could be safe for a long while or they may onlyhave moments. I plan to use every second they can spare. Except thisthing is worse than I ever imagined. Inexperienced or not, Celia andher sisters have a catacomb of power that’s nourished the evilwithin.