Crimson Wind by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page B

were mostly bare, and everything smelled new. Like most everything in the keep, Giselle’s quarters had been destroyed in the battle four weeks before and had only recently been repaired and refurbished.
    Max took a step inside and paused, her body suddenly pulling taut, her head cocking. Alexander stiffened and followed her. Niko and Tyler were already moving. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Alexander could feel what had sent her hackles rising. Every hair on his body prickled with the swell of magic. It was a turbulent current, spinning through the room like the outer edge of a whirlpool.
    Max plunged into it, heading for the door on the left. It was made of an enormous slab of stone. There was no handle. She put her hands flat against it and shoved. Complex wards flared, and vines of black magic wriggled over her hands and up her arms.
    “C’mon, bitch,” Max growled. “You made me to open doors. Don’t think for a second you’re going to keep me out.” She shoved again. A second later, the magic retracted, and the slab of stone swung inward, rotating around a central pivot.
    The five Blades and the angel slid inside. It was a circular room with another door on the opposite wall. Protective wards glimmered on every surface. Set in the flat stone floor was the anneau floor—a triangle, inside a star, inside a circle. It was lit. At the center of the triangle was Giselle. She hovered a foot off the ground. Her hands were held low and out from her body, and her head was tipped back. She stared upward into the darkness, and her lips moved in an unintelligible whisper. Black magic surrounded her in a crackling cloud.
    “What the hell?” Max muttered. “She knew I was coming. Why start a spell?”
    “Look,” Alexander said, pointing at a melted blob on the outer edge of the circle. He smelled the burned plastic.
    Niko picked it up. “Her phone,” he said with a frown. He dropped it, shaking his hand. “It’s hot.”
    Suddenly Giselle’s arms rose over her head in graceful arcs. She pressed her palms together. Magic thickened around her hands. She lowered her arms, her fingers meshed tightly. Magic drained into the ball around her hands, growing dense. She bowed her head, still whispering. Then she thrust her hands down hard, flattening her palms so they were parallel to the floor.
    The walls shuddered as magic exploded. It burst through the triangle. The star held it a moment and then winked out. Magic roiled within the circle, as Giselle, her thin face twisting with concentration, again lifted her hands above her head.
    “What’s going on?” Tyler asked.
    “She’s losing it,” Max said, pacing along the edge of the circle, her hands clenching and unclenching, her gaze locked on Giselle. “She needs to shut this down.”
    “She is trying,” Alexander said, his attention shifting between Giselle and Max. Although her expression showed nothing, her compulsion spells had to be ripping her apart, demanding that she rescue the witch. Between those and her own sense of duty, she might do something extremely stupid. Like try to break the circle and pull Giselle out of the maelstrom. The result could bring down the mountain. The circle and the witch were all that was keeping the wild magic from exploding like a nuclear bomb.
    “Come on, come on,” Max muttered. “Get your shit together. Stop fucking around.”
    Giselle sagged, and magic whirled like a tornado inside the circle. Max lunged. Alexander leaped to stop her, but his fingers only brushed her boot.
    He hit the floor and leaped back to his feet. Max had passed through the circle. It was not possible. But then, she could open any lock, and a ward circle was a lock. A moment later, she and Giselle sprawled onto the floor on the other side.
    The witch lay limp. She was pale and far too thin. Magic still snapped across her skin in sizzling threads. Beneath her, Max lay on her back, blinking blearily, her body twitching as magic zapped her. She was