evaporated.
A brilliant fireball, white-blue with heat, blazed from his palm.
Allyson shrieked and fell, rolling her burning arm against the ground.
James’s aim was poor—he had only gotten her left shoulder. But the cloth had been consumed, and so was the skin underneath. It smelled like hamburgers on the Fourth of July.
In her desperation, Allyson cast another spell.
It wasn’t as strong as the first two—hard to concentrate while one’s arm was on fire. But the earth bulged beneath his feet, lifting him like an earthmover had scooped the ground out from under him.
He raised two feet, and dropped.
James’s foot slipped on the rocky debris. He landed on his ass.
St. Vil took the opportunity to pounce. The kopis was on top of him instantly, smashing his fists into him over and over. James shielded his face with his arms.
“Move!” Allyson roared, shoving St. Vil aside. She was smoking faintly. Her arm was limp at her side.
She didn’t give James time to stand.
Allyson slapped a hand to the armband. He spread his fingers across several marks on his bicep.
They cast at the same time.
Their power rocked together. Equal pressure, equal strength.
James shoved with his power, and Allyson shoved right back. He ignited mark after mark. Lightning flashed, energy pulsed, the ground shook. None of them landed. Allyson’s shields were too good.
The nearest segment of fence blew outward, sending metal and concrete showering into the forest. James expected to hear alarms, but none came.
As their magic fought, so did their bodies. James grappled with Allyson, trying to shove her to the ground. He was stronger, bigger, more athletic, yet she was far hungrier for his blood.
Her thumbnail pressed against his eyelid, trying to dig into the socket. He bit her wrist. Allyson jerked back.
She rolled him and ended up straddling his hips. She was even heavier than she looked.
Allyson drove her unburned elbow into his solar plexus. It knocked the breath out of him.
James gasped for oxygen, and Allyson stood, letting him curl onto his side as his diaphragm seized.
She delivered a swift kick to his groin.
Her aim was perfect. It felt like all of his intestines had turned inside out, sucking his testicles into his chest. Heat flushed over him. Nausea filled him from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes.
James’s finger twitched on a spell written on his bicep. Somehow, he managed to speak.
The magic plunged into Allyson. He felt it connect with the beat of her heart, the flow of blood, the intake of oxygen. The power of the spell built, powered by the fire of her life force.
And then his spell quenched it.
Her eyes went blank. She collapsed.
All of the magic surrounding them was gone instantly, leaving nothing but an empty, steaming field and immense silence.
James gathered his strength to crawl to Allyson’s side. She was still breathing—barely. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly.
His earlier fireball had done more than just burn her arm; it had melted the skin on the left side of her neck all the way up to her cheek. She would have been in for a very long healing period if she had survived. But dead women didn’t need to heal. He could see the life vanishing from her.
He still needed answers.
“Where did you learn to write magic like that?” he asked, grabbing a fistful of her charred shirt. It crumbled in his hands. “Tell me!”
Allyson’s lips cracked when she tried to speak. Her voice croaked in her throat.
Her eyes rolled back in her head.
She was dead.
St. Vil sat among the rubble of the earth, staring at James like he was Satan himself. One of the spells must have injured him—blood streamed from his temple.
“You killed her,” St. Vil said.
James wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. It was a cold night, but he was soaked with sweat.
He pulled the disruptor from her pocket. It hadn’t been burned. Very lucky. James put it in one of the pockets of his Union slacks and stood
A brilliant fireball, white-blue with heat, blazed from his palm.
Allyson shrieked and fell, rolling her burning arm against the ground.
James’s aim was poor—he had only gotten her left shoulder. But the cloth had been consumed, and so was the skin underneath. It smelled like hamburgers on the Fourth of July.
In her desperation, Allyson cast another spell.
It wasn’t as strong as the first two—hard to concentrate while one’s arm was on fire. But the earth bulged beneath his feet, lifting him like an earthmover had scooped the ground out from under him.
He raised two feet, and dropped.
James’s foot slipped on the rocky debris. He landed on his ass.
St. Vil took the opportunity to pounce. The kopis was on top of him instantly, smashing his fists into him over and over. James shielded his face with his arms.
“Move!” Allyson roared, shoving St. Vil aside. She was smoking faintly. Her arm was limp at her side.
She didn’t give James time to stand.
Allyson slapped a hand to the armband. He spread his fingers across several marks on his bicep.
They cast at the same time.
Their power rocked together. Equal pressure, equal strength.
James shoved with his power, and Allyson shoved right back. He ignited mark after mark. Lightning flashed, energy pulsed, the ground shook. None of them landed. Allyson’s shields were too good.
The nearest segment of fence blew outward, sending metal and concrete showering into the forest. James expected to hear alarms, but none came.
As their magic fought, so did their bodies. James grappled with Allyson, trying to shove her to the ground. He was stronger, bigger, more athletic, yet she was far hungrier for his blood.
Her thumbnail pressed against his eyelid, trying to dig into the socket. He bit her wrist. Allyson jerked back.
She rolled him and ended up straddling his hips. She was even heavier than she looked.
Allyson drove her unburned elbow into his solar plexus. It knocked the breath out of him.
James gasped for oxygen, and Allyson stood, letting him curl onto his side as his diaphragm seized.
She delivered a swift kick to his groin.
Her aim was perfect. It felt like all of his intestines had turned inside out, sucking his testicles into his chest. Heat flushed over him. Nausea filled him from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes.
James’s finger twitched on a spell written on his bicep. Somehow, he managed to speak.
The magic plunged into Allyson. He felt it connect with the beat of her heart, the flow of blood, the intake of oxygen. The power of the spell built, powered by the fire of her life force.
And then his spell quenched it.
Her eyes went blank. She collapsed.
All of the magic surrounding them was gone instantly, leaving nothing but an empty, steaming field and immense silence.
James gathered his strength to crawl to Allyson’s side. She was still breathing—barely. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly.
His earlier fireball had done more than just burn her arm; it had melted the skin on the left side of her neck all the way up to her cheek. She would have been in for a very long healing period if she had survived. But dead women didn’t need to heal. He could see the life vanishing from her.
He still needed answers.
“Where did you learn to write magic like that?” he asked, grabbing a fistful of her charred shirt. It crumbled in his hands. “Tell me!”
Allyson’s lips cracked when she tried to speak. Her voice croaked in her throat.
Her eyes rolled back in her head.
She was dead.
St. Vil sat among the rubble of the earth, staring at James like he was Satan himself. One of the spells must have injured him—blood streamed from his temple.
“You killed her,” St. Vil said.
James wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. It was a cold night, but he was soaked with sweat.
He pulled the disruptor from her pocket. It hadn’t been burned. Very lucky. James put it in one of the pockets of his Union slacks and stood
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