Night Witch (Weatherstone College, #2)(70)

Damn him. I wanted one of these secret spell room beauties.

New plan: kill the spellcaster and steal his lair.

Logan led me to the opposite side of the tables from Rafael, his expression thunderous. “Start,” he snarled. My mate was losing control, and if his power was weakening from the curse, there was no indication today.

It was in his dad’s best interest to get moving and fast.

“You’re missing an ingredient,” the asshole said.

Logan’s touch was gentle as he wrapped it around my wrist. “Release the essence, Precious.” His thumb rubbed gently across my pulse point, soothing me.

Taking hold of the tether, I released it, and Logan guided the pouch toward his father. “It’s good that you didn’t touch this, son,” Rafael said as he wrapped air around the pocket. “Only those who cast and initiated the curse should have a hand in essences.”

One could argue that Logan and I had initiated the curse together, but this wasn’t the time for arguing. My legs buck led briefly, but I caught myself before anyone noticed. Or at least I thought I had.

Logan’s chest rumbled as he wrapped his arm around my waist.

Rafael, who appeared to also notice, started moving faster. Pulling forth a medium-sized cauldron, he began the complex counter-curse. For a few of the steps, Logan had to assist, ensuring that no one screwed up the order of ingredients or the blessings required to power the spell.

When it was time to add Gran’s bone, Rafael’s face morphed into a mask of rage, tainting him in darkness. “This is the evil energy of your kind,” he spat at me. “You killed my wife, and you’re going to pay. I’ve decided that as long as I destroy all reapers from this world, it’s a fair exchange. Mark my words, Paisley Hallistar. I will break this curse, and then I’ll break you.”

I didn’t even bother to reply, because his threats meant nothing when I was hours from death anyway. Logan also managed to retain his own anger, at least on the surface, but I felt the tumult of his magic through our bond.

We’d already discussed how we’d fight once the curse was broken, and I’d decided that I’d call on the entire monster world in Purgatory to keep Logan safe.

When the finger bone landed in the dark mist of the spell, there was a hiss and sparks emerged. The icy magic of reapers buzzed down my spine, sending tingles to my fingertips.

It felt as if I stood with Gran in this room, surrounded by ancestral magic.

The candles Rafael had lit around the pentacle sparked higher. “Essence is last,” he said, meeting Logan’s gaze. “And the blood of a spellcaster. I will bleed for this because I bled to start it, binding me to your pretty mate for the rest of her life. Which won’t be long.”

Logan’s fists clenched as a low growl ripped from his throat, but he didn’t attack. We needed the spell finished first.

Rafael swirled the essence a dozen times clockwise and two times counterclockwise. When it finally settled with the other ingredients, power swelled in the room until it pressed against my chest and I struggled to breathe. Oiliness coated my skin, and I could taste the darkness on my tongue. Curses did not gel with our energy, working against natural magic.

A counter-curse was the opposite. The yang to the yin.

“Maybe we should use your blood,” I whispered to Logan.

He jerked forward just as Rafael went to slice his hand, halting his father. “It should be the yang to the yin,” I repeated my thought with surety. “You need the light to break the darkness.”

Without a single question asked, Logan sliced his palm with magic. “Three drops,” his father shouted, and Logan controlled the fall of his blood, allowing only three drops to hit the surface.

There was a pause, and I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t fucked it up.

“Revertasia conquestila murdae formin abala. Castisa forrina forla. Paisley Hallistar. Breakista ghilina.” Rafael started to chant, repeating the phrase over and over. Air moved through the room, sending our hair into disarray as the curse fought against its counter.

Dizziness swept over me, and I fell against Logan. He wrapped his hands around my waist, keeping me upright. My weakened energy pulsed against the dark tendrils of the curse rooted within my essence. It was deep and insidious, feeding on my power.

Rafael’s voice rose up, those unnatural winds buffeting us with enough force to almost send us sprawling. The curse smashed against the counter-curse, dark and light, two opposing sides battling it out.

“It won’t let her go,” Rafael shouted. “We’re too fucking late.” A chill raced through my limbs at his defeated tone.

Logan’s energy bolstered my own, our connection strong even among the hailstorm of elements and magic. “Don’t stop fighting, Precious,” he roared, and I doubled down on my effort to pry the curse from my soul.

“You should have used my blood.” Rafael snarled at us. “It’s not sated.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Logan shot back, and I gasped when his power slashed across his father’s chest, cutting so deep I saw bone. “You can bleed, asshole.”

Rafael never saw the attack coming and he gasped. Then there was another icy brush of magic, and another slice, this one severing his throat. As the evil spellcaster grasped his neck in a failed attempt to prevent his lifeforce from exiting his body, I jerked around to stare at Logan.