The dean took the vials from us and stepped away, her gray eyes flitting between Orion and me.
I inhaled the forest air as I started to summon my magic. Over the past few days, I’d discovered the perfect memory for invoking just the right amount. In my mind’s eye, I thought of a happy memory—one filled with love but tinged with just a bit of sadness to keep me from destroying everyone.
I remembered being sick one night with a fever, and Mom lay next to me in bed. The moonlight streamed in the window, and Mom made a shadow puppet in its light. There were two she could make, a dog and a rabbit. She told a little story with them, and it didn’t make a lot of sense. But the important thing was that she’d been lying next to me. Thinking of how she looked after me, love bloomed in my chest, and magic glowed faintly from my body.
And as soon as the dean spoke the single Demonic word that heralded the start of the trial, a sense of calm spread over me.
I launched into the spell I’d memorized, desperate to form the bond with Alaric.
As I spoke, the air chilled, mist rising from the frozen underworld. Around us, spirits began moving between the trunks, their forms silvery and transparent. I was pronouncing each word with precision, the words flowing as quickly and fluidly as the Acheron River. It was as if the gods were inhabiting my body…
Shadows pooled in the grove, and a warm fog slid between the gnarled, mossy trees. I no longer worried that Orion would distract me. In fact, I had the power to throw him off course. As I recited the spell, I looked up at Orion and gave him a sultry wink.
His eyes widened just a touch. I heard him trip over a single syllable.
With a half-smile, I finished the last word of the spell—Alaric.
I’d done it. With that final word, magic crackled over my skin, heralding the arrival of the Visigoth somewhere in the city.
An invisible thread formed, connecting me to him, tugging me north.
My wings burst from my back, and I shot upward, ripping through the oak leaves on my way.
My bond with Alaric compelled me northwest toward the Sathanas Ward, where the gates marked the boundary with Osborne.
Orion raced behind me. Even as I flew, I could feel his hot magic floating on the night air, skimming around me. Beneath us, torches dotted the dark landscape, pricks of orange light that moved toward the bridge. Beneath us, a crowd of onlookers was trying to follow our path.
One way or another, I had to slow Orion down, or he’d just follow me to Alaric. He could steal victory from me at the last moment—again.
So when I reached the outer boundaries of the Sathanas Ward, I angled my wings to touch down a quarter mile from him. I landed fast and hard on a crooked little lane in the old part of the city, my feet slamming onto the cobbles. My wings retracted, and I whirled to see Orion land just behind me. His enormous body was silhouetted against the amber windows of a restaurant.
“You never quite do what I expect, Rowan.”
Under my breath, I began chanting the words for the binding spell.
Only Orion’s pale, icy eyes pierced the darkness. “You—”
With the final word of the spell, ribbons of darkness spun around Orion, binding him in place. It wouldn’t last forever, but it would give me enough of a head start.
With a smile, I turned to stalk through the darkened streets. The invisible thread felt a little weaker now—moving? I took off on foot, sprinting through the sinuous alleys, past a bakery, past a magic shop crammed with skulls and stuffed birds.
The thread pulled me around the corner to an old, abandoned temple.
And there he was, Alaric himself, a giant of a mortal. He shouted something that sounded like zookooboos, which I was guessing was the old Gothic word for “succubus.”
Alaric wore a brilliant red cape and gold-plated armor, and he towered high over the cobblestone road. But most importantly, the crown of blackthorns rested on his head.
I summoned my magic again from between my ribs.
As the Gothic king turned to run, I started to rattle off the words of the binding spell. But before I could get to the final word, a flash of vibrating magic burst from the king’s enormous body.
From the skies, a horde of ravens swooped down, aiming for me. Some of their beaks dug into the flesh of my forearms, and I gritted my teeth. Their pecking was vicious, down to the bone.
As I shielded myself with my arms, I managed to finish the last words of the spell. I fell to my knees, and the ravens seemed to lose focus. Their wings beat at me, and they started to careen away, veering wildly down the narrow stone lanes. My ravaged arms were healing already.
I glanced at Alaric, finding him frozen in place. Ropes of my golden magic snaked around him. I rushed closer, whispering the only German phrase I knew, “Tut mir leid,” hoping the apology bore some similarity to ancient Gothic.