I stared at it, horrified, unable to speak or even scream as the trail of blood thickened. It dripped from my fingers.
Holy Hades.
Searing pain raced up my arms and down my back, breaking through the paralyzing cloud that had formed around me. Still, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t beg, plead, tear this dress away and run.
I craned my neck around. The people on the couches talked and smiled, nodded to each other and to me. They didn’t see. They didn’t
The woman at the window pressed her hands against the glass.
I gasped against the heat burning through my veins. It was getting hotter, turning molten.
More blood spotted my sleeves as the front of the dress caved in on itself, soaking itself in red as my life seeped into the beaded fabric.
Chapter Twelve
At last someone screamed
Then another.
And another.
I couldn’t think past the blood and the pain. I was seized by the primal need to move, run. Escape.
But I was paralyzed. Trapped in my swiftly weakening body. I could do nothing except stand like a statue, bleeding out on the floor.
The terror stole my breath and my mind. My veins were ready to burst with fire.
Ophelia cried out, twisting her fingers around the collar around my neck, strangling me, making it worse. She shrieked and retreated.
Diana whimpered as she yanked at my buttons. “They won’t come off!” She turned me around, sheer panic seizing every movement. Her own hands were bloody as she yanked at my sleeves.
“Incoming!” Ant Eater hollered, as she hurled a spell jar at my feet. It broke open with a hiss, sending plumes of green smoke and ash up into the air. I breathed better for a startling moment, before the horror crashed down again.
Dimitri tore past them all. His shirt was off and his pants were half done, as if he’d been preparing to shift. Instead, he reached for me with hands that had turned to claws. His eyes were orange, savage as he ripped the sleeves from my arms with his bare hands. He bit the lace at my neck with his teeth, ravaged it away and yanked the rest of the dress free.
I stumbled back against the window. My sundress was drenched in blood.
He chased me, grabbed me and pulled me against him. He kept me from falling as he hissed in agony from the mere act of touching me. “Hit her again!” he ordered.
Hillary screamed. The griffins roared.
Biker witches pelted the floor around us with jars. Several smashed through the window. They came from everywhere at once, a blinding, gut-wrenching jolt of magic.
My stomach heaved. My skin burned. I wanted to curl up and die on the spot. If it weren’t for Dimitri holding me up, I think I would have.
I slid down a few inches.
He propped me up.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated against my ear like a mantra. Like he needed to believe it. I did, too.
My breath came in hard bursts. The sulfur in the air stung my throat and my eyes. Dimitri’s skin was scorched where he’d touched me.
Grandma stared at us, her hair wild, her eyes wide, muttering, “shit, shit, shit.”
The burn had turned into a blistering, throbbing ache. It pounded with my heartbeat. I was afraid to look down. I didn’t want to see the damage. Not yet.
This attack was so much worse than anything before because I hadn’t even seen it coming. Most of the time, I could prepare myself for injuries, expect them. But now I’d been ravaged by my own wedding dress.
Creely gulped, fought to keep her eyes level with mine. “Frieda went to get Battina’s supplies.”
The healing witch. We’d lost her in battle. What I wouldn’t give to see her now.
Ophelia let out a screech. I followed her gaze to the floor and saw the wreck of a dress twitch. Dimitri had tossed it onto the floor near a couch. Now, a lump, like a trapped animal, formed under the yards of tulle and ribbons. It started to move.
My first instinct was to reach for a switch star, but my arm wouldn’t budge.
Creely hit it with a spell jar and it stopped. For now.
Of course, the lump was still there.
“Don’t anybody go near it,” Dimitri ordered, in the understatement of the year.
Frieda rushed through the throng of startled onlookers. She carried a colorful carpetbag. Battina’s supplies.
The blond biker witch made a wide arc around the dress and opened the bag on the floor in front of us. She rifled through the contents for a moment before drawing out an old Dawn dishwashing detergent bottle, now filled with a goopy green and brownish colored liquid.
“Hold your breath,” she said, standing. She leaned away as she squeezed it over my arms, my chest, my neck, and Dimitri’s chest.
It cooled my skin instantly. I still throbbed, but I could think. And yes, it was gross—with bits of sticks and bark—and it smelled like a month-old latrine, but I didn’t care. Frieda snapped on a pair of Battina’s gloves and began gently smoothing the goop over our skin. I watched as it soothed the redness from Dimitri’s chest. And at last, I was brave enough to look down at my own arms.
The skin was ragged, torn and blistered. My fingernails were gone.
I looked away, tears burning the corners of my eyes. I was alive. That’s what counted.
“You’ll be fine,” Frieda said, going back and drawing out another bottle.
What else was she going to say?
“How many do you have?” Dimitri asked, his voice tight.
Frieda glanced at him, and I could tell she was tempted to cage her answer. “This is the last one,” she finally admitted.
“Use it all on Lizzie,” he said.
I swallowed hard, tried to speak. I understood that I’d freaked out a little. Truly, this wasn’t going to be pretty for any of us. “Don’t,” I croaked, my throat raw. “I’m not an invalid,” I managed to complete the sentence on a whisper, but I’d made my point. I didn’t need them treating me with kid gloves. I was stronger than that.
I had to be.
Dimitri pushed out a breath. “I hate to ruin your noble moment,” he said, with that old, familiar warmth I’d come to count on, “but I can heal better than you.”
Nodding, I managed a throaty, “Good point.”
I let Frieda bathe me with the entire contents of the last bottle. Lord, it felt good. I closed my eyes as the cool gel-like liquid soothed my skin. Amazingly enough, I was actually happy when the harsh throbbing gave way to an angry itch.
Maybe that meant I was healing.
“Bad news. You need a manicure,” Frieda said.
I opened my eyes to a super close-up view of the witch. She gave a small smile as she touched her hands under my palms and brought them up for me to see.
My nails were back. Ragged, but whole. My skin was actually in one piece.
