Now it was absolute chaos. A lot of the spells were malfunctioning, and massive sheets of warped, rusted scrap metal were soaring overhead, splitting under bolts of stray magic and sending red-hot shrapnel blasting everywhere.
Jim ducked to the side, drawing up his arm and sweeping it in an arc. As magic spat and crackled over his arm, sleeve, and splayed fingers, it saved us from a chunk of spinning death.
“Oh my friggin’ god,” I managed.
Even the chaos around me wasn’t enough to pull my attention off the sacred knife. It felt so strange in my grip. Though my eyes told me it looked like the same sacred knife Sarah Anne had given me, my fingers disagreed. The exact strange sensations tickling across my palm and shifting through my fingers swore to me that I was, in fact, holding onto a scrap of a star.
Or a soul.
I gulped as I ducked to the side and narrowly avoided a spinning chunk of earth. Clods of dirt and crushed grass spun out of it as it twirled overhead. That didn’t sound so bad, on the face of it – grass and dirt were a heck of a lot softer than a chunk of rusted metal to the head. The grass and dirt, however, were charged with magic. As soon as a single blade of grass filtered down and dashed against my upturned cheek, I screamed as a wave of pain ate into my face.
I brought up my hand, and still clutching the sacred knife carefully, used the base of my thumb to rub at my cheek wildly.
“Avoid everything,” Jim bellowed as he continued to lead me through the madness that was this magical tip.
As we ran, I caught sight of other witches. They were huddled in groups behind whatever protection they could find. I even caught sight of Bridgette. My stomach sank right through the center of the Earth when I realized it was her body double.
She was using her magic again so soon after almost killing herself.
God. It was all because of me.
All because McCain couldn’t stop.
Though I’d been keeping up with Jim until now, I started to pull back from him. “What are you doing?” he spat.
I yanked my arm free from his and took a darting step back. “I can’t run anymore, Jim. It’s time to face him before he kills everyone.”
“Hey, Chi, no. There’s no way you can take that asshole on. He’s one of the most powerful sorcerer kings we’ve ever seen. And he’s using all his magic.”
“Good,” I said in a rattling tone that was suitably strong.
Before I could let Jim reach for me, I darted back.
I skidded to the left and pushed down a gravelly incline to my side. As I slipped down the side of the junk-covered hill, Bane City opened out before me. I had a split second to appreciate how beautiful it was as it spread out, a glistening metal jewel against the horizon.
Then? I clutched the sacred knife with every ounce of strength I had.
Jim continued to scream from behind me, but I completely ignored him. Because it was time to end this.
I won’t even bother trying to describe to you how nervous I felt as I ran toward McCain’s presence.
My heart didn’t just thump. Hello, I was sure it was going to tear free of my rib cage and hurtle out of my chest like a cannon.
But did that stop me from throwing myself after McCain? Hell no. As I kept repeating over and over in my head, it was time to end this.
Don’t ask me where I found the energy to throw myself forward through the chaotic war that was the dump. I had no frigging clue how I found the sense to avoid the deathtrap of metal and spinning trash, either.
But everything seemed to come together. The coordination, my balance, and, most importantly, my luck. Or was it my luck? Could it be my powers?
The question of them slammed into my mind, front and center. If only I’d had more time with Mary. I would have been able to ask her how she used her powers without suffering the consequences. Because she had used them. I’d seen the unmistakable light gather in her eyes. She’d told me it wasn’t the full use of her magic, and therefore didn’t come with the same risks.
I didn’t have to struggle to figure out where McCain was. All I had to do was follow the carnage.
Though it didn’t look as if anyone had died yet, witches were limping out from behind cover, being dragged off this awful battlefield by their friends. The more I saw, the more it hardened me against him. That bastard had to be stopped. He’d pay for his unchecked power.
The dagger, which was still clasped so frigging tightly in my claw-like grip, responded to that thought. I swear it did. It pulsed brighter, more sparks flying out of it as if it were going to erupt like a volcano.
I held onto the fact of its power, told myself I would make it count. All I had to do was get close enough to McCain, attack him with the dagger, and everything else would be history, right?
Right?
I skidded around a mound of magic-infused scrap iron.
It was obvious the witches had spelled it with some kind of defensive enchantment. And yet, it was just as obvious that the spell had been partially destroyed by one of McCain’s roving attacks.
Where the scraps of metal should have been forming a
