Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(79)

Aric’s unguarded smile.

The Empress didn’t get collared or caged—and she didn’t lose those she loved. Despite my injuries, the heat of battle welled inside me. My heart thundered as I wobbled to my knees. Aric wanted me to unleash the red witch? I was ready!

But how to fight Bagmen? My eyes darted. How?

Dig deep, the witch whispered. As you would in earth.

Could my arsenal come from . . . within me?

“Goddamn it,” Jack bellowed. “Out of arrows too!”

“Sievā, I can’t hold this.”

My body began to thrum in unknown ways. As an almost electrical pleasure spread inside me, my breaths shallowed until I panted.

I was familiar with the feel of roots churning beneath the ground. Now they seemed to churn within me.

And it was sublime.

The red witch rose—watch out Death, here she comes—and I let her free. Light exploded from my glyphs, radiating from my face, through my clothes.

The Baggers screeched, shielding their sensitive eyes.

My body vine shot upward from the back of my neck, dividing into a mix of ivy and rose. Writhing green ropes fanned out behind me like a giant aura.

I snatched the base of the vine, ripping the wriggling mass from my skin. With a scream, I hurled it into the shaft.

A grenade of my own.

I envisioned spears of green shooting out, branching like arteries, invading—growing not from earth, but from my own power.

My lips curled with bliss as I let myself go adrift—until I could perceive vines as they punched through slimy chests and impaled skulls. As they opened up Bagmen from the inside out.

Yes, sublime.

Baggers wailed as ravenous ivy suckers burrowed into their skin, prying hands from Jack.

“That’s it, Evie! I’m loose!”

Before my eyes, rose stalks and ivy slithered up the sides of the shaft, blanketing the rock. Shimmery green painted everything. Vines wove a net above me to catch falling debris.

Aric released his hold on the stone lip and dropped down a few feet to grasp one of the strong stalks. He reeled in that cable, hauling Jack up.

Then Death and Jack ascended—like mysteries brought to light.

Once they’d reached my floor, Aric demanded, “Were you bitten, mortal?”

Jack inspected his legs, yanking up the slime-covered material of his jeans. No blood. No broken skin. “Non. It was close, but no.” We’d saved him in time.

I commanded that net to drop, trapping the swarm of Baggers below. They tore at it, clawing to rise up—just as the red witch continued to clamor within. My outside battle mirrored the one inside me.

With the scent of roses flooding the air, my gaze slid to Death. Five icons from him alone. He had no helmet to protect him.

“Rein this in, Empress.” Death’s face was tense, his brows drawn. “Remember: I will not fight you.”

I turned to Jack for help. Yet as I met his eyes, I realized he wasn’t my anchor.

He was my reminder—that I wanted to keep my humanity.

Wasn’t Aric a reminder as well? Of my vow never to hurt him again?

Inhaling deeply, I grappled to contain the witch. Anxious heartbeats passed before my claws retracted, my glyphs fading.

I’d used my powers as never before. A handful of icons had been there for the taking. But I’d muzzled my witch!

Eerily carried by my vines, Death’s fearsome black helmet floated upward. I retrieved it, handing it to him. “How’d you like that?” I said between breaths. “Unleashed enough for you?”

He shook his head.

“Come on! It gets worse than that?”

Slow nod. “That wasn’t even a fraction, Empress.”

“Seriously?” As quickly as the heat of battle had risen, it dissipated. Light-headedness overwhelmed me. “My glyphs could’ve lit up a small Midwestern town. And I went all Little Shop of Horrors with those vines.” Selena’s nickname for me.

“Indeed. Still not more than a fraction.”

Jack swiped his hand over his face. “Where’d you learn how to do that, peek?n? Baggers thought they were in the sun! How many vines can you make at a time?”

At least he was impressed. “I don’t know. It’s a new bag of tricks.”

Jack turned to Aric. “At every second I thought you’d drop my Cajun ass. But you didn’t.”

“I suppose it wasn’t your time yet.” Aric donned his helmet.

“In any case, thanks for not making it my time.”

Seeming uneasy with the gratitude, Aric knelt beside me. “You cut your scalp?”

My surge of adrenaline dwindled, making way for the excruciating pain in my body and an onslaught of nausea.

Aric parted my hair. “Not just a cut. You cracked your very skull. And your side was pierced through.”

“I’ll heal.”

Jack watched us with narrowed eyes.

I narrowed mine in turn. “What were you thinking? It made no sense for you to face off against Bagmen, with limited weapons—and no armor.” My worry morphed into anger. “Just like it made no sense to rush into a horde of them the other night! Even though you’d promised me.”

Jack’s expression: busted.

“Another time for this, perhaps,” Aric said. “There’s movement in the stairwell.” A green EXIT sign gleamed not far away, below it an open door.