Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)(67)

The air around her tingled as both girls connected with their air magick.

“Morgan, we can use the air to guide us,” Summer said. “Your fire might draw attention.”

Morgan extinguished her flame. Summer took her hand and started forward, moving to the edge of the hallway. Morgan took Biji’s hand, and they crept down the hallway. Morgan looked around, trying to make out what the shapes were in the dark. Some looked like wall décor that had fallen into piles on the ground. Others looked like saplings growing in the middle of the hallway.

In the dark, they were monsters. Adrenaline made her jump with each creak of the wooden floor beneath them. Summer stopped suddenly, and Morgan ran into her.

“Look,” Summer whispered, pointing.

In front of them was a gaping hole where the floor had disappeared. It was more than five feet wide, too far to jump.

The door down the hallway opened, startling them. Biji wrenched Morgan back, who in turn pulled Summer. The door nearest to them opened at the request of Biji’s magick. They ducked into the dark, and Summer pushed the door closed. Fresh air swept though the room, and Morgan turned. Moonlight was visible through part of the crumbling wall opposite them in what appeared to be a ballroom or conference center at one time. The floor here, too, appeared to be rotting. She wondered how far down the holes went.

Summer’s ear was pressed to the door. Biji’s phone glowed in the dark room, and Morgan waited nervously.

“They’re headed to the basement,” Summer reported, moving away from the door.

“We need to go,” Morgan said urgently. She started towards the moonlight.

“Wait, Morgan, we can make an air bridge. So we don’t fall,” Summer said, catching Morgan’s arm.

“I have -” Biji started.

Her phone rang suddenly, the blaring ring tone jarring Morgan.

Biji fumbled with the phone, panicking. It took a few seconds for her to silence it, and all three of them held their breaths.

“What was that?” a voice said from the other side of the door.

Morgan’s fire reacted. The door burst into fire.

“No, Morgan!” Summer exclaimed.

“Come on!” Biji called.

Cold air swept by Morgan, an indication that one of the girls was using her magick.

“Follow me,” Biji told her. “Step only where I step, Morgan.”

Morgan obeyed, pausing when Biji appeared to run over a hole three feet wide.

“Just don’t look down,” Summer said.

Morgan swallowed hard and followed. The floor didn’t drop out from under her, and she dashed after Biji.

Suddenly, the blazing door was snuffed. Water splashed them, and Morgan felt the cool water magick that was much like her brother’s. It snuffed her fire.

Halfway across the room, the air bridge beneath Morgan gave out. She cried out as she fell. The hole in the flooring was deep enough that she wouldn’t have stopped falling, had Summer not grabbed her arm. Her shoulder jerked. She dangled, unable to see in the darkness.

Summer screamed suddenly, and Morgan felt her grip weaken, as if someone was trying to yank the girl away. Biji shouted something. Suddenly, Morgan was falling. Her fire magick flared, and she saw the concrete below rising up to meet her.

The floor was between one and two stories down. She landed hard with a sickening crack. Morgan gasped, hot pain shooting up her leg. It was sharp enough nearly to drive her unconscious. She lay still, panting. Someone was calling her name, but it sounded so far away, and her world was so dark.

Morgan shook her head, trying to clear it. She pushed herself up and stopped as pain radiated from her shin. She knew that pain; she’d felt it once before, when her uncle broke her arm.

Her eyes went upward, where she heard the sounds of scuffling from the main floor. Their escape attempt was fruitless. She summoned her fire and held out her hand. It blazed to life, illuminating her surroundings.

“Damn basement,” she muttered, agitated to find herself in a cement tomb once more. Her hand shook. She felt the shock set in; she was thirsty, hot and having trouble focusing.

For the first time in her life, she was grateful to her uncle for beating her. She knew it was shock, and she knew how to handle it. Morgan felt her mind start to float and moved her leg enough that sharp pain took her breath away. Focusing once more, she tossed the flame onto the ground then gingerly used her arms and good leg to stand. She wobbled. Her emotions were near the breaking point, and she recited the advice Beck gave her about breathing deep to keep calm.

The door was no more than six feet away. Her first attempt to put pressure on her hurt leg resulted in her smashing onto all fours. Morgan gritted her teeth, tears of pain springing from her eyes. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out or vomit. She didn’t, and she pushed herself to her feet again.

The six feet to the door might as well have been two miles. She hopped, balanced then hopped again. The jolting hurt her leg but not as much as standing on it. Shouts came from the hallway in the basement, and she realized they were looking for her. Morgan twisted her hips when she hopped to change her direction. She extinguished her flame then made it to the corner and sagged against the cool wall.

Her father and uncle were right. She was a horrible person and deserved whatever happened to her in this tomb. Morgan wiped her eyes, heart aching for Beck above all. She leaned her head back. Someone opened the door, and a flashlight shone into the room.