No, no, no.
Not going there.
Metallic ringing filled the air, and pressure built around us in a physical wall, but the faegate held strong.
“We need more power,” Ambrose roared. “Natisha is feeding it from the archive—”
A hand bedecked in golden rings thrust through the opening and wrapped around Ambrose’s throat.
Oxygen whooshed from my lungs, and black spots began to dance in my vision, but I kept hold of him.
He had devoured all the magic he could stomach, and it made him as real as the rest of us.
The attack hurt him when he had forgotten the bite of physical pain. Worse, it shocked him into stillness as he grappled with reawakened sensations, like panic, that could get us both killed. As my shadow self, he was used to being invulnerable, but he was reacting with the same ruthless survival instincts that had kept him a shade until our paths crossed the night I doomed myself in Savannah.
Ambrose threw back his head and roared, but there was more magic here than even he could consume.
Crimson sparked on my periphery, Midas trading shapes to improve his mobility, and he loped to join us. He leaned his weight against my hip, and I sank the fingers of one hand into his coarse fur to anchor him.
Scalding heat boiled through our connection, his hairs stood on end, and the world flashed white, bright, and blinding.
The audible snap of bones realigning filled my ears, and I cringed as his muscles wrenched and torn flesh mended as the power Ambrose devoured spilled through me and into Midas’s battered form.
An agonized howl ripped from his throat, his body awash in tremors as magic filled him to the brim.
Baring his teeth in manic glee, Ambrose chewed on the gateway until the lights flickered and dulled.
The damage to Midas had been extensive. Healing him had carved a hollow in Ambrose’s belly.
“Almost there.” I dug my fingers into Ambrose’s shoulder. “You got this.”
Galvanized by the encouragement, he snapped his teeth as if chomping magic by the mouthful. The click as his jaws met broke some integral mechanism in the weakened portal. It flickered once and then went dark, leaving behind only the bent trees.
The hand around his throat hung there, the arm severed and bleeding, its owner left on the other side. He gripped it by the wrist and flung it away in distaste.
Stomach dropping into my toes, I gestured toward the grisly souvenir. “Whose is that?”
Please don’t say Natisha. Please don’t say Natisha. Please don’t say Natisha.
Midas inhaled then shifted back onto two legs to confirm. “Natisha’s.”
For Natisha to reach the portal, she had to go through Remy. That meant Remy was…
Ambrose faced us, smiled, wobbled once, then hit his knees.
A corresponding quake rippled through me, head to toe, and I lurched toward him.
“Ambrose?” I dropped beside him and slung my arm around his shoulders. “How can I help?”
“He’s ready to burst.” Midas stood watch over us. “Can’t you feel it?”
Water balloons must feel like this, seconds before they exploded in your face.
“I don’t…” Ambrose swallowed hard. “I’m not…”
“Can you channel the excess?” Midas kept his eyes on the horizon. “Can you create another faegate?”
“I have never had cause to try.” He fell forward onto his palms. “I must purge, or we will all perish.”
“How about the same faegate?” I asked. “Can you redirect it, or will it always open back to the archive?”
“The connection was too strong,” Ambrose groaned, shivering. “It will reconnect if given the chance.”
The pack on my back shifted as I leaned forward, clinking, and an idea struck me. “How about a circle?”
“Perhaps…” Ambrose wet his lips. “The gateway would last only as long as the circle held.”
Ink wasn’t meant to withstand the elements. Wind, rain, and time would erase all trace of our passage.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” I sat back on my heels. “Will a standard circle do?”
“No,” he gasped. “We must turn…their ward design…against them.”
“A ward would establish it as a permanent fixture,” Midas asked, “wouldn’t it?”
“It depends.” I chewed my bottom lip. “On the design, on the substance used to create it, and on the purpose it’s given.” I checked with Ambrose. “I can go old school, use a brush and ink.”
Given the terrain, we didn’t have many options. The modified pen wouldn’t hack it on the dirt and grass.
“I can draw the concentric ward, use maybe five or six rings.” I poked at my theory. “The layers of power will rebound off each other, building retaining walls to hold the magic and stabilize the portal. If we don’t anchor it to an object, the way you would with a standard ward, the ink alone will support the portal until it erodes.”
“You were listening to Linus’s lectures after all,” Ambrose rasped with approval. “I’m impressed.”
“Yes, well, I spent most lessons on magic daydreaming.” I flushed, embarrassed by his praise, which raised all kinds of uncomfortable questions about whether it was his pride that moved me or simply a Linus lookalike’s approval. “Be thankful osmosis kicked in.”
“Can you do it safely?” Midas kicked a clod of dirt with his boot. “Can we use this field?”
“Probably,” I allowed, giving it a second glance, “and sure.”
“I’ll shift and check the perimeter.” Midas filled his lungs. “The Faerie pack has been here.”
“Natisha.” I should have thought of it sooner. “They must have escorted her to the archive.”
“It’s fresh.” A steady rumble moved through his chest. “They haven’t been gone long.”
With Faerie’s time a winding river on uncertain currents, I hated to admit that didn’t mean much to us. We had no means of comparing their departure against Natisha’s arrival in the archive to estimate when they left the area. All we could do was hope they didn’t circle back.
Midas lingered, his eyes darting from high grass to thick foliage. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“Just this.” I stood, stepped around Ambrose, and pressed my lips to his. “Be safe.”
“You too.” He kissed me with a distracted air I forgave on the spot. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“You better be.” I jerked on his shirt to make sure he was paying attention. “Don’t take chances.”
“I won’t.” His lips curved, vision cleared, and he kissed me like he meant it. “Watch her back, Ambrose.”
“I will guard her with my life,” he replied, amusement thick in his voice, a reminder of our lifelong bond.
Embracing the change, Midas shifted, shook out his fur, then let off at a lope, taking my heart with him.
Sixteen
No sooner had Midas gotten out of sight of Hadley and Ambrose than a hard chuff raised his hackles.
Crimson magic flashed in the grass, and a man formed a dozen yards away.