A vortex opens up in my middle, hollowing me out. Dark and violent, it churns with fear and wrath, and my heart sinks straight into it, imploding along with my lungs and breath.
I thought I knew rage and terror before? That was nothing. This is hot and horrible and consuming. Blood roars in my ears. My chest burns and squeezes tight while magic blasts through my veins. The sudden surge of power bounces inside me like a painful echo, not finding its way out. The ricochet shakes me hard, and I lurch, not knowing if I’m about to collapse violently inward or shatter outward into a million broken pieces.
Steadying myself on the edge of the table, I stare at Mother. I’ve killed people and sometimes felt satisfaction at the result. But I’ve never wanted to murder before, to kill savagely, paint myself in blood, and scream while I do it.
Mother cocks her head just like a bird would, as if assessing the best way to pounce on a worm. “Children. So innocent. No defense against the invasion of the mind. And yours… So new, and yet already so aware. So ripe for molding.”
The black hole inside me expands. Little Bean, not even really showing but already thinking. Knowing.
No wonder her energy felt so disrupted while we were making our plans to come to Frostfire. She was scared. Confused. Maybe in pain. She was being used as a conduit for information!
An agonized shout builds in my throat, but no sound comes out. I swore this woman wouldn’t touch my baby. Even if I didn’t voice it as a magical vow, I swore it to myself. To Griffin. To Little Bean. And I failed. I’ve already failed.
Mother looks so disgustingly proud of herself. She one-upped me at the expense of my unborn daughter, and now she gets to share her victory with us and grind my face into my own heartbreak and failure.
I cross my hands over my belly, a crow’s feather still clutched tightly in each fist.
“Cat! Let’s go!” Griffin’s voice barely penetrates.
Slowly, I turn to him. Does he really think she’ll let us leave?
A huge crow slams into me from the side. I stagger but hardly feel it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another one coming to bomb me, but I don’t care. I don’t respond at all.
Moving like a powerful wind, Griffin catches the bird before it hits me, snaps its neck with a sharp twist, and then hurls the limp body toward the monstrosity that is my mother.
“Stay away from my family!” he roars, white-faced with rage.
“Stay away from my family!” she parrots. Her crows caw with mocking laughter. “I’m trembling in my feathers.”
Howling in fury, Griffin grabs the empty potion pot and long wooden spoon from the table. He becomes a maelstrom of muscle and movement. I blink, and five of the crows are already dead on the floor.
Flying herself even higher, Mother utters a sharp command. Her minions converge on me, diving as one. I lift my arms and strike out wildly. I see Griffin whirl back to me, but then I can’t see anything at all, my vision cut off by a violent tumult of beaks and claws and wings.
Crows grab my arms, and I cry out. Sharp nails dig into me from wrists to shoulders, piercing my skin and scraping bone. My mouth pops open on a gasp. Then I’m off my feet and flying toward the vaulted ceiling, leaving my stomach on the floor.
“Griffin!” I cry.
He charges after me, but Mother swoops down and latches her talons into my hair, jerking hard on my scalp. I shoot upward with a hiss of pain.
Griffin jumps and just barely misses catching my foot. He climbs onto a chair to get higher, but then magic suddenly explodes below. Bright-green arcs skim my boots and singe my toes. They swirl around Griffin and scrape at his clothes. The room trembles, and then every last piece of furniture abruptly starts flying around.
He staggers and falls from his perch. He springs back up only to have to duck a zooming lamp. It smashes behind him, shattering. Oil coats the floor. Mother’s telekinetic magic sends the flint and iron from the hearthside crashing into the same spot with a shower of sparks. Fire ignites, slithering the length of the stain.
Griffin leaps out of the way. Rugs, other lamps, broken furniture, and decorations all join the destruction, tumbling through the growing flames and catching fire. The magic has no effect on Griffin himself, but it upends everything else. Mother focuses her attack, making burning things crash into him. Griffin struggles through the wreckage while I can’t do anything but watch from above in horror and shock.
Finally gathering my wits, I try to steal the magic from Mother, hoping to use it to deflect things away from Griffin. It nips at my skin, chafing and heating as it sinks into me. But the power seems to change character inside me, and what pours back out when I try to use it is nothing but a harmless green glow. Mother keeps launching the entire house at Griffin, and I can’t stop her at all!
She hovers near the roof’s angled peak, batting her enormous wings to stay in place. I hang there, my arms dripping blood and my scalp on fire while the contents of the hermit’s home shatter, fly, burn, and slam into Griffin, burying him alive. I scream for him, and he fights his way out of the flaming debris only to get covered again. He bellows for me over and over, pure, crazed anguish ripping my name from his throat.
I swallow hard. I need to focus before the fire gets any worse. I need to fight.
Taking a deep breath, I reach down into my well of power, concentrating hard on what I know should be there. Smoke fills my lungs, but magic jolts in my veins. Lightning sizzles under my skin. My left side does nothing, but a current of white-hot power coils down my right arm. Triumph swells inside me, and I will the magic to explode into a mighty blast of Olympian power that’ll incinerate the crows right off me.
The lightning fizzles at my fingertips, weak and puny and worthless. No!
I scream in frustration.
The birds gripping my right arm caw angrily, smoking and stinking, but they don’t let go. Mother shakes me hard, and for a blood-chilling moment, I think she’ll snap my neck. Pain darts deep into my scalp, making my eyes water.
“Zeus!” I call out to the only God who wields the lightning bolt. The magic comes from him. The least he could do is make it work!
But no lightning appears, and no booming voice answers my plea for help. Flames lick up the walls, orange and red fingers climbing higher with every second. Smoke rises and billows around my head. I twist, kicking out at the birds, and hooked claws dig farther into my skin and bones. I gasp.
Below me, Griffin breaks free once more, erupting like a volcano from under a cage of fiery wreckage. He’s bloody, scraped, and covered in soot. With a desperate sort of energy, he starts tossing things out of his way. His clothing is charred and torn. There are raw burns all over his exposed skin. He looks wild and fevered and, for the first time in my eyes, utterly destructible.