Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

21

“This is trippy,” I breathed to myself as I stepped into the room beyond the grassy door, my voice amplified and echoed back to me. The creepy vocal equivalent of a hall of mirrors.

I yelped as the door slammed shut behind me, sealing me in with a rustle of leaves. A flash of light surrounded the door, and then … ah, shit. It blended into the wall until there was only a solid block of moss in front of me. There was no way out.

Well, this was fun.

I dug around in my hoodie pocket, taking out a lollipop and sucking it as my anxiety grew. Not even the burst of sweet strawberry on my tongue calmed me as I stared at the room. If it could even be called a room.

Thick-trunked trees stretched from the loamy floor to the black ceiling ten feet above me, the ‘sky’ twinkling with butter-yellow stars. It was beautiful, but the strangest thing I’d ever seen, and it was inside a cube. And it didn’t smell of trees or moss or dirt, which was the strangest thing. It smelled of sharp, tangy magic.

The ‘room’ looked as big as the whimpering wood, but I knew it couldn’t have been nearly as vast.

Right?

Fuck, I didn’t know anything for sure, and I couldn’t take for granted that Dean’s involvement in this trial would keep me alive. He’d been fuming and murderous when someone tried to kill me on the bridge, but that didn’t mean I could actually do this. And it didn’t mean his faith in me was founded. Doubt struck deeper than usual, and I couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t stop hearing the name Blossom or seeing Edison’s stricken face as he dropped to the ground.

Had he already found the phone and turned it to number thirteen? He was the most powerful witch in the Bray line; he’d probably be outside smirking at Dean by now. Smug bastard.

I scanned the trees, the branches spreading out overhead, stars twinkling between them, and I shrugged. There was nothing to do except begin walking, so I patted myself to reassure myself my weapons were still in place, and set off into the trees.

I kept an eye on every branch I passed, waiting for limbs to snap out and snare my waist, hurling me into the air so I couldn’t reach the phone. Wherever the phone even was. Every creak of the trees had me stopping and whipping around, and every whisper of wind through leaves had me drawing a knife, sending it hurtling end over end to sink deeply into the bark of a stationary tree.

“I’m going mad,” I breathed, and laughed at the absurdity of it. “You think you can break me, grassy cube? Think again. It takes a little more than some ominous rustling to drive me crazy. Because, plot twist! I’m already certifiable.”

I stormed on, sucking my strawberry lollipop. “Rebel Falcon, scourge of psychiatrists everywhere. They should put that on my gravestone.” I paused, and stabbed my lolly at the trees threateningly. “Don’t get any ideas, though; I’m not dying any time soon.”

The trees started to thin, but they went on forever and it was getting on my nerves. Where was the damn phone? I had a spot at Blake Hall to defend, and prison to avoid. I could hardly turn the dial to thirteen if there wasn’t a dial anywhere nearby, could—oh.

“That’s … not creepy at all,” I murmured, sucking hard on my lolly, the strawberry taste my only comfort. Even if I couldn’t help tasting magic on my tongue, too.

The trees ended at a perfectly square clearing, the grass cut low and scattered with wildflowers in shades of orange and pink, and right in the middle sat a small, grey table with ornate, curved legs, and a red telephone.

“This is some Alice in Wonderland shit,” I muttered, scanning the clearing for traps and pitfalls. “And I have no intention of painting roses for a maniacal queen. I’m the only maniacal queen around here, all right?” I bit through my strawberry sweet, crunching threateningly at anything that might be listening. I had a feeling I was talking to myself, but the noise helped settle the raw edge of my nerves.

Tucking my clean lolly stick into my pocket,¹ I bent to unfasten my boot and bid it a fond farewell as I lobbed it into the clearing, my breath held in my throat.

“Well,” I said, straightening when nothing happened, nothing changing in the weird clearing even a tiny bit. “That’s a good sign.”

No beasties had rushed out to devour it, no traps sprung or magic zapped my poor pleather sacrifice.

“I knew nothing bad would happen to you,” I soothed my shoe as I went to retrieve it, fastening up the laces around my foot. “I wouldn’t have let it hurt you, I pwomise.”

Drawing a knife, I straightened in the clearing, staring across the few meters between me and the phone. I didn’t trust this clearing, with its complete silence—no bird calls, no insects chattering, no rustling leaves. The wind died a few paces back, and the scent of magic was thickest here.

There should have been some signs of life, but this place was empty and unsettling, and I proceeded with cautious steps, tapping the grass before I set my full weight down.

Thank kittens there was no countdown for this trial, because I was taking my sweet time, doing every single thing to avoid a trap springing shut. When I finally reached the little wooden table that belonged more in a Parisian house than a magical clearing in a box of grass, I used the tip of my knife to nudge it—and leapt back, braced for explosions and hexes.

“Huh,” I huffed, more alarmed at the lack of reaction. “Nothing. Well … here goes.”

Dean had said I couldn’t use my body parts; not that I couldn’t use a knife, so I used the sharp tip to twist the rotary dial to one, and then to three, smirking as I waited for its reaction.

Electricity crackled up my knife, and I cried out as it sank into my wrist, burning a searing path up my arm and into my chest. I screamed, the sound ragged and loud enough to make my own ears ring. Impact rocked up my thighs as my knees hit the grass, and I bowed over my chest as the shock rocketed around, bouncing off my ribs until it finally lost its electric power.

“Fuck,” I gasped, whined. “Fuck.”

I used my good hand to pry my fingers off my knife where they’d locked around the handle, and the solid iron dropped into the grass with a thud. Every breath scalded my lungs, pain stabbing my chest and dragging a whimper from me with every inhale. But no matter how much it hurt, I had to keep breathing.

“Note to self,” I gasped, digging my fingers into the grass and pulling up chunks. “No knives.”

Which left me with dominance and magic. Great.

I was going to be here a long, long time.

“You can do this,” I said weakly, pushing to my feet and gasping through the sharp spasms of pain in my chest. I was going to be having words with Dean about his rules later. He’d never said I couldn’t use an object, and as far as I was concerned, this pain was all his fault and he needed to kiss it better. “It’s just a phone.

“Just a phone,” I repeated, wavering on my feet as I stared down at the red phone, its handset knocked onto the table, connected with a spiral of rubber wire to the base. “It’s just a phone.”

I didn’t know how anyone expected me to growl the phone into submission, so instead I reached for my magic, searching inward like Vivian taught me, and crooked a finger at the tingling power in my veins. A spark rose sluggishly, yet when I opened my eyes, I watched it die out like a sparkler dunked in water. “No!” I pleaded. “No, don’t go awayyyyy.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, and began the process again, my patience already running short. This time, I kept my eyes open, and the second a spark formed, I pushed my hand warily in the direction of the dial … and watched the seed of light fall harmlessly into the plastic. “Great. Just fucking great.”

Vivian hadn’t taught me how to do anything with my power. This wasn’t going to work. But I couldn’t give up, or I’d a) be murdered in prison by all my enemies, or b) become the bitch of the top dog because I was so cute and infectious. But if I didn’t get a move on with b), a) would happen before I could say I swear to kittens.

I preferred option c) stay at Blake Hall with my mates and work my way up to become queen of the hall. I could go out murdering on the weekends, spend my days lounging in the window seat in the TV room, and of course my nights would be filled with super hot, mind-blowing sex with my mates. Maybe being a dual-blood was a blessing in disguise. I hadn’t exactly been happy in my old life. I’d been alone.

“Like I am right now,” I murmured, staring at the phone that just sat there on its table, mocking me. “Okay. Badass witch mode.” I dragged in a breath, only slightly flinching with pain as I inhaled, and sank deeper than ever into myself, not opening a coaxing hand but growling a demand at my power, yanking at it.

White light flared in my hand, and I growled, my wolf rising in response to the dizziness that made me wobble on my feet. Panting, I guided the white light dripping from my palm towards the dial, snarling at it to turn the dial to one and gasping when it moved with the tiniest little crackle.

“Almost,” I breathed, as pain flared in my head, like a little man was trapped in my skull, hammering with his fists to get out. “Almost there.” I was nowhere close, but the dial creaked a bit closer to one, and I refused to give up, growling, pulling up more power from inside myself until my hand was overflowing with it.

“Yes,” I breathed, when I was halfway there, sweat sticking my shirt to my back under my hoodie, rolling off my forehead. “Almost. So close.”

I gritted my teeth at the vicious pain that ripped through my chest, an answering twist in my skull, and I exhaled all at once as the dial nudged to one.

I collapsed to the grass with a sob, pressing my hands to my face and whimpering at how tender my eyes felt. My eyes … I dropped my hands and stared at the smears of blood on my fingers.

My eyes were bleeding.

And the itch at my ears told me they were bleeding, too.

This trial was trying to kill me. And it would probably succeed before I ever got that dial to hit three. Nudging it towards one had taken everything from me, made my head pound worse than any hangover, and for a moment I crumpled there and sobbed.

“I can’t,” I said between broken hitches of my breathing. “I can’t.”

I’d have to resign myself to being someone’s prison bitch, because this was impossible. I had scraps of magic at best, and even my growl had only got the dial to one with immense effort. I couldn’t do this.

The trees rustled suddenly, a sharp wind whipped them into a frenzy, and my head shot up as bright silver light exploded from between a trio of tall trunks. A hole punched through a grassy wall I hadn’t even noticed before, and I sobbed as a figure stormed out of it, power rippling off him so strong I shrank back on instinct.

I covered my head with my arms and tucked my face into my knees, shaking all over, pain blasting through my head with every tiny movement.

“These people are fucking nuts,” a furious voice spat, and I startled as cool hands lifted my face from my knees, black eyes scanning me and narrowing. “You shouldn’t be bleeding.”

“Oh, fuck off, Thomas,” I snarled, shoving my bastard mate away from me.

“I warned you not to call me that before,” he replied, low and sharp, the wings inked on his throat shifting as he spoke.

“Yeah,” I growled, my throat sore with every word. “And you also said you wanted nothing to do with a pathetic dud like me, so why are you here? Get lost.”

Edison’s black eyes sharpened, his mouth pressed thin, but he didn’t back off. He loomed in my personal space, surrounding me with his dark amber scent and his stifling presence. “Don’t flinch,” he muttered, and lifted his hand, lightning bolts erupting across my jaw as he touched my chin. I jerked back, and he tutted, but his magic sank into my skin and spread crackling coolness throughout my face, through my head.

I waited for my nose to grow, to become a witch’s hook, waited for pustules to erupt across my cheeks, but instead my eyes stopped aching, my head stopped pounding, and I felt … clearer.

“What,” I asked, watching his sculpted face suspiciously, “do you want, Edison?”

He sighed, looking as pissed off as I did, but he didn’t acknowledge my question. “Bring your magic up, and I’ll direct it to the dial.”

I stayed crouched in the grass as he stood in a fluid movement, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt. I didn’t ask where his jacket had gone, or why there was a slash on his shoulder, interrupting the mermaid inked there.

“Go bother someone else,” I muttered, sinking straight into loathing and hurt. He rejected me, had made his feelings perfectly clear; why did he have to rub it in now?

“No attempts to stab me?” he taunted, looming over me with his shiny shoes and pressed slacks and his infuriating smirk. “You’re losing your touch, Graves.”

I didn’t reply.

Edison shrugged, watching me intently. “Your funeral. You’d probably be happier with Anarchy anyway—”

I shot to my feet so fast he couldn’t track the movement, and my fist struck his jaw hard enough to bruise my knuckles. I wobbled on my feet, still recovering from the shock to my chest, but it was worth it to see the surprise on his face bleed into—satisfaction? What?

“There you are,” he laughed, low and haughty. “Good. Get your magic ready, and let’s get the hell out of this place.”

“You’re helping me,” I realised, narrowing my eyes on his sharp, devastating face. “Why?”

“Charity,” he drawled.

“Bullshit,” I spat, taking a step away from him. “What’s in it for you?”

His mouth kicked up into a one-sided smirk, lazy and unfairly hot. I wanted to kick him between the legs, but I’d probably be the one losing my balance and ending up on my ass in the grass. Later, I promised myself. My boot, his balls—it was a date.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “I’ve had an attack of conscience, and I can’t bear the thought of my beloved mate so close to death.”

I gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. “If you try to kill me, I’ll rip your throat out.” I reached inside myself for my paltry magic, a low rumble of a growl on the tip of my tongue as I commanded the power to turn the dial.

“Do you have so little power that it’s this much of an effort for you?” Edison asked, but not in a sneering way—as if he was surprised.

“Better scraps of power than a dud, right?” I snarled, keeping my gaze narrowed on the phone as white light pooled in my outstretched palm. “If I get shocked for accepting your help, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted,” he replied. And then, “You tried to use your hands too, huh?”

I watched him rub his chest from the corner of my eye, and smirked. “No, my knife. It didn’t like that, either. Wow, look at us, being civil to each other. Wonders will never cease,” I remarked flatly and jumped as he hovered his inked hands over my magic, drops of his own power trickling down as he shaped and directed the flow of mine. I hated to admit it, but it worked, and with him guiding my magic across the dial, I could focus on letting my magic pour through me and out of my hand.

“That’s it, Blossom,” he said, and a shiver rushed down my spine at the name in that warm tone. He shouldn’t have been calling me that, or talking to me with anything but seething hatred. It confused the hell out of me.

He’d been joking earlier, when he said he had an attack of conscience, right?

“You’re at two,” he said encouragingly, still a snarling bastard but one who wanted me to succeed.

This was weird.²

I reached for more magic, a constant growl tingling my tongue as I pulled up more and more, pain exploding through the front of my skull as Edison guided me.

“So close—there you are—yes!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done it, Rebel.”

That was the first time he’d ever called me by my name. I opened my eyes and swore as I tilted dangerously, dizziness rampaging through my body.

“Why are you like this?” he demanded, catching my arm to steady me. “You shouldn’t be this weak.”

“I’ll … cut your bollocks off,” I rasped, listing into him. Mmm, felt nice being close to him.

Wait no, I hated him.

“You couldn’t cut a block of butter, Blossom,” he replied with wry humour. “Hold still, I’ll heal you again before the door unlocks.”

But before he could set his fingers to my face, a sharp whistle split the silence, and our heads jerked up as ropes tumbled from the star-speckled ceiling. I’d seen enough hexes in my life to recognise one on sight.

“Shit,” Edison gasped, pushing me away from him as his face turned white. “Run, Rebel!”

I fumbled with my feet to follow his advice, but my ankle twisted, the world blurred, and rope lashed around my neck before I could get even a step away.

The phone had been a trigger. A trap.

And now the rope pulled me up into the air, knotted tight around my arms, my middle, and my throat. Grunts and swearing from beside me suggested Edison had been caught too, but I couldn’t see him through the veil of my dizziness.

It wasn’t a rope around my neck, I realised with slow dread.

It was a noose.