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Selene!Memnon bellows.

I’m fine.

I fuckinghatethat word,the sorcerer spits out.Hold fast, fierce queen. I’m nearly there.

Blood is dripping from many, many wounds. For a moment, I don’t know where I am,whenI am. This feels like old battles and ruthless enemies.

I draw in an unsteady breath, my hands slipping from Nero, my fingers digging into the blood-soaked soil as the hits continue to rain on me.

Vengeance. The word whispers in my ear—now in English, now in Latin, now in Sarmatian.

There are primordial things deep beneath the ground. Things that hunger for blood and chaos. Things I once made a pact with.

You can have my help again,the deep earth whispers.

This is the part of cursework and blood magic they don’t talk about in the coven—how the darkness sometimes speaks with you if you wake it. If you beckon it.

“Wi’manvus sisapsa bowad bodit, dubtup san est iv'tav’ap,” I say slowly.Devour my spilled blood, feast on my pain.My hands tighten around the wet earth. “Do ligohutnutsa batwad wuvknusava xu onut pesasava va’ukudapsa kav sanvasa.”Tear into these witches, and let them feel my wrath.

Along my skin, I hear the hiss of boiling blood and I smell the acrid, burnt edge of it.

Whoever was listening to my plea, they answered. Power races up from the earth, into my palms. No sooner has it entered my system, however, than it pours back out of me, the cast curse streaming toward my assailants.

My magic strikes them so hard they’re blown back by the force of it. Seconds later, their screams start up, agonized and terrified.

I rise, my body feeling like one open, festering wound. I push the pain away, staring down the witches. One of them is already back on her feet. Another two are rising. The others are still screaming on the ground, curling in on themselves.

I stare at them, this growing, seething anger demanding I stop hearts and snap necks.

“Run!” one of the witches shouts.

Those who can run begin to flee into the forest, but the orbs of light above them now bob along overhead like their own personal spotlights. It makes them easy targets.

One of the remaining women is bleeding. Without thinking, I let my power reach for that blood. I’ve done this so many timesin the deep past that it’s second nature. Power roars through my veins. It feels tainted with my own darkness.

Right now, I don’t care.

I don’t speak. I don’t form a spell. I simply drag my fingers through the air, my intention forming itself into my magic. I can see oily black streaks in the pale orange magic as the curses barrel across the forest and strike the fleeing witches. I see each of them go down, their cries echoing in the night air.

There are still two witches lying nearby.

They attacked my familiar. They tried to end his life.

Moving over to the witch nearest me, I place my boot on her neck.

I don’t know whether it’s Memnon’s power or my own, but my hair is rippling as my magic gathers. I can feel old, dark things in the ground, things that reach and claw for the surface.

I lift my chin even as I stare down at the witch, her freckled face illuminated by her blue witch’s orb above us.

I recognize her, I realize with a start. She lives on my floor. I’ve shared meals with her, passed by her in the communal bathrooms. She’s an acquaintance. It makes this situation so much worse.

“The earth hungers for your life,” I say softly, almost in a trance. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let it eat you alive.”

As I speak, the soil shifts beneath the witch, as though it’s already eager to get a taste.

The woman lifts her hands, and I can see pale turquoise magic gathering there. All it takes is a little push of my magic, and the ground shifts, dragging the witch’s arms into its dark embrace.

The witch cries out, struggling now against both me and the earth. But her hands are pinned, and the more she struggles, the deeper she sinks into the earth.