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I froze at the sight, staring at the woman who’d raised me.Now or never, Petra. Give her and all of these people the dignity of a quick death.I couldn’t look anymore, had to separate the memory of her from her ghost that lay before me. I took a step back but I stumbled, the noise of my shuffling feet echoing throughout the cavernous chamber.

My mother shot upright, her stare blank as she turned her head to look at me.

Maybe she’d recognize me. Maybe I could save her. “Ma,” I whispered.

Instead, her mouth split with a blood-curdling screech. Every cot across the entire chamber began to stir. My mother threw her legs over the side and stood, her face familiar but plastered with an unfamiliar rage.

No part of her recognized me. No part of my mother remained.

The stranger began to stalk toward me, her movements inhuman and malicious, her jaw hanging open in an unnatural way. She looked like she could tear me apart with ease. When was the last time she had a dose of leechthorn?

“Petra!” I heard Belin yell as he ripped the door open and saw what was happening. “Petra! Now!”

I scrambled back, trying to right myself and conjure up my power as the rest of the Vacants rose from their cots. I couldn’t get my feet under me as my mother backed me toward the wall, came closer, too close–

Her hand closed around my wrist, her skin cold and clammy, her grip unnaturally strong. I let myself burn then, a tear fizzling to steam on my cheek as my mother pulled her hand away with a pained screech. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as she stumbled back.

In no time she lunged for me again, her eyes glassy and crazed as she swiped a hand at me. I did everything I could to muster up my power, to end it right then and there, but only sparks came to the surface as thousands of Vacants closed in on me.

Her nails caught my bare forearm as she screamed, my skin splitting beneath her preternaturally strong strike and her hand coming up bloody. I fell back, crashing into a few of the buckets of water that stood against the front wall.

I scrambled back to my feet and she froze — her movements stopping entirely as her arms dropped to her side. The other Vacants advanced still, faces etched with rage. But my mother remained motionless, blinking hard, her gaze suddenly meeting mine. She raised her hand to her face, my blood gleaming on her fingernails as her eyes went from her hand to me. “Petra,” she whispered.

“Ma?”

“Petra, what’s happening?”

A single drop of blood fell from her hand to the puddled water on the floor that had sloshed over the sides of the buckets, realization hitting me at the exact time it made impact. I grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her toward the door, screaming out. “Myblood!”

Just then a Vacant lunged at me, a gray-haired man with deep set wrinkles. His attempted blow missed me but his wrist collided with the wound on my forearm. Recognition flooded back into his eyes as he blinked, wide-eyed and confused.

Belin’s head craned around the door again, his eyes flying wide as he realized what was happening. “Get out! Take Ma with you!” I screamed over the mayhem as I let another Vacant lunge at me. “I have an idea!”

Vacants snapped and swiped and screamed then turned human again as my blood hit their skin and I backed toward the door.

“It’s my blood!” I screamed to those who were landing back in their bodies. “My blood is healing you!”

Understanding washed through those who were now human, and they turned to smear my blood on everyone they could reach. I watched, the momentary hope dashed by dread as I remembered there were thousands upon thousands of Vacants. I didn’t have enough blood in my body to heal even a fraction of them.

My eyes flashed through the barracks, desperately looking for a solution as my blood began to dry on those I’d managed to touch. I saw the buckets of water and the puddles that had spread around them. If I added my blood to the water, would it be too diluted to heal people on contact? It could work, maybe. But there was still the issue of actually making sure it came into contact with every single Vacant.

The storm I felt within me had grown closer, demanding my attention. What was it? For some reason, my mind flashed back to the pond in the forest where I’d awoken after Oxblood Outpost, where I’d reunited with Solise. The surface had been disturbed, but I couldn’t tell why. What if…

I stared at a puddle, willing it to move, to do something, anything as the now-humans shuffled out and more Vacants moved toward me. I burrowed deep within myself, looking for something that was different from my flames. If my flames were fury, then water, or some semblance of it, would be calm. Steadfast.

A deep breath rushed into my lungs. I blocked out the Vacants and their screeches. I blocked out Belin’s stare, separated it from where it was stuck to my skin. I was alone in my mind. My thoughts were silent. My fury was nowhere to be found. I was calm.

There. One of the puddles rippled, almost imperceptibly. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe it was the movement of the Vacants. But it was enough for me. I had to try.

I pulled my blade from my hip, bracing myself before running it across my wrist, sprinting to the first bucket and letting the blood flow from my veins. The drops fell across the surface and sank, spreading like crimson ink. All the while, I clung to that miniscule sliver of calm within me that’d made the puddle move.

“Petra!” Belin screamed from the doorway. “What are you–”

“I need help!” I screamed, desperately trying not to lose the bit of calm I was conjuring up. “Take the buckets and throw them over as many people as you can.”

Confusion crossed his face, but he listened, grabbing the first bucket and heaving it forward.Please. Please work.

He managed to douse maybe a dozen Vacants, each of them pausing then exhaling as they turned human again. It wasworking, but there was only enough water in each bucket to turn the Vacants who were directly in front of us. I ran down the line of buckets, spilling enough blood in each one that the water went red. In the midst of the chaos, I was clinging to the steadfast power that I could feel growing within me. Maybe it was Idros, Saint of Storms, guiding me here. But if it wasn’t his doing, I prayed that maybe, just maybe, he could let me borrow his power, if only for a moment. Belin followed behind me, and it was working, but it wouldn’t be enough, and I could feel the blood loss begin to set my head spinning.