Page 37 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The chamber explodes into motion.
Hugh hurls a column of fire straight at Bennet, the magic laced with shadowy tendrils that twist and snap like vipers.
Bennet catches it with his bare hands, the smoke and fire wrapping around his forearms and vanishing into the air with a hiss.
He snarls, “You’ll have to do better than that.”
I duck as a smoky ifrit lunges at me, fiery hands slashing the air where my head was a heartbeat ago. I roll to the side.
The ifrit circles me, silent and inhuman. Its eyes are nothing but glowing coals. No thought. No will. Just Hugh’s puppet.
“I really hate creepy fire zombies.” I stretch out my magic, trying to shove it toward the ifrit. But my power’s not built for blasting.
Still, a spark shoots forward—then fizzles uselessly against the creature’s shoulder.
Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.
But then Bennet whips a hand through the air, and the seemingly useless ember detonates , white fire flashing outward. The ifrit stumbles, smoke hissing from the wound.
“That’s nifty.”
“You’re welcome.” He flings another blast toward Hugh that sends sparks cascading off the ring’s shield.
I dive toward Helen, yanking at her chains. The lock is thick and ironbound, but I push my magic into it, not to break it, but to find where it gives.
And there it is: the tiniest flaw, a catch in the mechanism.
Before I can act, Fake Helen lunges.
I grab a slack length of chain and whip it at her. She ducks and throws lightning.
I lift my arm—and reacting purely on instinct—reach through the bond inside me.
Heat floods me. Not mine. Bennet’s.
It flares from my skin in a sharp burst, cracking the lightning midair and flinging it into sizzling sparks.
The fake stumbles back.
Holy hell. That actually worked. I turn to the chains again, letting my seeker magic stretch into them and pull.
The lock snaps.
Helen slumps forward, gasping. “Took you long enough.”
“Nice to see you too.”
She grabs my arm, eyes flashing molten gold. “He’s channeling power through the ring. That’s what’s sustaining my double. He’s not strong enough without it.” She grins, feral. “Let’s break his toy.”
We rise together, Bennet beside us, blood on his temple, fury in his eyes. The ground cracks under Hugh’s next blow, and more ifrit rise from the circle. Fake Helen rises once again, moving toward us. There are too many.
Bennet breathes hard next to me. Helen limps closer. The ifrit close in, surrounding us in a tightening ring of flame and ash.
And Hugh laughs. “You see now? Emotion makes you weak. That’s why you’ll fall.”
I grit my teeth. “No. It’s why we’re still standing.”
But even as the words leave my lips, I know the truth—we’re about to go down fighting.
Bennet reaches for me, our fingers entwining. “I love you.” His expression is fierce, his love pulsing through our bond.
Then the doors explode open behind us.
Wind roars through the chamber, blowing away the smoke. The fire falters.
My parents charge into the room, flanked by Darius and the others. Magic flares, and in the light, weapons glint and a group of faces glow grim and glorious. Light crashes into the circle like a divine hammer, slamming into Hugh’s shield and shattering its outer ring.
The tide turns in an instant.
The chamber erupts into chaos.
Magic explodes in brilliant arcs: gold, blue, violet, and vibrant red. Fire slams against shields. Light sears through shadow.
Mom shields the others with glowing runes. Darius blasts a fiery pulse across the room, clearing a path.
Helen and I press forward through the fray, dodging strikes, countering where we can. But half my focus is on Bennet.
He’s standing across from Hugh now. Just the two of them, fire curling in their palms, the floor cracked and blackened beneath their feet.
“You think you can beat me? You weren’t trained.” Hugh sneers, circling.
“You trained me to be a pawn.” Bennet’s voice is steady. “I trained myself to be a warrior.”
And then he moves .
Their magic collides in a thunderclap, raw energy lashing out and sending shockwaves through the room.
Hugh is fast, but Bennet is faster.
He sidesteps a blast of lightning, then slams both palms into the ground. The stone beneath Hugh’s feet erupts, forcing him into the air. Bennet follows, rising in a pillar of fire, wings of flame stretching from his back.
“You think you can win?” Hugh’s eyes flick to me, to Helen. “You’ve bonded with a mortal. You’re diluted. Impure.”
“No,” Bennet says. “I’m complete.”
Hugh snarls and hurls a spear of molten power.
Bennet catches it midair and snaps it in half. “You were never the strongest. Only the cruelest.”
Hugh lunges, the Ring of Solomon burning bright.
Bennet meets him with open hands and closes them around the ring.
Their magic ignites.
It’s too much. The power arcs violently, surging up Bennet’s arms, through his chest—and then out , into the chamber, cracking the air with light. Hugh screams, the sound tearing at the walls.
But it’s not enough.
I run, reaching for him. “Bennet!”
I grab his shoulder.
The moment we’re connected, the energy changes. I concentrate on the ring. Where’s the weakness? Where, where, where? I seek and seek deeper into the ring, the layers of metal, the goddamn atoms of it and there is nothing and oh, no we’re gonna die.
No.
There .
A fault line buried beneath centuries of misuse and corrupted power.
I guide Bennet’s power to it like a key to a lock, and together, we push.
The ring screams and then cracks and then shatters.
Hugh crumples to the floor. Still. Unmoving.
The smoky ifrit around us dissolve, their bodies unraveling into mist. The room is still lit with embers, glowing in the aftermath.
Bennet lands hard, stumbling to one knee.
I bend over him, clutching at him. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He nods once, dazed. “I—I didn’t know if I could do it.”
Helen stands nearby, silent for a long moment, then says softly, “It’s over.”
Behind us, our allies regroup, helping each other up, brushing off dust. Bruised and bloody but alive. The castle has gone still, the threat broken.
Holy shit. We kicked ass.