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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Chaos erupted in the great hall.

Before Arthur took a single step, the Stag Man threw his head back with an ear-shattering bugle.

His summons were cut off when glowing green vines clobbered him in the gut and knocked him back into his chair, but the damage was already done. The faelight minions that had been milling in the courtyard stampeded into the great hall, every fang and claw bared to rip into the bear shifter’s flesh.

In the heartbeat that followed, where time and the pandemonium seemed to freeze, I lunged forward and seized the plum in one hand and the lid of the ceramic jar in the other.

Another heartbeat passed: Ossian rocked forward to leave the chair, copper magic blooming in his palms and a snarl twisting his mouth, and I rammed the magical equivalent of a sledgehammer through the cloch na wight.

The illusion of the plum shattered with a burst of white light, and the wight in the shape of a shadowy wolfhound sprang free with an eerie howl. Gwyn launched herself at the Stag Man, flattening him against the chair and pitching it back onto its rear legs .

In the second he stole to bash the wight away and right his chair, a horrid stench filled the air. Two globs of bubbling dough gripped the rim of the ceramic jar and heaved a feral sourdough starter to the surface.

“Sic him, Bruno.”

There was a flash of white and a heavy slop of a sound, and suddenly the Stag Man was covered in bubbling bread dough. It clung to him like glue, fusing him to the chair and engulfing him in stink, stick, and slime. With a shout, he tried to blast himself free, but Bruno merely absorbed each magical burst and doubled in size. It couldn’t withstand more than a few hits before the wild yeast expended itself, but he didn’t know that. The Stag Man’s eyes bulged in fear as the starter climbed over his mouth, smothering his scream.

Different screams lifted into the air.

The Brotherhood momentarily forgot their twisting guts in lieu of what was happening to their hands. Angry hives and bulbous pustules covered every inch of exposed flesh. Their skin was horribly inflamed and swollen, and, as I watched, the rash spread to their necks, their ears, their faces. Everywhere they had touched themselves during dinner.

“Ha!” Flora crowed, pausing to punch a faelight coyote’s snapping jaws away. “That’s what you get. I laced the table with poison ivy sap, losers!”

No wonder my friends hadn’t succumbed to the same infection—the oils of their own fur and hair had protected them.

Shari shrieked then, spinning a tight circle and clobbering a Great Pyrenees in the face with her quilled tail. Daphne kicked the dog away, Cody and Emmett flinging cups and cutlery after it.

“Not to tell you your business, miss,” the beaver said, flinging a platter like a frisbee, “but I think it’s time to go!”

“Daphne, get them out of here,” I shouted. “Arthur! ”

The man was fighting for his life amidst the faelight beasts, but with only a thin rapier and no fangs or claws of his own, it was a losing battle. The wight swirled around him, able to partially deflect some of the worst strikes, but the pure spirit wasn’t exactly corporeal.

“I got him,” Sawyer cried, racing across the tabletop. “Get the key.”

The tabby tomcat leapt onto the back of the nearby sheepdog and leap-frogged from one faelight beast to another en route to Arthur, and through our bond, I felt his magic building. I donated a trickle from my magic oak tree, careful not to overwhelm him, and concentrated the rest.

Wreathed in opalescent magic, I shoved my hands into the vicious sourdough starter. It had absorbed Ossian from the base of his antlers down to the heels of his shiny black boots. He thrashed, each movement sluggish like he was swimming through a pool of molasses. His magic attacks fared no better—muted in sound and light like underwater detonations.

“Ack, not me , Bruno,” I cried as the dough tried to suck me inside it. Bracing my foot against the armrest, I strained to push through the elastic dough and find that key on Ossian’s chest. “I just— Ah!”

Shane had my foot in his fist.

The Brother had crawled over to me while the rest still squirmed on the ground, only the faelight giving him the wherewithal to suppress the pain in his gut and the agony that infested his flesh. A dozen pustules popped as his fingers tightened and gave my ankle a vicious yank.

Now even though I was a Hawthorne who had participated in daily physical training since I was eight, I wasn’t particularly flexible. The tendons of my inner thighs screamed as I was suddenly forced into a sideways split .

Bruno, however, would not give up his second dinner so easily.

The sourdough starter swallowed my arms up to my elbows and would’ve dragged both of us into its belly were it not for my foot braced against the armrest.

“Let. Go! ”

It was a command for both of them, and the blue flames in the fireplace that had historically ignored my summons leapt to obey. No longer could it play ignorant, obeying only Ossian. I knew its true nature, and my purpose was clear.

A fiery whip stung the sourdough starter, and the dough immediately released me with a startled, yeasty hiss. Another lashed Shane across his tender hands. The magic hunter jerked back onto his knees, cradling his weeping hands to his chest. A third fiery whip—just for good measure—walloped him again, sending him careening into the bodies of his miserable Brothers.

“Meadow!” Daphne trumpeted.

The white mare was cornered, all four of our friends piled onto her back. Flora darted this way and that, using one of Shari’s longer quills she’d obviously plucked out of her friend to stab in the eye anything that approached. Emmett, the little hoarder raccoon that he was, had his arms full of cutlery and plates and offloaded it all piece by piece to his best friend. Cody hurled each fork and cup and platter with the accuracy of a major-league pitcher, craning his empty hand back every time with a shouted, “Reload!”

And Shari, clever quiet crafter that she was, had used her crochet chain stitch to lasso two dogs together, one at either end of the chain. The more they fought to get away from each other, the more they tightened the noose around their necks, and the more they panicked. That panic was doing wonders clotheslining any animal the two crazed beasts encountered, but there were still so many .

Slamming my hands against the table, I summoned the essence of water.

Every ounce of beer, wine, and water leapt from the pitchers, from where it had spilled on the table, where it had dripped onto the floor. Even the moisture in the food answered my call, succulent roasts shriveling to lumps like coal, pastry flattening into wafers, mashed potatoes drying out into ash.

The Tree of Life doubled the water in the air and sent it like a wrecking ball through the faelight beasts, clearing a path to the double doors.

“Go! Don’t wait for me.”

Without waiting to see if they obeyed, I turned back to the voracious sourdough starter.

Bruno was finally weakening.

Oh, that’s not good.

With a slash of my hand, I sent an air crescent to slice through the dough. My hand plunged into the gap, seeking and flailing and—

I felt it.

The metal was alive, the same minute vibrations thrumming through it like purrs through a cat.

My hand tightened around the filigree key, and I plucked it free of the dough.

Ossian’s arm chased after it, fingers clawing through the open air and missing the end of the chain by mere inches. With a yelp, I stumbled away from the chair and right back into Shane’s grip.

This time a good deal of kicking and stomping on fingers got him to back off, and I high-stepped it onto the trestle table. The chain went over my neck immediately after, and I wedged the key into my cleavage. There was a gurgled cry half a second later, then the Stag Man ripped the dough away from his face. Bits of white clung to his cheeks and dangled from his curls, and his eyes . . ..

There was Death in those jewel-like eyes.

And before me on the floor, empty vials littered the space around the Brotherhood—healing elixirs. Alec grabbed a chair and forced himself onto his knees, his expression wholly unhinged.

It was definitely time to go.

I yanked the hickory nuts out of my sleeve pocket, hurled them at the dough by Ossian’s feet, and shouted,

“Silk of the spider, fiber of hemp and flax,

make these Mabian bindings hold strong and fast!”

The nuts immediately activated, shells bursting apart to release a frightening network of glowing green threads.

“Sawyer! Arthur!”

I’d lost track of the little cat, but my familiar had been tenacious in his struggle to reach Arthur. He was halfway through the faelight army, claws digging into the neck of a black bear as he fought to stay aloft.

There was no sign of the wight.

“ Fragor maximus!” the cat cried.

A concussive blast rippled through the frenzy in the great hall. It was the same spell he’d used on my family when they’d raided the farmhouse, only this time, it had extra oomph.

Arthur dropped to one knee, plunging the sword into the floor and holding on as the shock wave sent every other animal flying through the air. I merely batted the blast to the side as I ran down the table, flinging a look over my shoulder to find the Stag Man, the chair, and a rapidly deflating Bruno sprawled on the ground. The Mabian bindings continued to weave, their initial burst of speed having slowed dramatically .

“Sawyer,” I barked, sending a magical vine after him. The cat still squeaked in surprise as it coiled around his belly and yanked him into my arms.

Scattered across the great hall, the faelight beasts began to rise. They’d only been stunned, and their order to destroy the Bear Prince remained.

Shouting Arthur’s name, I flung out of hand filled with green fire. A fiery wall cleaved the great hall in half, and this time the flames truly burned.

“What are they doing ?” Sawyer whispered.

My feet slowed to a stop of their own accord as I watched, horrified, as the faelight beasts charged the fire. Ossian’s hold over them had overridden their instincts, and even as their fur and feathers and scales and shells burned, they still threw themselves at the bear shifter. A relentless tide that would overwhelm him eventually.

“Insufferable witch!” the Stag Man roared, jolting us from the horrific scene. One sweep of his hand knocked the heavy trestle table out of his way, and he lowered his antlers like a bull about to impale me on his horns. He was still speckled in dough, but not one green thread bound him immovable.

Oh my Green Mother, how had the Mabian bindings failed? Had I not layered the spells on the hickory nuts right?

“Meadow!” Arthur’s hail was the only warning I received before he launched Faebane like a javelin.

What the—? Why was he throwing away his only weapon?

Magic caught the sword. Air first to slow its course, then earth in my preferred shape of a vine to draw it into my hand. Ossian regarded me with newfound wariness, copper magic building in his hands.

“Go, sweetheart.”

Somehow the cacophony had stilled for that single moment, Arthur’s calm words echoing across the great hall. I met his hazel eyes for only a second before they flashed amber.

“No,” I cried. “Don’t—”

The grizzly bear leapt free of the surging faelight army, cleared the flames, and slammed into the fae king. Ossian released a bestial roar and slashed with his antlers, and that was the last thing I saw.

With Faebane and my cat clutched in my arms, I whispered the Rabbit Step Spell and raced out of the castle.