The Box

Chapter Twenty Five

It feels exactly how I remember. No, it's worse. Much worse. Not only is my own magic being squeezed and shoved, but I also sense every bit of his twisted magic ripping into mine as he tears it from my body.

I long for him to finish and for the nothingness to take me.

No.

Not this time.

It's all too easy to find every spec of magic left inside of me since Stewart's made it the only thing I can feel at the moment. His magic wraps around me like a net, reminding me of the spell holding Al, keeping him miniature. The difference is Al's spell was created by one source. Stewart's magic, on the other hand, is a patchwork of energy and each spot where one sorceress's magic knots with the next not only feels different, it's also weak.

My magic contracts a little more. So much pain. I don't have time to wonder if what I'm doing will work. If it doesn't, this is the end.

Much like how Stewart tries to drive all of my magic to my mouth, I push it all to one spot, focusing on one of those weak areas.

It's like pulling too hard at the seam of a shirt. There's an extraordinary amount of pressure fighting against my magic, and then nothing. And I can breathe.

I shove again, this time spreading my magic over my open palm as I hit him in the gut with both flesh and fire. He stumbles back, though I've no idea how far. I fall to the ground in a clump and try to scramble to my feet before his next attack comes, but I can't. I can't move my arms to prop myself up. All I can do is lie there in a heap and wait for him to come at me again. There's no chance of stopping him twice.

"Lou!"

Al's voice. He's alive. I wish I could embrace relief, but I'm too exhausted to feel much of anything. Stewart might not have taken my magic, but after all of the power I've used today, he might as well have. I feel as drained.

"You again," Stewart sighs. "Honestly, does no one around here stay dead?"

The darkness in Al is obvious as he says, "You shouldn't have done that."

They are the most frightening words I've ever heard. Bloodthirsty. It barely sounds like Al at all.

And then I realize why he sounds so angry. I'm on the floor, and I'm not moving. He thinks Stewart succeeded. He thinks I've been drained again.

I struggle to get up to let him know I'm still alive, more or less. But when I manage to force myself onto my hands and knees, and then finally to just my knees, I know the effort is pointless. My vocal cords won't work so I can't call out, and Al's too focused on Stewart to notice anything else.

Instead of trying to distract him, I focus on the tiny bit of magic I have left inside of me and slip into Al's head to see what's happening. Stewart's torso is the only thing in focus at first as Al steps aside to avoid a blade whizzing into sight with seemingly no warning.

But before I can get my weary mind to decide what action to take, Al finds his own opening. I see it too, though it only lasts a second. The time it takes Stewart to build up a final blast of magic to leave nothing of Al but ash.

Al's fury has made him fast, though. And strong.

His sword cuts cleanly through the magic Stewart's gathering and makes its way easily through skin and between bone to plough a hole straight through the man's chest. At first it looks like it has no effect on Stewart as he continues to stare at Al with fury. And then his body jerks, pulling the sword and Al with him. A tiny trickle of crimson pools at the corner of his mouth. Stewart opens his lips as though to speak, but instead of words, a gob of dark, sickening blood comes out.