The Scourge of Gods

CHAPTER FORTY

"Let me in, human," said Gwyn behind the locked door.

She knocked another few times, her knuckles becoming more insistent with every passing second. Inarhi had been sitting beside Luna for more than an hour since Alphonse and Sybil's departure, stomach tight with tension, keenly watching the reverse-summoning pentacle for any sign of their return. In fact, she'd been alone for almost half the night.

And now the witch decided to check in on her?

Inarhi held her tongue for a moment, mulling over on what to say, but she couldn't allow Gwyn entrance. She wouldn't be able to explain the pentacle on the floor, while covering it with the small carpet under her feet was problematic for two reasons: placing a foreign object over the circle ran the risk of negating the summonings, as well as smudging the glyphs, potentially killing or maiming the users involved in the spell.

Gwyn knocked harder this time, the door's timbers quivering. "Hello?"

"I'm not decent!" Inarhi called, not knowing what else to say.

"You have two minutes," responded Gwyn, tone annoyed.

"Give me five."

"Two," said Gwyn more forcefully as veins of ice crept along the door's edges. "You have two minutes or I'm letting myself inside, indecent or no. I've been away too long already, and I know bloody damn well you're mired in mischief.

This girl had some spirited intuition, thought Inarhi with a grimace.

Inarhi stared earnestly at the pentacle again, as if she could somehow will Sybil into existence. The witch probably had the magical power to turn away Gwyn, which Inarhi was counting on. But seconds ticked down, and Inarhi couldn't think of anymore excuses to stall the witch.

"That's it, I'm coming in," hissed Gwyn.

A blade of ice slid between the door's frame, gliding downwards to cut the locking bolt, like parting cobweb. Still holding the wafer of ice, Gwyn pushed in the door and stormed inside, face flushed with anger. "You stupid—"

The witch froze, gaze trained on the drawn pentacle. Realization formed in every line of her body, eyes intensifying. "Why do you have a reverse-summoning pentacle in your chambers?" she asked, still staring. "What's going on here?"

Inarhi had her mouth open, but nothing came out except, "I..."

The pentacle lit up white.

A sudden wind raked through Inarhi's hair, slowly rotating out of the glowing circle and snuffing out the row of lamps lining the wall. The curtains and bedsheets fluttered, the decorative frames rattled, and the floorboards themselves seemed to shudder from the otherworldly storm. Gwyn's own hair whipped violently as her weapon elongated, matching the length of a long sword.

In a flash, Sybil, Alphonse, and Eriden materialized.

The energy in the chamber died down, and the air grew sweet again. As the dust settled, Inarhi was astounded to see that Gwyn had raised her weapon to the newcomers. The witch's hands trembled, her teeth bared in anger.

Gwyn took a step forward. "What's the meaning of this?"

Sybil glanced at Inarhi, arching an eyebrow. "I didn't quite feel like I had need to mention this, but our little agreement was supposed to be kept secret," she said, walking out of the pentacle. "And here I thought you were good at doing such things."

"She forced her way in," muttered Inarhi.

"Is that so?"

Sybil moved her arm holding her flute when a small dart of ice whizzed past her instrument. She went rigid. A flash of annoyance passed over her face as she lowered her hand, but her expression remained composed, even amused.