Page 110 of Poison Sun

“Now,” Lucas says to me. “How about you blast your girl with some of that sun magic of yours? Force her to stand down?”

I glance back at where Cassandra and the guard are locked in battle. They’re moving in blurs. Aiming will be… interesting.

I won’t put enough power behind my magic to kill. I don’t even know if I could at this point, thanks to the potion eating it away.

But still, it’s risky.

“You sound pretty confident about my aim,” I tell him.

“Just do what you need to get her attention,” he snarls. “And do it quickly. We don’t have all night here.”

He has an excellent point.

How much longer until the shadow souls track us down and make their way across the highway?

I need to finish this.

Now.

“All right.” I gather what I can of my magic, but hold it in, not releasing it just yet. “Cassandra!” I call out her name instead.

Unsurprisingly, the attempt is futile. I don’t even know if she heard me.

“Come on,” Lucas goads. “Every second she stays in that fight is a second more she might win. And if she kills my man…” He trails off, glances at Abigail, then refocuses on me. “Well, I think you know what’ll happen next.”

“Understood.” I brace myself and study where Cassandra is fighting the guard, jumping from bench to bench. They’re slowing down a bit, both of them continuing to give the other a run for their money.

I can do this.

Abigail’s life depends on it.

And I can’t put it off for any longer. So, I gather my magic, the familiar warmth of it blooming within me.

Zeroing in, I study Cassandra and the guard’s patterns as they fight.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest, the only sound I’m aware of beyond the clash of their blades.

Then, there it is. A moment when Cassandra is fully exposed, her back turned to me as she dodges a swipe from the guard.

I shoot my magic across the amphitheater—which, at this point, feels more like an arena. Not at Cassandra directly, but in front of her. It’s a brilliant flare that explodes in the night, bright and blinding, landing exactly where I aimed on the ground.

Cassandra halts mid-motion and whirls around, eyes wide.

The guard pauses, too.

This gives her the opening to push him back with a well-placed kick.

“Cassandra!” I scream across the theater. “I’m letting Lucas drink. His guard will release Abigail when he starts. When he does, you get her out of here immediately. Okay?”

For a heartbeat, there’s silence, Cassandra’s gaze locked on mine as she processes my words.

Lucas’s man stops fighting, too. It’s like he knows to trust his leader—to make sure he does what he wants, or to suffer the punishment for disobedience later.

As he backs away, Cassandra’s expression shifts from confusion to determination.

“You can’t let him drink from you,” she says. “You know the consequences.”

“I’m well-aware of the consequences,” I tell her. “But I’m strong. I can handle it.”

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