Page 67 of Poison Sun

I push myself up with my good arm, crying out as I do.

The poison in my other arm is almost to my shoulder now. The pain is a living thing, wrapping its tendrils around my thoughts, squeezing until it’s all I can focus on.

Blaze’s eyes widen as he sees my ripped sleeve, the puncture mark on my skin, and the darkened veins around it. “Poison,” he realizes, and he reaches to inspect it, but I pull away.

“Don’t touch it,” I hiss. “You can’t risk it. You don’t know what touching it will do to you.”

“We need to get it out of you,” he says. “Maybe I can squeeze it out. Or burn it out. Or… something.” He scans the area around us, desperate, as if something might pop out of the ground that will heal me.

“It’s burning me from the inside.” Sweat drips down my face, and I somehow manage to not cry out again as the poison continues its deadly journey to my center. “It hurts so much. I think it’s going to kill me.”

Suddenly, I realize it’s not only sweat running down my face.

It’s also tears.

“No,” Blaze snaps, refusing to accept it. “You’re one of the most powerful witches in the world. It’s only a scratch. You can fight it.”

“I can’t.” Despite the agony, I keep my voice steady and meet his gaze with as much focus as I can muster. “But you can.”

Morgan

Blaze flinches back, as if I’m a snake that just bit him.

Which is kind of ironic, given that a snake monster just bit me.

“I can’t,” he says, and he refuses to look at the wound, as if doing so will kill me on the spot.

“Do you know any healing spells?” I ask, ignoring his refusal. We don’t have time for it. The pain is too unbearable. A constant throb turning into a howling scream in my veins.

It’s going to burn me alive.

“One.” He swallows, and I can see from his twisted expression that he’s torn up inside, conflict raging within him. “From when I tried to heal my mom. But you know what happened to her. It’s too risky. If I use it on you, it might?—”

I reach out, grabbing his hand with my good one and stopping him mid-sentence. “I’m dying either way,” I tell him, hoping the glare I’m giving him sears through him as strongly as the poison ripping through my veins.

His jaw clenches as he looks from me, to my blackened skin, and back to me again. “You don’t know that,” he says, although I can tell from his wavering voice that the reality of what’s happening is sinking in.

“You can do this,” I tell him, praying to every god in existence that he’ll see reason.

He just shakes his head, his eyes hollow, as if he’s reliving what happened with his mom all over again.

“You have to try,” I beg, the tears coming faster now. “Please, Blaze. I need you.”

He finally meets my gaze with something I didn’t expect—anger.

“Fine.” Resolution crosses his face, and he reaches for his penknife, flicking it open. Then, taking a deep breath, he slashes the thin blade across his palm, digging deep and covering the tip of it with his blood. “This might hurt.”

With a shaky breath, he positions the penknife—his blood covering its tip like ink—above my arm.

I brace myself, not for the pain, but for the uncertain outcome of Blaze’s spell. I’m not sure ending up in that institution with his mom would be better or worse than death, but we still have to try.

“Sanare,” he whispers—I assume it’s the Latin word for “heal”—and then the tip of the penknife is in my flesh, red hot pain flooding my arm as he sears the magic into my skin.

In a flash, my body’s on fire, the pressure making me fear I might explode with so much force that the remaining microscopic shards of myself will scatter across space and time and be lost forever. The only thing keeping me from screaming is the knowledge that if I do, he might think he’s failing and stop.

I have to stay strong. I have to make sure he finishes. This spell is my only hope.

Then, suddenly, there’s warmth.

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