Page 155 of Summer of Sacrifice

Agatha caught sight of her Sisters’ power rising entwined behind Athania.

The fallen Lady War grinned. “And it is your fault you will all die today.”

Indignation pressed at the back of Agatha’s eyes until all she saw was white-hot rage again. It coursed through her veins, it sang through the bond from Grimm. It flashed within her Sisters’ magic.

“All you have, Athania, is your silly little delusions. While I”—Agatha spread her arms wide again—“I have everything in my family and my friends.”

In a rose-gold flame, the magic of all four Sisters Solstice lashed out, wrapping around Athania until she screamed. Fighting back, her power managed to push against them but did not prevail.

Agatha smiled wickedly at the pathetic woman. “Magic is mine,” she whispered to her. “All of it.”

Lady Magic. Grimm’s voice in the bond gave her the last push of courage she needed.

Lips parting, Agatha called it forth from her soul. Magic, thick and multi-faceted filled her nostrils, her mouth, her lungs, from every corner of the realm—from every realm.

A screech of fury pierced the air as Athania realised the magic of those gathered was not invading her as it had so many times before. As she realised it was flooding Agatha. As she realised the reaper wasn’t trying to throw her into another realm this time as he circled her.

Grimm shot toward Athania, his skeletal fist ripping at her throat, her sternum, until her soul pulled free, just enough.

The sound of clanging swords and screams ignited the valley, but still, the magic came to Agatha. All of it. Everywhere.

Agatha’s back arched, her boots lifting from the ground.

“Aggie!” Winnie screamed from the ground below the cliff, her voice sounding impossibly far away. But she merely stored her Sister’s voice in her memory as her body lifted to the sky.

SORSCHA

Sorscha watched as fear crossed Chresedia’s eyes where she stood atop that rock above them, watching the magic fill Aggie. Watching Sister Autumn…

No, watching Lady Fucking Magic take back what was hers.

Like a marionette on a string, Aggie rose before them into the sky. Black streams of magic poured into their Sister Autumn, the undead around them dropping to the dirt like the corpses they were.

Sorscha looked at her hands. Felt her soul teetering between life and death. Vines of glittering obsidian shot forth from Grimm where he hovered above Athania. The vines swirled around the gathered mages, witches, and Druids on the battlefield, an agonisingly beautiful ballad playing on the wind.

Sorscha felt the coolness of Grimm’s power pressing at her soul, bidding it to stay. But magic left her body—a well dried up.

The Sisters’ magic was gone. No longer holding Chresedia captive. But the reaper was.

Winnie began to cry. The battle had halted, the Acolytes fallen with their beasts.

All of their comrades watched the sky. Watched Lady Magic.

Aggie rose higher still into the darkening sky, but her veins were turning black.

SELESTE

“She lied,” Sorscha choked out, manic. “Aggie lied! She said she only needed that Primordial kernel of magic back!”

Winnie did not take her eyes off their Sister Autumn, tears streaming down her face. “I know,” she whispered. She took both their hands, and together they looked up to where Sister Autumn lay in the sky, limp and splayed.

Aggie’s hands unfurled, a swath of black lace crawling like a swarm of arachnids up her arms until she was in an obsidian gown that trailed, dangling beneath her hanging body.

Hanging like the witches. Righting every wrong.

Seleste gasped as a dark crown appeared on Aggie’s head, her auburn hair blowing in the wind.

A glimmering, spectral form materialised before the three Sisters, pulling their attention from the scene on the mount.

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