Page 1 of Bright Soul

1

CRESS

My heart was still a thrumming pulse in my ears when we emerged onto a dirty back street. Flies buzzed around what smelled like days-old garbage left to fester in a weak winter sun. The air was nippy and stagnant and the neighborhood beyond silent.

We took a few moments to rest and regroup as the whole pack of survivors emerged into the light. Those who’d lived through the fight we’d fled from were in various states of injured, unconscious, or exhausted. We’d walked for what had felt like hours through an underground tunnel lit only with red bulbs, giving us the bare minimum to see by. Worse, there’d been no cell service while we made the trek to safety, so I had no idea if Mom and my sister, Carly, were okay.

Healers like my friend Áine wove between the ranks of guardian witches, Crystal Court fae, and my coven, mending the worst of our injuries. They’d been too busy stabilizing those most hurt throughout our trip through the tunnel to fix the more minor scrapes and bruises we all seemed to have, and by the time Áine’s bouncy hoofed stride came my way, she hadmere sparks and curls of green magic left on her earthen-toned fingertips.

“I’ll be okay,” I told her, though I wasn’t sure that was entirely true. I barely saw her concerned frown, too busy watching my phone’s screen as I restarted it, hoping it would find a connection.

Physically, I was fine. I should count myself lucky, because the vampire Garroway had interrupted my coven’s petition to the Crown Coven with a small army of assassins and enslaved witches, and yet here I was, alive. Terrified, but alive.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Several messages and missed calls flashed across the screen, all from Mom.

“My mom’s safe. She found a hospital and is pitching in there,” I told Áine with a trickle of relief, cut short when I saw Mom was also asking if I’d seen Carly. My thumbs moved as I spoke, asking Mom for a name or location of this hospital.

Many of us needed more medical attention than could be applied on the fly, like Ben’s brother, Lucas, whose unconscious body Geo was now carrying in his gargoyle form. Both of my boyfriends were distracted from me, speaking in low tones and inspecting Lucas. I understood the worry Ben wore openly. Our healers had revived almost everyone who’d passed out, but Lucas remained limp and wan in Geo’s arms.

Áine shifted on her cloven hooves. “I, uh, have to tell you some bad news,” she said quietly.

My belly soured. I didn’t think I could handle anything else going wrong after watching so many people die to summon a truly evil being, the soul-hungry goddess Myuna.

It’s too late for me, bright soul.

God, I was going to be sick. I’d done my best to put it out of mind, but a world-ending creature had just arrived on Earth behind us. And she had Phaeron.

“I’m pretty sure someone closed the pocket dimension,” Áine continued. The faun paused to wait for the inevitable questions.

“What do you mean, closed?” I asked.

“There’s pressure in the air above us. Maybe you feel it a little bit? Well…it’s really oppressive for me. It’s my fae magic.” Her deer-like ears pinned back, and she winced, like she noticed it so much more by talking about it.

Pocket dimensions were rooted in fae magic and a complicated concept I still didn’t fully understand. An individual fae could create a space that existed just for them, like an extension of the natural world. Together, a large enough group of fae could declare a leader and invest their powers into a Mother Tree, which would anchor the space and make it into a pocket dimension that could further be augmented by the magic of other supernaturals. These places existed completely out of a normal human’s awareness.

We were in Cerris City, a supernatural metropolis parallel to Washington, D.C., and I had felt a change in air pressure sometime after Myuna’s arrival but thought little of it. Now that Áine mentioned it, I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, letting the crush of voices around me fade to background noise.

There was an oppressive force in the air, like humidity. I wouldn’t want to go for a run right now, as my whole body felt extra heavy. “I do feel it,” I concluded. “What does this mean for us, though?”

“The Protector of the Mother Tree has sealed off any entrances and exits to the pocket dimension. We’re trapped,” she said grimly.

“Shit,” I muttered.

My heart doubled its beating, making my whole body quiver with fear. I checked my phone again and tapped the address Mom had sent me. One of my supernatural-exclusive apps popped up with a map and a blue line connecting my phone’scurrent location with the hospital as a destination. It was several blocks away.

I looked around and spotted Madigan Ashbough, my friend Roe’s mother, huddled up with a small group, undoubtedly discussing what to do next. Madigan was also known professionally as Mad Ash, a storied guardian witch who headed up a company that protected important items and people. She’d led the survivors to safety and was the best choice for the leader of our mixed group while Phaeron was gone.

Áine moved on to offer what was left of her magic elsewhere when I went to approach Madigan, phone in hand. With her Crystal fae husband, Orthus, next to her, I assumed she already knew we were trapped. They turned to look at me, along with the rest of their group.

Madigan’s suit of armor, made of red crystals from Orthus’s court, gleamed and sang a soft note of harmony in the sunlight from portions of facets that weren’t blemished by drying blood. She’d removed the helmet that made her look like an old-fashioned knight, having balanced it on the handle of her geode-formed hammer that she had resting head down. Waves of orange hair stuck to her neck from where they’d escaped her low ponytail.

I felt a crackle of fire within me for the muscle-bound woman and Hana Graygazer, who stood unmarred by combat on Madigan’s other side. She was an augur, capable of seeing the future. And judging by how she and her husband, also in this meeting of the minds, hadn’t fled with us, but still met us here…

“You knew this would happen,” I accused.

“I did,” Hana replied. She laced her fingers before her, the image of poise. She’d tied her pin-straight black hair back from her face in a practical style and wore worn traveling clothes, having changed out of the formal wear I’d last seen her in. Sheand her husband were some of the few around us with duffle bags at their feet.

That short, blunt answer didn’t satisfy me. “All those people died because we showed up to petition the Crown Coven today!” I jabbed a finger back toward the tunnel we’d just used to flee, my voice rising with every word. “Why didn’t you warn us? Why didn’t you stop this?”

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