Page 109 of The Witch's Heart
I glance back at the group and realize they are holding hands. All of them. And I know.
They pooled their magic. It is because of their willingness to give up their individual power that Genevieve was strong enough to hit Cutter.
A large tear escapes my eye and slides into the fur of my face.
She smiles. “Do not be sad for me,” she says. “We will move on from here and collectively create what comes next.” She glances at where Logan and Cutter are still fighting. “You must do the same. If you wish to save your loved ones.”
And then she’s gone.
Maria too.
All of them--vanished.
I turn back to Logan and race toward him, the truth burning inside me. The images in my mind coming together as my four legs eat up the pavement. When I get close, I leap, my giant paws knocking Cutter aside just before he can swipe at Logan who has let his guard down.
Genevieve’s words ring in my ears and I can already feel the magic inside me rising, growing.
Cutter lands hard on his hip and I tumble, rolling when we hit the pavement. A pain shoots through my hind leg and I yelp. Logan is there, peering down at me, reaching for me. Over his shoulder, a figure looms.
Cutter.
His eyes are nearly glowing with his intention.
And I see it happening in slow motion. His arm, swinging out, his fingernails extended like knife points, aimed at Logan’s throat. Behind him, two blurs of fur close the distance and leap, their mouths open and aimed for Cutter’s flesh.
And I know.
If I do nothing, everyone will die.
But the picture has already formed. Solid. Tangible. I can taste it on my tongue. I can feel it in my bones. Carried on the wind, a new energy reaches me and it all clicks into place. Estelle. I feel her as surely as if she were standing beside me, and it’s the boost I need to ground myself in the life I’ve imagined for us. For all of us. We’ve always been stronger together, but now I know the truth.
We aren’t merely creatures at the mercy of monsters or men. We are powerful beings able to create our own realities at will. If only we can imagine it first.
“So mote it be.”
The voice rings out softly on the air. My own but not from my mouth. A me from another time. A different place.
A new place.
Then Cutter screams and Logan grunts and everything just . . . stops.
Epilogue
Ijerk awake, startled by the sound of a door slamming.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am. I look around, puzzled by this out of body feeling, like I’m forgetting something—or someone—very important.
A great sadness clouds my mind, and I shake my head, wiping a trace of drool from my lips.
I’m sitting at my desk facing a large window overlooking the ocean. My head had been resting on an open copy ofItalian Painters: Critical Studies of their Worksby G. Morelli. I rub away the tension in my neck and frown, my gaze snagging on the jeans I’m wearing. The knees are stylishly ripped. My shirt features a poop emoji on it with the word “happens” written below. Shit happens, indeed. I must have fallen asleep studying and had quite the dream. I still feel like I’m tripping.
I glance at my cell phone and notice several missed calls. “Merde,” I say to myself, then raise my eyebrows in surprise. I haven’t casually spoken in French since my semester abroad a few years ago. How odd.
A sense of déjà vu overwhelms me, and I turn in my seat, my heart pounding in my chest as all of the memories return.
Le Rêve. The dungeons. The new reality and being engaged to Cutter.
My pack.
