Page 62 of Summertime Hexy
“Okay,” I mutter. “Time to get feral.”
The veil snarls again. A rippling arc of shadow curls from its edge, lashing the grove like a whip. I duck, roll, stumble back to my feet with a manic laugh.
“Oh, you wannadance?Cool. Let’s see if you can handle a blackout chaos witch with a grudge and poor impulse control.”
I slam my wand into the dirt.
Magicerupts.
It’s not polished. It’s not stable.
It’smine.
The ley lines beneath the Grove flare bright and golden, responding to my energy, not because it’s clean or balanced, but because it’sreal.
I start drawing the circle.
Not the one Thorn taught me.
The oneIcreated. The one with overlapping rings and sigils that technically aren’t sanctioned but happen to work really freaking well if you’re desperate and emotionally compromised.
My voice cracks as I chant.
Each word is a whip crack. A scream. A spell woven out of anger and fear andlove.
The veil surges again, fighting back.
I grit my teeth. “Not today, void hole.”
I throw up the shield glyph just as another pulse slams toward me. It ricochets off, cracking the ground.
Behind me, Derek groans.
“You stay down!” I shout over my shoulder. “Or so help me I will bind you to the moss and force-feed you flower tea!”
He groans again.
I’ll take that as compliance.
The spell circle glows.
Almost ready.
I pour everything into it, every failed spell, every messy lesson, every night I cried in my bunk because I thought I’d never beenough.
And finally it opens.
A gate of light slams down across the tear, weaving through the circle’s edge like stitching in a wound. The veil shrieks, twisting and lashing, but it can’t break through.
I channel harder.
My nose starts bleeding. My knees buckle.
I don’t care.
“Hazel!” someone yells from the trees—maybe Thorn, maybe Milo, maybe the wind.
I don’t stop.
