Page 59 of Bitten Vampire
He is trying something different.
Lander raises both hands: the fingers of his left hand splay wide while, in his right, he brandishes a wand. Nothing happens at first. I count to five, then the remaining lines of magic pulse once, twice, then twist together like rope.
And the blond mage’s feet leave the ground. He floats.
His power pours into the fading circle, which flares back to life. The pentagram reforms. Brighter, tighter.
The floor beneath me vibrates harder than before. Baylor whines and presses tighter against my legs.
House groans. Not aloud, but through the very bones of her structure. I feel her struggle. Her strain.
Cracks spider across the walls; deep fissures race from skirting board to ceiling. The bay window—repaired only last night—cracks under the strain, a spiderweb of fractures zig-zagging across the glass.
I tug Baylor away from the window.
In the kitchen, I hear the mended back door splinter once more, wood groaning as magic claws at House.
The living room furniture crumples as though made ofsand. Everything vanishes as House pulls all her magic into her defence.
House is falling apart.
“Stop it! Lander Kane, stop. It’s hurting her! You are hurting her! Please, stop!”
He does not stop. Perhaps he cannot hear me. The floating mage’s eyes have turned completely white.
“House, I’m killing you. Our being here is killing you. It’s my turn to protect you. Fold, move. Go now. You need to save yourself.”
No. I won’t leave you.
I do the only thing I can. “I love you. I will find you. Thank you for being my friend.”
With Baylor pinned to my side, we rush to the front door, I fling it open, and run into the front garden—straight into the pentagram’s magic. It scorches my skin, but Baylor, being non-magical, is unharmed.
Tiles tumble from the roof—one, then another. House is literally breaking apart before my eyes.
“House, you must go. Go now!”
Maybe she can’t.I whip around and glare at the floating mage. Snatching up a piece of broken tile, I hurl it at him. It strikes him square in the chest.
“Leave her alone! Leave her alone!” I scream, advancing, desperate to shatter his white-eyed concentration.
Baylor snarls and clamps onto his trouser leg, yanking. “Good boy, Baylor, get him.” I’m heading for pet-parent hell. “Please, please give us the strength to help my friend,” I beg the universe. We pull with everything we have. The sleeping vampire in me growls and?—
Lander falls. His bulk knocks us both to the ground just as the chimney crashes into the back garden.
His magic sputters.
In that moment House folds; she disappears—garden, walls, everything—leaving only a patch of rubbish-strewn scrubland.
She’s gone. She’s safe.
I scramble upright and check Baylor. My brave dog hasn’t a scratch. Then I spot the bag, stuffed with my vital documents, two sets of favourite clothes and a small pack of dog food to keep Baylor going for a few days. Beryl. The stake remains utterly still, but I can feel the faint warmth of her magic pressing against my hand.
The bag also bulges with cash—undoubtedly every pound of rent I ever paid.
A sob wrenches from my throat. “House,” I whisper, “please, please, please be safe.”
“Well,” Lander says, his voice silky and dangerous, “you’re quite the stubborn little problem, aren’t you, Winifred?” The mage rises, dusting off his trousers. He glares at his wand, broken, whether from the fall or my interference with his magic, and then turns that glare on me. “You broke my wand.”
