Page 103 of Bewitched By the Djinn
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The chamber explodes into motion.
Hugh hurls a column of fire straight at Bennet, the magic laced with shadowy tendrils that twist and snap like vipers.
Bennet catches it with his bare hands, the smoke and fire wrapping around his forearms and vanishing into the air with a hiss.
He snarls, “You’ll have to do better than that.”
I duck as a smoky ifrit lunges at me, fiery hands slashing the air where my head was a heartbeat ago. I roll to the side.
The ifrit circles me, silent and inhuman. Its eyes are nothing but glowing coals. No thought. No will. Just Hugh’s puppet.
“I really hate creepy fire zombies.” I stretch out my magic, trying to shove it toward the ifrit. But my power’s not built for blasting.
Still, a spark shoots forward—then fizzles uselessly against the creature’s shoulder.
Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.
But then Bennet whips a hand through the air, and the seemingly useless emberdetonates, white fire flashing outward. The ifrit stumbles, smoke hissing from the wound.
“That’s nifty.”
“You’re welcome.” He flings another blast toward Hugh that sends sparks cascading off the ring’s shield.
I dive toward Helen, yanking at her chains. The lock is thick and ironbound, but I push my magic into it, not to break it, but to find where it gives.
And there it is: the tiniest flaw, a catch in the mechanism.
Before I can act, Fake Helen lunges.
I grab a slack length of chain and whip it at her. She ducks and throws lightning.
I lift my arm—and reacting purely on instinct—reach through the bond inside me.
Heat floods me. Not mine. Bennet’s.
It flares from my skin in a sharp burst, cracking the lightning midair and flinging it into sizzling sparks.
The fake stumbles back.
Holy hell. That actually worked. I turn to the chains again, letting my seeker magic stretch into them and pull.
The lock snaps.
Helen slumps forward, gasping. “Took you long enough.”
“Nice to see you too.”
She grabs my arm, eyes flashing molten gold. “He’s channeling power through the ring. That’s what’s sustaining my double. He’s not strong enough without it.” She grins, feral. “Let’s break his toy.”
We rise together, Bennet beside us, blood on his temple, fury in his eyes. The ground cracks under Hugh’s next blow, and more ifrit rise from the circle. Fake Helen rises once again, moving toward us. There are too many.
Bennet breathes hard next to me. Helen limps closer. The ifrit close in, surrounding us in a tightening ring of flame and ash.
And Hugh laughs. “You see now? Emotion makes you weak. That’s why you’ll fall.”
