Page 84 of Howling
“Explain.” Frankie doesn’t glance at me as she demands answers.
“Magic is pure chaos. It’s neither good nor bad, but it can become like an infection when no one is there to guide it properly.” The witch waves a hand at the walls, and it’s the first time I notice the roots are now bursting with brightly colored flowers. “Nature will take over—flowers bloom, trees grow, animals mate. The randomness is unpredictable. When they say Mother Nature is a cruel mistress…that’s putting it mildly.”
“So if magic builds up faster than I can absorb it?—”
“Sink it into the earth, purchase an amulet to store it, even learn how to cast a few simple cantrips.” The witch sweeps her hair over her shoulder, the strands untangling, the snarls smoothing out, the dark hair full of wild curls. “If you don’t get rid of the raw magic, that chaos will be forced to focus inward.”
I don’t like the speculative look in her pale green eyes.
Frankie is ours.
If the witch fucking touches her again, I’ll rip her arm off, then shove it down her throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FRANKIE
Despite knowing the magic was hurting me, I absolutely detest that it’s gone. My body feels hollow, like I was gutted with a rusty spork. Pushing aside my discomfort, I search the witch’s expression, wondering if the magic she took is whispering my secrets.
I wait for speculation to darken her eyes, avarice for what she can gain if she just takes more. Though I would hate to kill her, I’ll do it without hesitation if she forces the issue. Curiosity crosses her expression, but she doesn’t barrage me with demands or weave spells to capture me.
Not that it would work, but that’s beside the point.
“You are not a witch. You don’t need to use spells to cast magic the same way we do. Think of magic as an extension of yourself. If you want to purge it from your system, just focus on releasing the magic in a slow and steady stream. You have to use intent. Release it too fast, and it will cause chaos, too slow, and it will consume you from the inside out, then explode in a wave of havoc.”
“Why is she even struggling with magic?” Dante stares at the witch suspiciously, deep-seated distrust curling his lips. “Shifters are only able to hold a minuscule trace, enough to shift. What’s wrong with her?”
Rude!
Nothing is wrong with me, and I pout, unsure whether I should be offended that he thinks I’m damaged or charmed that he’s concerned. Then my breath stalls in my chest, as if afraid to draw attention to myself. My eyes lock on the witch, curious to see if she recognizes that I’m a kismet.
My wolf inches forward, the scruff of her neck rising. Claws slice through the tips of my fingers, the beast seconds away from ripping out her throat before she can spill our secrets. I tense, ready to pounce…only to pause when the witch shakes her head.
“Nothing is wrong with her.” A furrow appears between her brows, and her gaze clashes with mine. “A few wolves are able to harness a little more magic than others. You call them alphas. She is the same. She just has a little bit more juice than normal.”
She tilts her head to the side, a spark of curiosity in her expression, and I hastily tear my eyes away for fear she’ll read more from me than I’m willing to give away.
Dante grunts, clearly unsatisfied. Before he can probe for more answers, I quickly change the subject. “We don’t have much time. Sooner rather than later, they’re going to check on us. We need a plan.”
A harsh expression deepens the lines of her face. “Geoffrey took over the coven slowly, casting doubt and suspicion among the witches. When I began asking questions, his true colors were exposed. He drugged me, then stuck me in a fucking cage, leaving me to watch as he took the members of my coven one by one.
“Those he didn’t sell off, he drained.” Horror darkens her eyes, as if reliving each of their deaths, and she releases ashuddering breath. “He forced me to watch, wanting to break my spirit, draining me enough each night that I couldn’t fight back.”
She rubs a hand over her heart, as if the loss of her coven was a physical pain. Then her hand curls into a fist, and her expression hardens. “He kept me alive, demanding the location of another coven he could harvest.”
The way her chin lifts in defiance, she would’ve died before breaking. Hatred swirls in her eyes like a brewing storm, the slow smile curling her lips nothing less than sinister. “Now it’s time for vengeance.”
Though dressed in dirty rags, power thrums through her veins so strongly that it pulses in the air. The other prisoners perk up at her speech, no doubt as eager to leave as the rest of us. Unfortunately, I suspect escape isn’t going to be easy.
“How much power are you able to summon?” My mind rapidly flicks through different scenarios, searching for the one that gives us the biggest chance of survival. All the options are pretty dismal. The only way we can escape is if we work together.
Witches, shifters, vampires, fae—if they’re anything like back home…
We’re screwed.
“I won’t be at my full power for some time.” Her expression is reserved, wariness entering her eyes. “Why?”
“Our best chance to survive is if we stick together.” My attention drops to the twenty or so people still recovering, and my gut sinks at their rough shape. Our pitiful army doesn’t stand a chance, and my resolve firms.
