by Rainy Kaye
“Open the fuckin’ picture,” I growled but even from here, I could see the red light flashing and fading. Flashing and fading.
Red.
Like a portal barricade.
With my gaze locked on the mage pulsing with intensity, I patted my front pants pockets and found something round and solid.
The medallion. My fingers trembled as I pulled the medallion free and then flung it a bit like a ninja star in the direction of the painting. The thud when it landed sounded through the mayhem of the crowd.
The glow of a blue circle grew. With rapid speed, the medallion light spun through the combination.
One hit.
Two hits.
Without thinking, I charged the mage.
Three hits.
I latched my fingers onto him, and instead of siphoning from the earth, I reversed, drawing in his magic. Not all of it. Not even enough to weaken his explosion. Then I shot the magic back through him. A wheezing sound escaped me as my body felt like it was going to tear in half at my stomach. The mage stumbled back a step, off the edge of the float.
Four hits.
I dropped to my knees, dry heaving as he fell toward the ground—right at the painting. Light flared from the portrait, like red sunlight through a door as the perimeter lines came to life. The mage hit the painting and for a moment, the picture contorted between the handsome visage and the jester face.
Finally, it sucked him in, leaving Prince Charming staring up at us.
The light vanished.
I stood, staring down at the picture before I realized the float had stopped moving and the crowd had backed away. Randall stood poised with the pole, breathing heavily.
The demons looked between themselves, and slowly, their outfits and masks faded until the demons were humans again. In one move, the crowds collapsed onto the ground and remained motionless.
I watched until I could verify they were breathing, and then let out the pent up stress and worry and fear.
In their place, warmth filled my chest.
Relief, for sure.
Hope, without a doubt.
Maybe even pride.
We had defeated the dark mage of New Orleans.
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, but dizziness washed through me, and I dry heaved a few times until the feeling passed.
“Hey, uh, can you guys help me down?” I called to my companions on the ground.
Randall dropped the pole and started the climb up, and Sasmita remained guarding the portrait, as if it might come back to life.
And it would, in time.
“We need to find the vault,” I said, disoriented as Randall helped me down the front of the float. “The mage won’t stay in there unless we can get him back to it.”
“Shh,” he said, and I stepped down on the ground next to him. “Let’s get the picture back into the van and then figure out what to do next.”
We joined Sasmita next to the portrait to catch our breath. We were dirty, bloody, torn up, but not beaten. Not this time.
“We’ll have to check the news,” I said as my brain continued to churn. “I don’t even know what other cities they are in yet.”
“I do,” Sasmita said. “I have it all mapped out, the order I was going to collect their blood.”
She hesitated, looking between us, but I couldn’t find anything to say. The world was spinning, in more ways than one.
“Are you sure you really want to do this?” she asked.
“No,” Randall said with a horrified laugh, but he stooped to pick up one end of the portrait and nodded toward the other.
I staggered over to the opposite end as Sasmita joined me, and we lifted it together. The three of us walked the portrait back toward the van, navigating around the unconscious bodies strewn across the street.
“Bet that’s going to be a wicked hangover,” I said.
“No party like a Mardi Gras party,” Randall said with a chuckle.
When we reached the van, Fiona was sitting in the backseat, staring ahead. Some of the joy from our win sizzled away.
Something was wrong with her. We couldn’t leave her like this, but no one we knew would be able to help us. We were going to have to dig in deeper. Those wielders had harmed her, and they were, somehow, tied into the dark witches and mages. The ones running wild across the world, with no one left to put them into check.
No one but us. If we chased them, we stood our only chance of figuring out what had happened to Fiona. Our only chance at helping her.
Perhaps it was the high of the moment, but I knew we had to keep going. Somewhere in our journey to put away the dark witches and mages, we were going to find a way to fix whatever had been done to her on that boat.
I released the portrait as Randall and Sasmita shoved it into the back of the van and closed the doors.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Randall looked at me. He had reached the same conclusion I had.
“You ready to take on the next one?” he asked.
I nodded, folding my arms over my chest.
“Yep. It’s what we do,” I said.
And we were going to keep doing it.
The next dark mage awaits in Twisted Souls. Grab your copy!
About the Author
Rainy Kaye is the author of Summoned and the Twisted Magic series. She loves hearing from readers and can be reached on Facebook and Instagram.
Visit her website rainykaye.com to learn about different ways to receive free copies of her books.
