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She’s crafting a spell. A web of magic catapulted across the street from one of the pedestrians. It snarled around the beast, but with a shake, the creature shrugged off the spel and kept running. It was headed straight for the café. And Hol y. I turned back to Death. “Not her,” I whispered. He didn’t look at me. No! I dashed back through the tables, tripping over toppled chairs in my haste. I reached Hol y just as her eyes popped open. She lifted her hands and a bal of fire burst into existence, building between her palms. The rubies she wore on her fingers—gems where she stored raw magic— glittered in the flames, and the bal of fire burst forward. The firebal exploded against the beast’s chest, the backlash of heat slamming into us. But the beast didn’t stop. It didn’t even pause.
- Writer
