The wraith screams and I'm thrown into the kitchen wall. My head is whirling. I can't stand up. Each time I try, my legs buckle.
I blink. The image in front of me doesn't make sense.
My aunt is suspended in the air between me and the wraith. She makes gurgling sounds.
"No," I cry, struggling to get to my feet.
"Stupid, witch," my uncle snarls.
"Run," she says so hoarsely that I can barely hear her. "Run, Brene."
I stumble upright, my chest heaving. Pain lancing through me. "No."
"Can't hold him."
There has to be something I can do. I hobble to the pantry and pull out a butcher knife. But the blade clatters to the floor.
"Mortal weapons can't harm me." He smirks.
I lift my hands, calling on my magic like I did before when I was a kid. Nothing happens. Has he drained me completely
