Sometimes I hate magic. Like now. Living in a world of abracadabra isn’t nearly as wonderful as everyone believes. A potion laced with Edge floods my stomach until I feel swollen—too swollen. My gut inflates, threatening to burst, queasiness twisting deeper. A surge of energy—dark, ugly—sloshes through my intestines, climbing toward my throat in a wave of warm bile. The taste of copper rises, metallic and sharp, coating my tongue. My vision blurs at the edges, shadows crawling across the walls like living things.
“Thank you for taking the time out of your date night to see me. I know we’ve only just met, but what I have to say can’t wait. It’s important,” Canum says, his voice smooth, deliberate, like silk hiding a blade.
I knew it. The son of a turd is evil.
He gestures for the w
