I just hoped it wasn’t another damn explosion.
I pushed the fear back down once again and forced myself to concentrate. Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled down the side of my face. I swiped at it with the back of my hand, then carefully pulled the closing thread away and murmured a spell to isolate it without breaking its connection to the other two.
I had no idea which of them I should tackle next, and very much suspected it might not matter.
Before I could decide, the spell came to life.
A dark wave of its energy hit so hard, it threw me back. I crashed into the toilet bowl with bruising force, and my breath left in a huge whoosh of air. The remaining threads of the spell were twisting—growing—washing waves of fierce power and heat through the air, making it sparkle and burn. I swore and scrambled upright, ignoring protesting back muscles as I grabbed my phone and then wrenched open the door. The whole van was now shaking. Cupboard doors flapped wildly back and forth, spilling their contents out onto the floor, the cans of baked beans bruising my feet even as they impeded my progress to the main door. The heat was now so fierce, the painted paneling was beginning to bubble and, on the bed, the mounds of skin barely hanging from white bones burned.
The whole van was on the verge of destruction.
I stumbled toward the door and reached for the handle. A heartbeat before my fingers clasped it, I felt the heat and jerked my hand away. The whole handle glowed.
I stepped back and kicked the door with every ounce of panic and strength I had. It didn’t immediately open. I swore at the thing and kicked it again and again, until the damn thing tore off its hinges and went tumbling into the lean-to.
The spell’s buzzing was so loud it was all I could hear, all I could feel. I leapt out and ran.
I was barely four meters away when the whole damn caravan exploded.
Chapter Two
A fierce wave of heat and debris hit my back and sent me flying toward a tree. I twisted my body to avoid the trunk but crashed instead into the shrubs and stones that lay to the right of it.
I didn’t move. I didn’t dare. Bits of metal and wood and God knew what else continued to spear through the air, but the tree and the rocks protected me from most of it. The stuff that did hit was mostly splintered and didn’t hold enough force to pierce my clothes, let alone my skin.
After a few more minutes, the magic ebbed away. Ash continued to dance through the air, and a small plume of smoke drifted skyward, though there couldn’t have been much of the caravan left to burn.
I pushed upright, then screamed as pain unlike anything I’d ever felt before hit. Nausea surged and sweat broke out across my brow. Sucking in great gulps of air helped calm my stomach, but there was no calming or controlling the pain. It felt like someone had shoved a white-hot poker into my right shoulder and was gleefully twisting it deeper into muscles and tendons. My body shook, my arm burned, and my fingers were going numb—a sure sign I’d done something rather serious.
I shifted carefully, making every effort to keep the arm still, and then dragged the phone out of my pocket. It had, thankfully, survived both the explosion and subsequent crash relatively unscathed. After switching the camera to selfie mode, I raised it high in an effort to see what the hell was wrong with my shoulder.
And immediately wished I hadn’t.
A three-inch piece of metal as thick as a finger stuck out of my skin. Weirdly, it didn’t feel or even look like the wound was bleeding, though wounds further down my back definitely were. I tried to check them, but couldn’t bend my arm around enough. I swore and put the phone away.
Light swept across the trees lining the road below. A heartbeat later, an SUV appeared. Jaz, I hoped.
I took another deep breath that did little to help the pulsing agony or the growing fear, and then, as carefully as I could, extricated myself from the rocks. Nausea surged once more, and this time there was no controlling it. I braced my good arm against the tree in an effort to keep upright and was violently sick.
The soft sound of footsteps broke through the haze of pain, but before I could react in any way, a familiar voice said, “Lizzie? Are you okay?”
I weakly shook my head. I couldn’t look up; it was all I could do to remain standing right now. The metal seemed to be sapping all my strength.
“A bit of metal has speared my shoulder,” I somehow croaked. Goddammit, even talking was an effort. “I need you to get it out, Jaz.”
“That’s not a wise move, given we have no idea if that bit of metal is the only thing stopping you from bleeding out.” Her feet appeared in my line of vision and stopped several feet away. “I’ll call an ambulance. You do look like shit.”
“Do it after you pull the bit of metal out.” The burning was worse and I was starting to feel light-headed and dizzy.
“Lizzie, honestly—”
“Jaz, trust me, you need to do this. Now.”
She made a low growly noise and then moved closer “Okay, but it’s against my better— Oh fuck, Liz, that’s silver.”
I frowned. “What is?”
“That bit of metal sticking out of your back. It’s silver.”
“Why on earth would a caravan have silver in it?”
“I’ve no idea, but it means I can’t touch the damn thing.”
“You have to. It feels like it’s killing me.”
“Yeah, well, it will definitely kill me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I need it out.”
“Fine,” she bit back, “but I’ll have to grab some pliers from the back of the SUV. And if you bleed out, I’m going to be very pissed.”
“Hurry,” I said hoarsely, but I was talking to air.
My legs gave out and I dropped heavily to my knees. The waves of heat radiating from the silver shard were now so fierce, sweat dripped down my face and spine, even though I was shaking with cold.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’d somehow developed an allergy to the damn stuff. And yet both my knife and my athame were silver, and I handled them on a regular basis without problem.
Jaz returned and squatted next to me. “This is going to hurt, I’m afraid.”
“Not as much as leaving it in will, trust me.”
“I daresay we’ll discover the truth of that soon enough.”
She gripped the bit of silver with the pliers and, without fanfare, ripped it from my flesh. A scream tore from my throat; for several seconds, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. And, God, it hurt.
But with the shard of silver gone, the waves of burning heat and thick nausea quickly eased. I still felt like crap, but at least it no longer felt like I was dying.
I finally looked up at Jaz. She was tall and slender, with lightly tanned skin and short, dark brown hair. She held the pliers and the bit of silver at arm’s length, her expression one of revulsion.
“I expected it to be bigger,” I said. “It certainly felt bigger.”
“It doesn’t take much silver to kill a werewolf.”
“I’m not a werewolf.”
Her gaze jumped to mine. “Indeed. So why were you reacting to silver like one?”
“I have no idea.”
I did have plenty of suspicions, however, and they all revolved around the wild magic and the changes it was making to my body.