Page 17 of Spirit Storm

Then he begins to chant.

The sound of it is layered and dreadful, every voice he's ever stolen speaking in unison, and I feel the pull as though the air itself is being emptied. The power he possesses wells inside me as he pours his intention into those marks.

I recognize something vast and pressurized within the words.

Souls. He's feeding souls directly into the symbols.

No! That’s horrible.

The runes on the wall blaze to life and the power crests. The spell takes hold and⁠—

I gasp myself awake, sitting bolt upright in bed.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I twist to glance at my phone sitting in its dock on my nightstand.

11:47

I stare at it for a moment, blinking the blur from my eyes, then press both palms flat against my sternum and wait for my heartbeat to slow.

The dream still clings to me. The damp, coppery smell of the cave. The bone-chilling eeriness of all those stolen voices speaking in chorus.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing through it.

In. Out. In.

By the time I've reined myself in, stretched the last of the stiffness from my shoulders, and dragged myself to the bathroom, I feel something approaching human.

Downstairs smells like coffee and whatever Asher is cooking up in the kitchen, and the moment I step off the landing and onto the hardwood of the main floor, I’m bombarded by the puppers.

Excited little butts waggle, welcoming me to a new day. I lift each one of them up for a kiss before setting them back on their scrambling little paws. “Okay, who’s hungry?”

As if they understand every word I’m saying, they turn their little snausage bodies around and take off toward the kitchen.

When I open the fridge, a small glass container sits on the middle shelf with a sticky note on the lid that reads for sleeping beauty with a small drawing of a crown underneath.

Harhar, such a comedian. I smile despite myself, take off the lid, and stick it in the microwave. While it heats up, I pour myself a glass of juice.

“We’re in here, P.”

Carrying the warm container through to the living room, I follow Asher’s voice and find them.

Asher is horizontal across two-thirds of the couch with Orion tucked against his side, his silver-blue eyes fixed on the television. The two are curled lazily around each other and look adorably comfortable.

The moment I arrive, Asher hits pause and presses a hand to his chest. "She lives. It’s an Emberwood miracle."

I roll my eyes and claim the armchair, setting my juice on a coaster and sitting back with my container of breakfast scramble. "It's not even noon."

"It is almost noon. The sun has been up for hours. Some of us have been up for hours." He gestures at Orion as supporting evidence. “Even Plant Boy got up, had breakfast with us, and got started on his day.”

Orion says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches as he holds back his amusement.

I tuck my feet under me and dig into my breakfast. Oh, he's even added hot sauce. I eat a forkful and let the silence sit for a moment before meeting his expectant gaze. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

“You’re always welcome. Now, tell me what’s going on with you.”

I swallow. "I just had another freaky Tharuzel mind-meld nightmare."

Both of them straighten and curse. It’s a move so coordinated that, if I hadn’t just confessed to being sucked into the embodiment of a soul-sucking demon, I would laugh.