Down the hallway, a low, guttural howling sound was heard. Aziz was awake, and he was coming for them. Before they faced off, Aamon grabbed Addison, jerking her into the birthing room. The door slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone. On the opposite side of the door, Luke and Samael fought to get inside, but their attempts failed.
“And then there were two,” Aamon said. “They can try all they like. I’ve sealed the door. No one can get in. Not even you have the power to reverse it.”
“You speak of yourself like there’s no higher power.”
“A higher power than the book of black arts? I should say not, and you’d be a fool to believe otherwise.”
Aamon took a step forward and looked Addison over. “Where is the book of enchantments? Did you really think you stood a chance against me without it?”
“I’d rather focus on the here and now.”
“Would you like to see the here and now? Would you like to see what failure looks like?” Aamon moved to the window. “Come. See for yourself.”
Leery of his intentions, Addison kept an eye on Aamon’s movements as she peered out. Demons were running around, grunting, pounding their chests, rejoicing as they celebrated their victory.
“Your people, all the people of Gaia … they’re dead,” Aamon said. “How does it feel to know you led them to the slaughter?”
It’s all games, Addison.
Clear your mind.
See the truth.
Addison swept her hand across the window and glanced out again, this time seeing a different outcome. The fight raged on, the people of Gaia still standing, still strong. The demons were the ones who appeared weak and frail.
Upon seeing Addison use her magic with a flick of the hand, Aamon stumbled back, glaring at her. “How did you do that? It’s not … possible. How did you conjure up a spell to counteract mine without speaking, without using the book of enchantments?”
“How, indeed.”
“I’ve learned everything there is to learn about you. I know about your spirit animal. I know about your gifts. I know your hands can turn into balls of fire. You cannot conjure a spell without uttering the words.”
“And yet, I just did.”
Aamon flipped to a page in the book, tearing it out as he uttered the words written on the page. Then he shoved the page into his mouth and ate it, his body bending and twisting, flesh hardening as he shifted into his spirit animal—a scaly, bat-winged dragon. He stood, his barbed tail smashing every object in its path. Aamon whipped the tail around, using it to scoop Addison off the ground, flinging her across the room like a ragdoll. “Where is the book of enchantments? Tell me, Addison.” When she refused to answer, he thrashed into her again, her body slamming into a wall. “Why aren't you fighting me? Fight me! Fight back. You wanted a fair fight. At least give me something to fight against.”
As Addison was whipped to and fro, the scales of the dragon tearing into her flesh, she tried to remain calm, centering herself, keeping her mind and body connected.
“You're making this too easy,” Aamon said. “Why? I knew you weren’t a formidable opponent. I can end you. I can end you right now.”
“But then you won’t have the book.”
“Not yet, but I’ll find it. In the meantime, I have you. Once you’re dead, I’ll drain your power. Then I’ll drain your brother’s … what’s left of it.”
As Aamon came for her yet again, Addison raised a hand, aiming the ball of fire she’d formed in her hand toward him. She thrust it forward, sending him flying backward. She raised her other hand and did it again, and again.
Aamon lurched forward, grabbing the book of black arts with his front legs and using it as a shield. “Come on, Addison. Strike me again. One more time should do it.”
Addison rested her hands at her sides, refusing to give him what he wanted. “I’ll never give you my power, and I’ll never give you the book of enchantments.”
“Then you’ll die. Either way, I’ll find the book.”
Addison remained where she was—watching and waiting.
“Where are your ancestors now?” Aamon mocked. “Your mother? Your grandmother? Ancestors who claimed they would be here for you when you needed them?”
“This fight is between you and me alone. Shame you’ve decided to hide behind a dragon instead of facing me as yourself. But I suppose you’ve been hiding behind people your entire life.”
“You think I can’t beat you in my natural form?” Aamon shifted back, reached beneath his shirt, and removed a knife. “Since you won’t give me what I want, there’s no reason to keep you alive. Your time is over.”
“It is over, for one of us.”
As Aamon charged for Addison, she touched the ring with one hand and the gemstone necklace with the other. The moment her hand brushed across the gemstone, the chain broke from her neck. It twisted and turned, changing shape as it formed a dagger with black and red gemstones imbedded in its hilt.
Addison thought of what her ancestors had chanted in the crystal cave:
present her with the dagger of life
and steady her hand as she plunges the knife
She thought about what Aryanna told her the moment Luke became a sorcerer and she restarted his life.
“Don’t you see? You are life, child. The fire that burns within you is the energy and vibration of all creation. It flows within you. It speaks to you, and the time has come for you to hear it. Your hands hold all the power you need. They can break. They can heal. Some hearts need to be started. Others need to be ripped out.”
Everything became clear.
As Aamon raised the knife in front of Addison’s chest, Addison readied her own. “You’ll never find the book, and do you want to know why? I am the book of enchantments. And this is for my mother, you son of a bitch.”
Addison plunged the knife into Aamon’s chest, piercing his heart. But it wasn’t just her hand guiding the knife. As she stared at the knife’s hilt, other hands had connected with hers, one over the other, her necromancer ancestors joining her in a moment of unity.
The book of black arts fell from his hand as he writhed, twisting and thrashing, trying to regain the upper hand.
“You can’t do this,” Aamon wailed. “I’m meant to rule this world. I can’t die.”
“You can, and you will.”
With one final thrust, Addison twisted the knife, and Aamon’s eyes closed, his heart stopping, his life coming to an end.