Warm blood soaked through her chemise and spilled down the front of her ruined corset. The serpent unclenched its jaw from her shoulder and readied itself to strike again. She lifted up her uninjured arm, trying to conjure even the slightest bit of her magic as she held her palm out toward the beast. She knew the well of power inside of her was nearly depleted, and just a few small blue zaps managed to putter out, the sparks quickly snuffing away like the last embers in a fireplace.
Her magic wasn’t like a Witch’s or Demon’s—it could not transform into ice or fire, or any other element. A Necromancer’s magic came out as pure energy. So, while she could light a candle with her magic’s friction, she wasn’t able to actually wield the flames. Necromancers were meant to be a bridge between the corporeal plane and the Other Side, to bring life and energy to that which was dead or undead. Replenishing that sort of magic quickly required one of two things: the life force of another being, or rest. Neither of which was currently an option.
Her tiny sparks made the serpent pause for all of ten seconds, but it was just enough time for her to spot a long sword hanging on the wall above the pedestal she had knocked over. She gathered the rest of her strength and hauled herself from the ground, reaching up to tug the sword from its mount one-handed. Just as she spun around to point it at the beast, the creature regained its bearings. It unlocked its jaw to strike at her again, and she shoved the sword, and half her arm, into its gaping mouth.
Blood spurted everywhere. The hot, sticky liquid splattered across her face and flooded down her arm. She let go of the sword and snatched her arm back out of the snake’s mouth as it began to twist and writhe, swinging its head through the air as its long body curled into itself. A moment later, the entire reptile dissolved into a cloud of smoke, the illusion Phantasma had conjured destroyed.
Ophelia stared at the now-empty spot in front of her, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. That had almost been harder than the actual trial.
“Ophie?” a familiar voice gasped behind her.
“Genevieve?” Ophelia spun around. There, in the archway, was her sister’s silhouette.
Ophelia staggered a step forward. “Genevieve—”
“Ophie! Hurry!” Genevieve urged, her face drenched in shadows as she turned on her heel and ran from the room.
Ophelia didn’t hesitate. She stumbled after her sister into the hallway.
“Faster,” Genevieve implored from the end of the long corridor.
Ophelia didn’t know how her sister moved that fast, or perhaps Ophelia was just moving very slowly, but she spurred her feet on, ignoring the rippling pain coursing through her body with every movement. Just before she could reach Genevieve, her sister jetted around the corner and out of sight.
“Genevieve, wait!” Ophelia cried. She tried to pick up her pace, but something was wrong. Her feet weren’t moving as quickly as she wanted them to and her vision was becoming blurry, the throbbing wound in her shoulder burning hotter. Still, she pushed herself on, turning the corner and scanning for her sister in the dark.
“Over here, Ophie,” Genevieve directed, but something in her tone was off now.
“Vivi, I don’t feel well.” Ophelia swallowed as she stumbled closer, the room around her beginning to sway, and Genevieve’s silhouette growing distant. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you…”
“I’ve been looking for you, too,” her sister crooned, a hint of something dangerous peeking through the words. “Why don’t you come closer, and I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.”
“My feet aren’t working…” Ophelia said, her words slurred to her own ears. “I’m so… tired.”
The room was tilting now, darkness closing in on the edges of her vision as she tried to trudge another step forward. Her body became too heavy to move, but all she could think about was how close she was to reaching her sister. Only two more steps.
Before she could take them, however, she heard something thud in front of her and then a pair of arms scooped her up off her feet and carried her through the shadows.
“You’re going to be such trouble,” a velvet voice whispered above her in the dark.
She hadn’t realized her eyes had fully shut until she tried to pry them open to see who was speaking. But she couldn’t. Her lids were too heavy.
She knew the voice didn’t belong to Genevieve, but she still tried to whisper back, to ask if they could take her home.
There was no answer. For a long moment, she felt like she was floating in the air, untethered by gravity. Then she was sinking into something soft. She thought she heard something rip, followed by words she didn’t understand, and a beat later something cool draped over her feverish forehead.
The velvet voice said something else, but she was already slipping away.
