Unable to stave off the zombie hive’s attack on my wards, I wove surprises into knots, then cut the flow, leaving Nate flying solo.
The ranch reeked of power, glowed with
spells. I siphoned off the malefaction of magic and bundled it with my
own. I’d deciphered parts of the journal, cobbling information,
incantation, and indignation into something new. The result might not be
enough to defeat him, but it was nothing the crafty priest had seen
when I’d invaded Nate’s head.
Now, if only we could avoid a Pyrrhic victory.
My scars blazed white-hot as Nate did the same.