Page 83 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

“Don’t worry, Nigel,” Fabian said, jostling his elbow. Debbie tried to snap his ear off, but he ducked away and pointed to the nearest sorcerer. “I’ll take that one.”

“I’ve got that fellow over there,” Auntie Arabella said, indicating the next one.

Auntie Aurora whipped out the Mark IV and flicked off the safety. “By the Green Mother’s grace, I will deal with the third,” she declared.

“Erm,” said Nigel. He wasn’t wholly convinced this was a good idea, but it wasn’t as though he had a better one. “All right. Go for it.”

One by one, his brave comrades set out on their missions of ill intent. Fabian approached his victim first, strolling straight up to him without any subterfuge and calling out, “Oi! Milford! Seen any sign of the Grimshade Lord about?”

“Not yet,” Sorcerer Milford replied. “But I’m ready if I—”

It was in this moment that Fabian whipped out a clumsy but effective stun sigil, which he’d been forming with one hand behind his back. He planted it right in the middle of the unsuspecting Milford’s chest. “What the—” the man began. Then went right over backwards, feet in the air.

Fabian turned and gave Nigel a thumbs-up. Nigel raised an eyebrow, returning the gesture uncertainly. It would seem his brotherwason his side. For the moment at least.

Auntie Arabella, meanwhile, snuck up on the second cowled figure. He didn’t seem aware of her approach at all, his attention diverted by the unexpected collapse of his fellow sorcerer across the valley. “Oi! Grimm!” he called out, cupping a hand close to his hidden mouth. “What’s wrong with Milford over there?”

Arabella sprang nimbly into action, snatched the back of his cowl, exposing the face of a man who looked as though he indulged in brandy-soaked pudding a few too many times each week. Without a moment’s hesitation, she emptied the entire pot of tea directly into his face. He screamed, and Nigel couldn’t tell if the tea boasted any magical properties or if it was simply scalding. Either way, his scream alerted the third guard, who turned to look. But just then, Auntie Aurora, having closed the distance to him, took aim with the Mark IV and opened fire. Hewent down. The Dire-bolt he’d aimed flew wide, missing Auntie Arabella by inches.

Now was Nigel’s chance.

“You can’t come with me, Debbie,” he said to his familiar. “Gather the others and tell them to get away from this place. Quickly.”

She gave him a look. Then, with a last affectionate peck at his hair, she took flight, heading for Auntie Arabella. He’d have to hope the old witch would understand the raven, that all four of them would have the sense not to stick around. Regardless, the time had come to make his move.

The sorcerers in the circle below were completely engrossed in the composing of their complex spell, which even now neared its culmination. They paid no attention to their fallen brothers nor to Nigel himself as he slipped and slid his way down into the valley. The soil was so dry and dusty, collapsing much too easily under his bare feet. It was nearly impossible to keep his balance. He reached the bottom of the decline, however, and made as though to rush the circle, to breach the spell and reach the stone in its center.

Instead, he ran headlong into a barrier, bounced back, and landed hard on his bum.

“No!” he screamed. Scrambling back to his feet, he threw himself at the barrier. It was a strong protective spell, planted there in advance, no doubt, in anticipation of his arrival. Of course, if he had magic to spare, he could bring it down in a heartbeat—he could feel the weakness in it. But if he did that, he wouldn’t have strength enough to perform the Infernus spell.

On the other side of the barrier, the resurrection conjuring reached a fevered pitch. He stared through the haze of whorling magic, struggling to make sense of anything. He could just about perceive Luna, lying there in the center.

And he saw the Void. Opened up right through her chest.

He saw the dark, malicious tendrils of soul pouring out. A soul he recognized at once in all its twisted wickedness, only made more wicked after its long imprisonment in torment.

“Luna!” he shouted.

Even as he watched, helpless, all the staked ropes tying her down began to quiver and strain. Her body arched. There was a series of snaps, then she began to rise, floating up off the slab, dragged upwards by those tendrils. She soared up among the rotating sigils and the whorling anti-light, her thin nightgown billowing about her slender frame, her dark hair covering much of her face, her arms outstretched on either side.

Then, she began to spasm. Writhing, twisting in the air, and he glimpsed pain in her face. Bolts of anti-light shot out from her mouth, her nose, her fingertips. Her hair lengthened, dark strands transforming into long red locks, thick and luscious. Her slender, underfed frame plumped out, becoming curvaceous and full-figured, her bosom heavy, her hips ample, straining the seams of her nightgown.

It wasn’t real. Nigel knew the truth so clearly, he could almost see through the deception to the real Luna underneath. It was a vision, a projection. The glamour Jastira used to hide her true self from everyone. But itfeltreal. More real than real, as though reality itself simply didn’t matter compared to the truth she chose to create in its place.

With a last roiling of terrible magic, the hole in her chest closed up. Her eyes flared open, black as onyx and burning with anti-light.“What is this?”she cried in a voice which still echoed with the depths of the Dire Dimensions.“What is this inside me?”

For an instant, her black eyes shifted to green. Brilliant, burning green. Then back to black again. As the Brotherhood continued to chant and keep the ongoing resurrection spell alive, Jastira fought for precedence inside her new body. Twoconflicting magics warred with one another. Her eyes flashed green again, and Nigel thought he momentarily glimpsed Luna’s face, before the black returned, along with Jastira’s hard, cruel, beautiful features.

But he knew. Luna was in there still. Fighting. He had to reach her. He had to get her out. Somehow. He had to—

Something nudged his hip.

Nigel turned sharply and looked down to see the old, rusty wheelbarrow. It nudged him again, expectantly, like an old dog looking for pets. And it was so out of place in this space of horror and darkness and Dire that, for a moment, Nigel couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

Then his eyes widened.

“Of course!” he whispered.