Page 68 of Spirit Storm

“You mentioned wreaking magical havoc. Does that have anything to do with the demon blades you’re trying to forge?”

“It does. I’ve been thinking about your affinity and how we imbued the last batch.”

“And?”

“It was a good start, but not enough to affect Tharuzel. The blades didn’t hold your intention long enough, and I’m not sure the banishment spell was strong enough to do damage.”

“So, what are you suggesting we do differently?”

Mica pauses in front of a stack of glimmering metal ingots. “I think we’ve been going about it wrong, trying to pour your power into the objects. Instead, what if we let the metal itself guide the resonance? Let it tell us how best to take Tharuzel down.”

Asher looks intrigued, his attention shifting back and forth between us like he's watching a ping-pong match. "And how do you get the metal to connect to your intention?"

Mica scrunches up her nose. “Poppy’s blood.”

Okay, I did not see that coming. “My blood?”

“Yeah. I want to infuse not only your affinity and intention, but also your blood. It struck me when the guardians kept ranting about you carrying the demon’s mark. You’ve got a blood-bond with Tharuzel. Let’s use that connection to hone the intention of the banishment spell and target it directly toward him.”

My mind buzzes. I’m not sure if it’s Mica’s excitement, my desperation, or the possibility that we’re actually on to something, but I like it. “All right. I’m in.”

Mica claps. “Yes! Magic, alchemy, and intention. I think it’s the trifecta that’s going to get the job done.”

“And do you know anything about alchemy and blood bonds?”

“Not a thing. But when I came back and pitched the idea to Brimstone, he said it absolutely could be done. Well, as long as we did it the right way.”

“Oh? And what’s the right way?”

She hurries to one of the closed cabinets on the far wall and pulls out an old brass bowl and a ruby-encrusted athame. “It’s all about the blood.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

♪ Because you know she's all about the blood, ‘bout the blood, no trouble

She’s all about the blood, ‘bout the blood, no trouble

She’s all about the blood, ‘bout the blood, no trouble♪

“How long do we have to suffer through this?” Wylder sends me a pleading look across the dining room table. “It’s been two days.”

I chuckle as Asher dances into the room, ruining Meghan Trainor’s song. “There’s no telling. Once he’s got an earworm song, he leans into it.”

Asher sets a plate of cookies on the table in front of us. “Don’t be a hater, Howe. You weren’t there. You didn’t see how Poppy’s blood sizzled and smoked as Mica forged the metal. It was magical. Literally. It’s going to work.”

Wylder reaches for a chocolate chunk. “I hope it does. You know I do. I’m just not sure the torture of listening to you sing about it is necessary.”

“I have an amazing singing voice. Have you never heard the saying, ‘voice of an angel’? Well, that’s me. Your very own angel sent down from the heavens.”

I laugh and grab a peanut butter cookie with Skor bits. “You’re the bomb, Ash. Would you be an angel and pour me a glass of almond milk to go with the cookies?”

He rolls his hand in front of his chest and bows. “It would be my honor, oh slayer of demons.”

Wylder rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”

I wave away his grumbles. “He’s the best, and you know it. And if you were feeling better, you’d think so too.”

He snatches another cookie and slumps back in his chair. “I feel fine.”