Wesley winced and stood, rubbing his head as Ashwood gurgled and clutched at his neck, letting out a strangled kind of cry.

Wesley ran for Tavia.

It wasn’t enough. That couldn’t kill him.

Wesley needed to get to her before Ashwood did.

Ashwood swiped his hand through the air again.

Wesley flew backward. Tavia flew backward.

They tumbled through the air together with frightening speed and Wesley caught a glimpse of Tavia crashing against the barrier before his head hit the beam and he catapulted over the side railing.

Wesley had just enough time to gather his magic and stop himself from falling into the watery depths.

He floated below the bridge, his magic jutting in and out as the pain in his head started to throb. He felt dizzy with it, the realms blurring and then struggling to refocus again.

He’d hit the beam hard enough that he could feel blood on him, but he couldn’t tell which part of his face it was coming from. Everywhere hurt, like thousands of tiny needles puncturing his cheeks and the cracks in his lips.

Wesley reached up a shaking hand and grabbed the railing.

The moment his fingers curled around it, his magic let out a sigh of relief as though it thought that meant it could rest for a moment.

Wesley sucked in a breath as he dangled from the bridge, one hand gripping the railing and the other floundering in the air.

He wasn’t sure he had the strength to pull himself up.

“Give me your hand,” Tavia said, appearing in front of him.

She flung her arm over the railing.

The sight of her was like a miracle in itself.

Wesley called on every ounce of strength he had to reach up for her. He called on his magic to quell the spinning in his head and halt the blood he could feel trickling down his neck.

Come on, he said. We can do this.

He stretched up.

“Just a little closer,” Tavia urged.

There was a tingling in Wesley’s hands, like a newfound power surging straight to his fingertips as hers dangled so close to his, and with a mighty yell Wesley lurched up and grabbed on to Tavia.

She clasped both hands around his arm and pulled him desperately until he was back over the railing.

Wesley collapsed over the top and onto the bridge, beside Tavia, both of them gasping for air.

“Idiots,” Ashwood said.

He sneered down at the bullet that had pierced him and kicked it across the ground.

It was soaked with his gray blood. The blood of tainted magic, acquired through years of stolen power. Wesley could see it.

See it, but not get to it.

Son of a bitch, Wesley thought, pushing himself back up once more.

They needed that bullet, that blood, if the final part of their plan was going to work.

“You will pay for that,” Ashwood said.