Petals start to fall like red rain. Leaves brown and curl, and finally the vines begin to wither and retract, pulling from the wounds they caused. I run for Willow as the vines release her and her body sags closer to the ground. Her eyelids flutter and then pinch closed as she whimpers. Blood pours from her where the magic releases her but refuses to heal the bites it caused.

The last of the vines collapses to the dirt, and the stillness is filled with magicians and apprentices crying out in pain, gurgling on their own blood. I press my hands into Willow’s wounds and start to heal them as I shout to the watching magicians, “Help them!”

Only some of them move.

Not enough to heal them all.

Willow’s stopped bleeding, but her eyes are still closed.

I need to find Nadine.

I stand and try to weave through the groans and the hands, because I won’t be able to save everyone. There are at least five people bleeding out for every magician here.

“Nadine!” I yell.

Maybe it’s too late.

I slip, and my hands sink into the stones, slick with red. So much blood.

Blood magic.

Vampire magic.

Healing magic.

I close my eyes and think of Roman and everything he taught me. I think of wounds and healing, and how this place has cut me deeply but also stitched some parts of me back together again, and when I push that thought into the blood, I tell it to do the same. The magic leaving my body feels gentler, a steady hum. The blood beneath my fingers bubbles and hisses, but I keep my eyes closed, and my only thought is of mending broken things.

And then it stops. I glance down at my clean, dry hands.

The boy I fell next to sits up and holds a hand to his throat where a purple bruise spreads, but there’s no blood. His hands search through the stones before he lifts a pair of glasses to his face. He squints at me like he recognizes me. Barry.

I stand on shaky feet and make my way back toward the shore.

I’m not done yet. Some of the magic’s still here, in the stones that are hungry for more blood, and I know someone will feed them again unless I really end this.

I give the magic one more command: break free.

And it’s ready.

Every cell in my body hums a different song—a soft lullaby, a grief-stricken ballad, a melancholy love song, a raging anthem.

I let it all pour out of me and rip through this place, tearing apart every spell binding the magic. Dead roses collapse into dust at my feet and sprouts of spring-green grass shoot from the ground like nature can’t wait to reclaim what the magic stole. I can only imagine what the mansion must look like.