“Dead. Hold on.” His dark eyebrows draw together as he assesses the dead fox and me. “It can’t dust with something living inside it. I need to pull it off you.”

My eyes are watering now, and I can’t tell if it’s from the aether or tears. I think it’s both. I have to cough twice before I can speak, and even then my voice is hoarse from screaming. “I can’t get my hand out… I can’t…”

He kneels low until his head is level with mine, pushing up at the shoulder so he can see where I’m connected to the fox. This close I can see he’s bleeding from a deep bite to his collarbone, barely visible under the black T-shirt now sticking to the wound. His magic—cinnamon-whiskey-smoke—flows over my face. I am so thankful for his scent that I moan, inhaling again so that it masks the hellfox’s stench.

“The hole is the exact size of your fist. You’ve got to close your hand,” Sel murmurs. He heaves upward until the creature’s chest lifts off me, and I gasp at the immediate relief. “Close your hand.”

I don’t move. I want to, but I just… don’t. I whimper and shake my head.

Sel’s golden eyes find mine. “Close your hand, Bree.” His voice is shockingly soft. “I’ll do the rest.”

I hold his gaze for a moment. Whether it’s because of his oddly kind tone or the fact that he called me “Bree” for the first time, I nod and close my right hand, crying out as my fingernails scrape past the still-warm heart. Sel stands and pulls the fox by the shoulders until my flaming fist emerges from the steaming hole between its ribs. When my hand comes free, there’s a wet, sucking sound and a fresh blob of dark green ichor falls down between my legs. I crabwalk backward, bringing my shaking left hand to my mouth.

Sel drops the carcass, and a second after it hits the ground, it explodes with a ripping sound into a fox-shaped cloud of green dust. Behind me, the other fox explodes too, like the aether has torn it open from the inside out.

The world is shaking again, and again I realize it’s me. Just me. I’m trembling uncontrollably. My pulse won’t slow down. My chest feels like it’s going to explode right along with the foxes.

I wrench over onto my hands and knees and vomit, heaving until burning bile eats at my throat and tongue.

Sel drops to his knees beside me. “You’re okay. They’re gone.”

They’re gone.

But I’m not okay.

I crawl away from the sick until I can twist to a seated position, resting my arms on bent knees. While I wipe my mouth with a clean bit of T-shirt, I watch Sel watching me.