Closer to the trees, MacCrone is sitting up, hugging Fiona to her chest. I scan the clearing and see Aysha a little further away, slumped in the snow, her eyes closed.

Katya crouches beside her, only the tiniest of sparks flickering from her fingers—her scowl and four-letter curses all she can offer to the fight now.

Everyone is beyond exhausted.

Mom and Emmi are shouting, talking over each other with fists raised—potential magic swirling like an invisible tornado around them. There’s nothing I can do to help my mom, but Toivo…

“My brother,” I say, voice cracking.

“I’ll do what I can.” Aoife lays Hannah down gently to tend to Toivo. She kneels over him, hands trembling.

“Use me.” Morgan offers Aoife his hand, blood oozing around the fresh scabs on his wrists.

“No, here.” I offer my hand instead.

Aoife’s own wrists are raw and bloody too, but she grips my fingers and crafts a healing sigil above Toivo. Morgan squeezes my other hand, drawing the same sigils as Aoife, but adding uruz to his for more potent regeneration.

“Together,” he says.

Aoife nods and they start chanting in Irish. The air leaves me in a rush, but I’m ready for it this time and know not to panic. It feels awful. It feels like dying, but I can take it, gritting my teeth until Morgan cries out and grips his wrists. They’re smoking. Aoife’s too. She drops my hand, plunging her hands into the snow.

“We did what we could,” she says, and I nod my thanks while I suck in painful breaths.

Taika the Talentless, useless, worthless—the little voice at the back of my mind taunts me, but it’s wrong and this time I know it.

I feel the shift in magic before I see my mom raise her hand to carve the first sigil. Her crows screech as my mom releases all her pent-up fury in a barrage of elemental spells. Mom isn’t a battle mage so I’m counting on the fact that Emmi is tired and injured to give mom the upper hand.

As I watch though, I start to lose hope. Despite my mom’s fresh conjurings, Emmi somehow manages to counter every single one. She might not have the energy to attack, but she’s not backing down.

The liekkiöt dance above me, flares of brilliant green. Emmi and the Order of Louhi haven’t won yet. This fight isn’t over.

Despite how drained I am, I manage to stand and stride through the storm of crows and magic. Mom’s spells glance off me. I’m not their intended target so I barely even feel them. I stare at my hands, and then at the branches of the trees behind Emmi.