The temperature drops as the spell takes effect. My breath steams in cumulus clouds and I blink frost from my eyelashes. The chant continues, punctuated by the creaking, groaning tress around us. Beneath my feet, the mud freezes and cracks. A branch drops, shattering into icy fragments on impact. It’s too much, we’re drawing too much energy from the forest!

Morgan’s voice falters for a moment. He glances up at me, a cold-blue light in his eyes as he reaches for my hand. The tattoo on his wrist glows too, like bioluminescent plankton. His grip tightens, his mud-flecked fingers pressing so hard they’re going to leave bruises.

My heart hammers against my ribs. This was a bad idea.

I hunch over, trying to catch my breath. It feels as if someone just punched me in the belly.

The sensation changes. Now it feels like I’m being dragged down into the earth. This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this. The fear I squashed way down inside comes bubbling to the surface like a volcanic eruption. I’m trying, but I can’t pry my hand away from Morgan’s. His grip is iron, and my skin is burning under his touch.

Drawing energy from other people to work magic is controversial at best. Something actively discouraged because it’s way too easy to get it wrong and draw too much. Draw too much and you can kill someone. But that’s what Morgan’s doing. Right now. To me.

The air is freezing, making my chattering teeth ache. I can’t keep my eyes open despite panic raking every inch of my body. If I fall asleep now, I know I’ll never wake up.

Green flashes in the corner of my vision. It takes monumental effort to turn my head. Mist swirls around Morgan, enveloping him from head to toe. Finally, his grip relaxes, his tattoos stop glowing, and I tug my hand free. I suck in a deep breath and the exhaustion sloughs off my skin like soap suds in the shower.

The mist flickers with ethereal fire. The voices emanating from the it grow louder, becoming shrieks and screams. I clap my hands over my ears, glancing around the circle. The others all have their eyes open, but they’re blank, reflecting the green mist as if they’re made of glass. In slow motion, like some creepy puppet, Morgan raises his hand and draws the ansuz rune in the air, sending it toward the center of the circle with a puff of breath.

The mist trickles into the containment jar. Maybe it’s working.

I peel my hands away from my ears.

Silence.

Nervousness scuttles under my skin like a swarm of beetles.

Musti, Rekku, and Kamu squawk and reel above us, beating their wings at the mist but unable to cross into the circle.

The jar cracks, the sound like a gunshot.