My heart gave a thump, and refused to beat again as the man’s voice faltered, leaving a single note in my mind to spiral down to a long, soft hum. Om, perhaps. The sound of peace, the sound of death.

Not yet, I thought, and then I added to it, giving my mind an ugly note to follow the one of pure beauty, and my heart gave a beat at the harshness of it, discordant and wrong. The arms holding me jumped in surprise, jarring me, and I added a new note to follow my first.

I could hear him singing again, the words unclear and so exquisite it broke my heart. My jaw clenched, and I drowned the purity of his song with my own ugly music, harsh and savage—survival. It was never beautiful except for its pure honesty.

Again my heart beat, and I took a sip of air, breaking away from the elven spell, tingling with wild magic as control came flooding back, his hold on me broken. My eyes flashed open. I was sitting on the ground, my back to a tree, his arm around me like a lover, sleeping in the sun as he sang to me.

Son of a bitch.

I sat up out of his reach, turning to see the shock in his green eyes as his voice faltered. There was a hint of resemblance to Trent in them, and I felt a moment of doubt. Could he do this, too? “That was a mistake,” I rasped, and then I plowed my fist right into his gut.

The man grunted, bending over and bringing his knees to his chest. I swung my legs around to kneel, reaching for his hair. It was soft, like silk, and I clenched my fingers in it, anger giving me strength. I slammed the back of his head against the tree, and as he groaned, I staggered to my feet, giving him a mean kick in the ribs, hard enough to at least crack one or two, if not break them. I was pissed.

“You son of a bitch!” I yelled, seeing the mothers nearby gathering their kids and moving them away. “Try to kill me with your magic? Have a taste of mine!” I shouted, shredding the last of the music in my mind, trying to get rid of it completely.

He looked up at me, the pain from his ribs making him squint. I put my hand on his face, and flooded him with ever-after, burning the last of the wild magic from me with my own. He screamed and tried to pull away, but I followed him down, having to kneel when he fell over.

“You are slime, you hear me?” I shouted, wiping my eyes as I pulled away, my hand throbbing and me not caring. “Slime! And you know what? The Withons are slime, too, and Trent’s going to make it to the West Coast if it kills me. And it won’t!” Heart pounding, I gave him another kick, thinking I should do a lot more. All those people dead on the expressway. Glancing at the empty park, I went and picked up my bag, searching until I found my lipstick. Throwing the cap away, I scrawled “I killed them” on his forehead.