Magic rushed him like a burst dam, like a bolt of lightning up his arm from the ring, like electricity sparking from his heart. His eyes popped open, his limbs trembling under the onslaught of magic pouring into him.

Across the manor, there was a low rumble, like distant thunder.

Rory forced himself up to shaky feet and turned around to face Becker. “Get your magic out of Ace,” he said, “or I’m gonna get it out myself.”

The wind was picking up, like the start of a storm, leaves and debris scattering around them. The edges of the green fog that hung over the manor’s drive were being blown away. In the distance, something was getting louder.

“As if your magic could overpower mine,” Becker taunted. “I rule your sweetheart now. Just look at him.”

Just behind Becker was Arthur, standing statue-still, Ellis’s blood on his fists, his gaze on Rory. One of the lost guns was now in Arthur’s hands, ready at his side.

Rory’s anger rose, and the wind with it.

There was no high-pitched whistle this time. Instead, the distant rumble became a roar, like a freight train rushing toward them. The ground under Rory’s feet began to tremble.

In the moonlit sky above their heads, silvery clouds very slowly began to spin, like the hands of a clock.

“Oh Christ,” Rory heard Gwen say, somewhere down the drive. “Everyone, get down!”

Becker looked at the sky with alarm. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Calling the wind,” Rory said, as a gust whipped across the grounds. His clothes flapped as the clouds above his head turned faster, and then even faster. “And this time, it’s a twister.”

Arthur and all the other guards were suddenly still as Becker paled. “You can’t do that,” Becker said hoarsely. “You can’t possibly.”

Rory gritted his teeth as magic coursed through him like a current. “Can’t I?”

Another gust swept over the drive, powerful enough that Becker stumbled. A shingle blew off the roof. Then another off the dormer, the broken pieces not falling to the ground but caught like the air was a whirlpool. More shingles followed, the magical green fog sucked up to join the debris circling overhead as it came closer to the ground, spinning like water circling a drain.

Becker stared wide eyed at the mess whipping around them like a giant handcuff. “Shoot him!” Becker barked at Arthur. “He’s going to kill all of us. Shoot him, and then yourself—”

“No!”

Rory’s shout split the air as his magic leapt from him.

The night sky burst with a roar that shook the ground. Cars creaked and branches snapped as magic cracked through the air. It arced like a lightning bolt from Rory to Arthur, and he could smell it, taste it, like a summer thunderstorm opening in the heavens, like a twister touching down.

Arthur gasped.