Enchanter Redeemed. Sharon Ashwood
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essence leaves echoes behind. Demons are energy and Vivian was caught between worlds. It’s not surprising that a bit of her touched you during the ritual.”
Sure, during the part where she blew into messy demon bits as the portal closed. Clearly, those bits had tried to reassemble themselves inside Clary.
“Witches are vulnerable because demons can attach themselves to another person’s magic.” Despite Merlin’s closed expression, his voice was gentle. “It’s serious, Clary. It can drive people mad.”
“How long will this cure last?”
Tamsin knelt before her, pressing a damp cloth to Clary’s face. It was wonderfully cool. “It’s hard to say, but it should hold until the infection leaves your system.”
“She’ll come back. She’s more than just an echo.”
“Hush,” Tamsin murmured, putting a hand to Clary’s face. “We don’t know that yet.”
Clary wanted to argue, but her head was pounding now. A tide of sickness rose up, swamping every other consideration. She jumped up, pushing past her sister, and ran for the bathroom.
The only good thing was that she hadn’t had much to eat. Too bad whatever drug Merlin had given her didn’t care if her stomach was empty. At some point, she locked the door to keep Tamsin out. Her sister might be a healer, but Clary needed privacy more than soothing words. After a while, Tamsin’s anxious voice faded and Clary slumped on the cold tile in peace.
What was she going to do? If the cure wasn’t permanent, she’d be back in the same hopeless place the moment Vivian woke up. Except it would be worse. Vivian would be furious, and Tamsin would be in even more danger. Merlin would be vulnerable, because now he believed Clary was, if not cured, at least inert.
She needed to get away, far away, to someplace where Tamsin and Merlin would be safe. Her own Shadowring Coven was on the opposite coast of the continent. Better yet, she could go to a circle of witches where she didn’t know anyone and there would be no friends or family Vivian could use as hostages. The moment she formed that thought, it became her plan. It was clear, simple and the right thing to do.
Clary already hated the idea. It made sense, but she craved emotional comfort, too. She’d always been the independent misfit, whistling her way through scrape after scrape, and yet home had always been there. So had her sisters. Cutting herself off wouldn’t be easy.
She heard Merlin’s voice, muffled by the door and distance to the next room. Tamsin replied. The words weren’t clear, but her sister’s concern was evident. Clary didn’t have much time before someone was knocking on the door again. If they stopped her before she got away, it would be twice as hard to leave them behind.
Eventually, Clary got to her feet. Pain made her knees wobble as she stood. She drank some water, then stole some mouthwash to get the vile taste out of her mouth. Finally, she looked in the mirror, confirming she looked as awful as she felt.
Slowly, she opened the bathroom door. Merlin and her sister were in the living room down the hall, their view of her blocked by the angle of the wall. To Clary’s left, just a few steps away, was the apartment door. A glance told her that Tamsin hadn’t locked it when they’d come in.
Years of teenage misbehavior had made her an expert at sneaking out. Clary slipped away, silently shutting the door behind her. Since she didn’t carry a purse, she still had her keys, wallet and phone in her pockets. Nothing was left behind at her sister’s place. All she had to do was make it home to pack a suitcase, and she’d leave town. A quick mental check told her Vivian was still gone.
Clary ran down the apartment stairs, not bothering with the elevator. The exit emptied into the parking lot, and she strode across the sunny pavement with renewed confidence. And nearly ended up a speedbump for Gawain’s motorcycle.
Oh, hell! She jumped back, plastering a smile on her face and waving brightly. The Scottish knight waved back, used to her coming and going. That would only buy her minutes at best. The instant he opened the door and mentioned that he’d seen her, the search would be on.
Clary slipped out of sight and ran. Now going straight home wasn’t an option. In fact, all the places she knew—Tamsin’s, her own apartment, Medievaland, Merlin’s place—were bound to be under Merlin’s magical surveillance. She wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe head to the bus station and catch a ride out of town?
She entered an alley that crept between a gas station and a pub. It was smelly and narrow, the brickwork on either side black with age and dirt. Patches of straggling grass grew under rusted downspouts. Clary looked over her shoulder even though she’d barely taken two steps into the confined space. But that was stupid. She was a witch with a demon on board. That made her like a bomb in an action-adventure movie, one that had to be dumped in an ocean or shot into outer space before it nuked the free world. She could blast any mugger to smithereens.
Squaring her shoulders, Clary pushed on. It was broad daylight, and she could tell this alley was a shortcut to the main road ahead. Going this way would put distance between herself and well-meaning friends.
Halfway across, she heard music from a window above. It was an ordinary pop tune, barely worth remembering, but someone with an exceptional voice was singing along with the words. That was special.
The sound vanished as quickly as it had come, but Clary paused just long enough to look up. There were curtains and knickknacks in the second-floor windows, and the sash of one was pushed up. That had to be where the voice had come from. There was only one kind of being that could sing so beautifully—a fae.
Despite the lovely song, Clary drew back. The soul-sucking monsters found witches especially tasty. She spun on her heel, ready to run, but a figure dropped from the window right into her path. The male rose from his crouch as if this was a perfectly normal way to say hello. He was tall and slender, casually dressed but for an elaborately tooled belt of green leather. A long, silver-handed knife hung at his hip. He sniffed the air, as if confirming it was she who had smelled so tasty.
“Great,” Clary muttered under her breath.
“Where are you going, my girl?” asked the fae. He had dark olive skin that showed off the bright green of his eyes. His long, white hair was pulled back to reveal a fine-boned face that would have put him on the front of any fashion magazine.
“I’m going past you.” Clary raised her hands, ready to weave a spell that would hurl the fae into the next block. Except no power flowed through her body, ready to shape to her will.
She was helpless. Merlin had warned her that the injection might mess with her magic, but she hadn’t expected this.
The fae must have seen her confusion, because he burst into a cruel laugh.
Panic made Clary stagger back. Her magic had never been brilliant, but it was as much a part of her as sight or hearing. She clenched her fists, fighting a need to scream. Her struggle seemed to amuse the fae even more. Or maybe amusement was the wrong word. While fae had no feelings, they still seemed to enjoy tormenting their prey.
“Who are you, pretty boy?” Clary demanded, mostly to make him stop sniggering.
“I am Laren of the Green Towers.” He waved a hand at the alley. “Or perhaps I should say the back streets. The hunting is far better here.”
By hunting, he meant stealing the life essence of mortals. Drinking mortal souls restored a fae’s emotions, their love of beauty and ability to create—but only for a short while. Those addicted to the rush left a trail of dead or mindless victims in their wake. At least Laren appeared physically healthy, which meant he hadn’t been a soul-eater for long.
“What happened to your witch’s tricks?” he taunted.
“I’m on a cleanse.” She shifted her feet, bracing to run. Fae were incredibly