[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]
“I think we can both agree that he doesn’t get to have what he wants,” Phelan said, squeezing again. Matt’s lips thinned further.
“No,” Matt agreed. “There’s no way.” He sucked in a breath. “Can you feel it?”
“What?”
A shiver crept down his spine. Matt glanced down. His fingers were glowing a faint, pale green, the light leeching from them and down into the wall, as if he was bleeding it off to strengthen their defenses unconsciously—maybe he was. He had no way of knowing for certain, not at this point. “Me,” he breathed. “My magic.”
Thunder crackled in tune with forks of lighting that spidered in the clouds above, the world growing brighter for the space of a few seconds before the world went dim again, like the last moments of twilight before full dark. It was hard to breathe and Matt suddenly knew that he was spending most of his strength holding his magic in check. He risked a glance toward Phelan, sucking in another breath.
“Shit,” Phelan murmured, eyes widening. “Shit, Matt.” His gaze flicked toward Marin for a split second, then refocused again. Matt didn’t dare to look. His gut already told him what he’d find if he did.
“When we live through this, we have to figure this out,” Matt muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. I can’t live like this.
“We will,” Phelan promised. “For now, I think we’ve got work to do.”
Matt nodded mutely, looking back to the mists.
Next to him, he felt his sister draw her bow, pulling the string back to her ear, arrow notched.
“Loose!”
