The alley door slammed behind me with a crash that echoed off brick walls like a gunshot. November rain hit my face like tiny needles, and my breath came out in white puffs as I ran blindly into Portland's maze of narrow streets.
Behind me, I could hear Morgana's laughter following like smoke, rich with the kind of pleasure that made my skin crawl.
"Oh, Rowan!" Her voice sing-song and sweet as poisoned sweet wine. "You know I love our little games of chase. It's been far too long since we've played together, don't you think?"
I didn't waste breath answering. My sneakers slapped against wet concrete as I turned left, then right down an alley I'd never seen before.
The city was a blur around me—neon signs bleeding color into puddles, car headlights cutting through the gloom, the distant sound of normal people living normal lives while I ran for mine.
A burst of heat at my back made me dive left just as flames scorched the brick wall where my head had been a second before. The acrid smell of burning stone filled the air, and steam hissed violently where Morgana's fire met the rain.
She was playing with me, I realized.
If she'd wanted me dead, I'd be ash already.
"Come now, little sister!" Morgana called, her voice closer than it should be. "You're only making this harder on yourself. Mother just wants to talk. Family dinner. You remember those, don't you? The way Mother would carve the roast while discussing who'd disappointed her that week?"
I stumbled across Federal Street, barely avoiding a taxi whose driver leaned on his horn and shouted something I couldn't hear over the blood pounding in my ears.
My lungs burned like I'd been breathing acid, but I couldn't stop.
Couldn't even slow down.
Another gout of flame lit up the intersection behind me, and I heard a tourist scream. Morgana was getting careless, or maybe she just didn't give a damn about collateral damage. When has she ever?
My own magic had always been pathetically weak by coven standards—barely strong enough to coax a wilted flower back to life or light a candle on a windless day. But weakness didn't mean uselessness, apparently.
I pressed my hand against a manhole cover as I ran past, whispering a spell that made steam rise in thick, choking clouds. Then I kicked a puddle, sending ripples toward the street I wasn't taking, leaving magical breadcrumbs that would lead her nowhere.
"Clever girl," Morgana's voice drifted through the steam, approving and terrible. "I'd forgotten you had a brain in that pretty little head. But you know magic leaves a trace, don't you? Every spell you cast is like a bell ringing, telling me exactly where you are."
My heart sank even as my feet kept moving.
Of course she was right. Of course my pathetic attempts at misdirection were just giving her more ways to hunt me. I was making myself easier to track, not harder.
The rain was both salvation and curse—it dampened Morgana's flames but made every surface treacherous. I rounded a corner too fast and my sneakers skidded on the slick pavement, sending me sliding into a parked car.
The impact jarred my teeth and sent fresh panic shooting through my veins.
"There you are." Morgana's voice came from behind me, lazy and satisfied. "Did you hurt yourself, sweetheart? You know how Mother worries when we get bruised."
I scrambled to my feet and kept running, but I could feel her closing the distance with the inexorable patience of a predator who knew her prey was tiring.
This was sport to her, a hunt she was savoring rather than rushing to end. She could have caught me already—we both knew that. She was drawing it out because she enjoyed watching me run.
The Old Port district stretched ahead of me, its cobblestone streets treacherous even in good weather. Normal people sat inside eating dinner, laughing with friends, completely unaware that death was chasing life through their picturesque neighborhood.
I made it three more blocks before my foot caught on a raised section of sidewalk and went down hard, my palms scraping against stone as I tried to break my fall. Before I could get up, Morgana's hand closed around my wrist like a vice.
Fire magic seared through my sweatshirt sleeve, burning through fabric and flesh with surgical precision.
I screamed as the heat branded my arm, the smell of my own burning skin mixing with rain and steam. Morgana hauled me upright with brutal strength, her fingers digging into the fresh burn with deliberate cruelty.
"Did you really think you could run from us forever?" Her breath was hot against my ear, tinged with smoke and malice. "Did you honestly believe Mother would just let you walk away? After everything she's invested in you?"
"Let me go!" I thrashed against her grip, but it was like fighting iron.
My small magic sparked uselessly against her hold, pathetic little flickers that barely registered against her blazing power.
"I won't be part of her ritual. I won't let her use me to murder innocent people!"
"Innocent people." Morgana laughed, the sound rich with genuine amusement. "Oh, little sister, you always were too soft. Do you know what these 'innocent people' would do if they knew what we were? They'd hunt us down like animals and feel good about it afterward."
Her nails dug deeper into my flesh, drawing blood that steamed in the cold air. The pain was exquisite, designed to hurt without doing permanent damage. Yet.
"Mother has such plans for you…"
Morgana continued, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"The Solstice Rite is going to be beautiful, Rowan. Your blood will open doorways that have been sealed for centuries. The old powers will wake, and the Order will finally pay for what they've done to our kind. Thousands of years of persecution, ended in a single night. And you get to be the key that unlocks it all."
"I'd rather die first."
"Oh, you will die, sweetling. But not until your blood has served its purpose. Mother's been very specific about the timing."
Morgana's grip tightened, preparing to drag me back to whatever transportation had brought her here.
"Now stop struggling. You know it only makes things worse."
Through the rain and darkness, I caught sight of salvation—the Sellwood Bridge looming ahead, its steel girders disappearing into storm-churned waters below. The Willamette River looked black and deadly in the night, but it was my only chance.
"You're right," I said quietly, letting my body go limp in her grip. "I can't run forever."
Morgana's smile was triumphant and beautiful and terrible. "Finally, some sense. Mother will be so pleased that you came to your—"
With the last of my strength, I wrenched free from her grasp. Skin tore and blood flowed, but I was moving before she could tighten her hold. Three running steps took me to the bridge's railing, and I didn't let myself think about what I was doing.
I hurled myself over the edge.
The icy water hit me, driving the air from my lungs and stopping my heart for one terrible moment. The cold was beyond anything I'd ever experienced—not just cold, but the complete absence of warmth, as if the river was made of liquid death.
My burned arm went mercifully numb instantly, but the rest of my body screamed in protest as the current seized me.
Above me, Morgana's shriek of rage cut through the storm like a blade, echoing off the bridge's steel girders. I caught a glimpse of her leaning over the railing, fire dancing around her hands, her beautiful face twisted with fury.
Then the current swept me away, carrying me downstream into the darkness.
I'd traded the certainty of capture for the slim chance of survival in the freezing depths of Casco Bay, and as the black water closed over my head, I wasn't sure which fate was worse.