Rebecca

The witch smiled. “Then let us begin,” she said.

The air shifted. A circle slid open on the ground, black lines curling in the frost. My stomach sank.

“Maximus,” I whispered.

“I know.” His hand brushed mine, warm and steady. “Stay behind me.”

The witch raised her staff. Light spilled from the tip like threads of rain. The threads sank into the ground. The circle pulsed like a heartbeat.

She watched him. “You are fire that does not ...