Black Magic

Chapter Nineteen

We reach the path to the forest in no time. The second we're under the cover of the trees—out of the soft pre-dawn light and into cold shade—Sixten breaks out into a run, leaving me scrambling to catch up. He disappears into the woods in seconds despite my efforts to keep pace with him. He's just ridiculously fast, his legs absurdly long, and all that barely-restrained anger seems to only make him faster.

Though I can't see him anymore, I can still feel him. His energy is sharp and vicious and leaves a trail through the forest. A warning; every single one of my instincts is screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, a prickly ball of unease growing steadily in my throat. I shouldn't—I shouldn't be here. This is dangerous. I'm following an angry, unpredictable predator into the darkness, his domain, ignoring the violent intent clinging to the trees he's passed by. But it's not just that—I'm also running after my friend, and I focus on that as I sprint through the trees and follow the trail of Sixten's energy.

I don't realize that Sixten has stopped until I skid into somewhat of a clearing and see him. He's facing away from me, half-leaning on a tree, shoulders still shaking. My own hands are trembling—instinct, an unconscious response—but I take a step into the clearing and let awareness wash over me. Sixten's anger hits me like a wave; it's menacingly cold, gathering on the edges of my skin like frost.

Yet again, the instinct to run spikes in my bloodstream. I swallow hard, clenching my hands into fists to stop the trembling. "Sixten?"

He doesn't turn, but every muscle in his body tenses. "You shouldn't be here." His voice is sharp and frigid, like frosted steel. It flays my nerves, stinging fear coursing through my body. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating.

I take a deep, shaky breath. Snow soaks through my sneakers. "I want to help." Toes wiggling in my shoes, I shuffle another couple inches forward. "I don't want to just leave you alone—can I help?"

"You can help by leaving."

It's—irrational, and childish, but frustration and anger surge up in my chest, mingling with the acidic terror of the darkness. "I'm not leaving you alone." I don't—I can't be alone. There are shadows around every corner, something threatening in even the brightest places, and Sixten is the only support I have against all the darkness. He's the only one who gets it. "Would—would it help to fight it out? Run some more?"

At that Sixten does turn, stumbling back a few steps. Even in that desperate clumsiness he looks graceful. His eyes are wide, shining bright silver in the darkness, reflecting the pre-dawn light filtering through the trees. "Absolutely not." When he speaks, I can see his teeth; pointed and elongated, glistening white like the snow coating the ground.

I refuse to back up, scrunching my cold toes just to work out some of the frantic energy. "Then what can I do?"

Sixten cocks his head to one side. His stare carves into me, predatory and viciously cold. "I'm not . . . safe, right now." He flexes his fingers at his sides; even with the distance between us I can feel magic crackling just under his pale skin, cold with fury. "You need to leave."

I scowl at him. Anger is—easier, than fear, and it gives me something solid and tangible to latch onto. The anger propels me forward a couple feet, cold seeping in with every step. "I already said I wasn't leaving." After everything he's done for me, the secret he's keeping and the time he's sacrificed, it wouldn't be right of me to just leave him like this. "Stop suggesting it. We're friends, remember? I want to help you." My voice doesn't waver; instead it glints like the dagger hanging loose and ready at my side.

Sixten hunches his shoulders, crossing his arms and taking another measured step backwards. "It isn't a suggestion."

"Well, tough."