Emberlight

4. Flip Switch

Kelsey

Surreal, aching, traumatised: those were three words Kelsey said 'to hell with' as the thin Ember, the lanky boy with ridiculous hawk-like hair, held Tristan back, while Feya—of all people, Feya—passed out from magical exertion. Kelsey needed to focus. She needed to stay strong.

Tristan screamed something—the specifics didn't matter. The hawk boy told him it would be okay.

It was not okay.

At first, she had dragged the image of the bloody hallway deep inside herself and made sure her sister didn't get wrapped out in this mess. The hallway soon resurfaced in the scarlet roses growing outside their kitchen window, in the dead bird flattened into roadside, in the puddles than ran down the streets. She shoved it aside.

She had to be stronger than this.

Right now, her driveway displayed a messy spectacle. A huge guy sprawled on the pavement, Feya unconscious on the grass, and Tristan with his elbow high and muscles tense, failing to shake off the lanky Ember. If it weren't for Feya's magical burst of light, the neighbours would have flocked to stare. Now they probably swayed next to their windows, drowning in the effects of the Aversion.

Had that light really come from Feya? A mix of awe and loss entwined into Kelsey's veins, impossible to unpick.

The huge Ember, the one that looked too muscular, hoisted Feya off the ground where she had fainted and carried her into the van. Kelsey would have protested, but the thought of the hallway flooded her mind and cemented her to the spot, her body weakening all over at the thought of the blood. All that blood. She needed to regain some control.

Unzipping her pocket, she dug her hands inside and clenched the handle of her knife. She'd use it if she had to. She couldn't just stand here and let them take them away. She had to do something. And it had to work.

They should have run like Tristan suggested, but couldn't leave the door unopened.

This was all Ester's fault. She had challenged magic with her protests, and the witches answered—Kelsey just knew it. What she didn't know whose blood painted the hallway, and she needed her family to be alright. Several cars were missing from the driveway—that had to be a good sign, didn't it?

She clenched her fingers tighter around the handle of her pocket knife. A burning pit of rage boiled up inside her, and tears sizzled to the surface. She rubbed them away before anyone could spot them.

A car pulled up behind the van, smooth and controlled. A tall woman walked out with the audacity to flounce past Kelsey and Tristan as if they were no more than potted plants. Her auburn hair was combed into a bun, pulling her skin taut so that it took the edge from her wrinkles.

"Oliana, what do you think?" the Ember with the ridiculous two-toned plait said—Izzy the lanky boy had called her—blood coating her boots from where she had let herself into the house. She had a button nose, plush lips, and caramel skin. Her soft almond-shaped eyes were surrounded by thick lashes, but her irises were demented: icy white cracks simmering atop blue pools. She pursed her lips and raised her shoulders high.

Full of herself, Kelsey thought.

"They were asking for it," Oliana, the tall woman, replied, buttoning up her long coat as it flapped around in the wind. Kelsey fought the urge to draw out her pocket knife. "As I've always said, LOCA members have residual magic. They wouldn't remember selective instances of our kind if they were like the rest of their kind. Such a shame." Oliana turned away, but the girl's eyes lingered on Kelsey's home. "Isadora?"