The screaming hadn't stopped.
Outside, the morning traffic had turned into a multi-car pileup as drivers stared at the seven-foot-tall man standing in the middle of the street with a glowing, broken sword. Inside The Daily Grind, the air was thick with the smell of burnt beans and ozone.
The "woman" in the grey suit stood up. Her designer jacket was shredded, revealing skin that looked like grey, molded plastic. She tilted her head, her neck clicking like a broken metronome.
"The King... is weak," she hissed. Her voice didn't come from her throat; it echoed from the shadows under her feet. "And the Priestess is empty."
"I am enough to send you back to the dirt, hollow-born," Valerius growled.
He moved.
It wasn't a human movement. One second he was beside me, and the next, he was a blur of black and violet light. He swung the broken blade, and a wave of force shattered the remaining windows of the cafe. The creature in the suit tried to screech, but Valerius's blade was faster. He sliced through her shoulder, and instead of blood, a thick, black smoke erupted from the wound.
"Ava! Get out of there!" Marco yelled from under the counter.
"I'm trying!" I shouted back. I grabbed my backpack from the breakroom, but as I turned to run toward the back exit, the floorboards beneath me erupted.
A long, oily limb, covered in sickly green eyes, wrapped around my ankle.
"Got you..." a voice whispered from the floor.
I screamed, falling hard against a stack of flour bags. The thing was pulling me down into the darkness of the crawlspace. I kicked, my sneaker hitting something that felt like cold, wet leather.
"Valerius!"
He heard me. He turned, but two more "hollows"—men in construction vests whose faces were melting into shadow—leaped onto his back. They were heavy, their claws digging into his shoulders.
"Ava!" Valerius roared, struggling against the weight. "The Flame! Use the Flame!"
"I don't know how!" I sobbed, my hands clawing at the floorboards as I was dragged toward the hole.
The creature's face emerged from the darkness under the floor. It looked like a human skull stretched over a basketball, with rows of needle-thin teeth. It opened its mouth, and I could see a void inside—a cold, empty space that wanted to swallow me whole.
Panic did something to my brain. It wasn't bravery; it was pure, unadulterated "get-the-hell-away-from-me."
My hand landed on a heavy, industrial-sized canister of cinnamon. Without thinking, I slammed it into the creature's glowing green eye. The lid popped off, sending a cloud of spicy brown powder into its face.
The monster shrieked, the cinnamon seemingly burning its eyes like acid. Its grip loosened for a split second.
I felt a surge of heat in my chest. It wasn't the warmth of a dream anymore; it was a white-hot spark that traveled from my heart, down my arm, and into my fingertips. The birthmark on my neck didn't just glow—it burned.
I grabbed the creature's wrist.
CRA-CKLE!
White lightning, pure and blinding, arched from my hand. The monster didn't just scream; it disintegrated. One moment it was a terrifying nightmare, and the next, it was nothing but a pile of fine white ash and the smell of Christmas spices.
I sat there, gasping, my hand smoking slightly.
Valerius threw the two construction-vest monsters off him with a burst of violet energy and sprinted toward me. He skidded to a stop, looking at the pile of ash, then at me.
"You found it," he breathed, his golden eyes wide with shock. "The White Fire."
"I used cinnamon," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I think I killed a god with a kitchen spice."
"The spice did nothing," Valerius said, pulling me to my feet. His touch sent a soothing cool through my burning arm. "It was your will. You refused to be a victim, and the Flame answered."
"Ava? Val?" Marco's head popped up from behind the espresso machine. He looked at the wreckage, the ash, and the giant man holding his employee. "I'm calling the police. I'm calling the news. I'm calling my therapist."
"We have to go," Valerius said, his voice dropping into a command. "Now. The scent of that burst will bring the High Hunters. This city is no longer a hiding place."
"But my life is here!" I protested, even as he dragged me toward the back door.
"You have no life here anymore, Ava," he said, stopping at the exit. He looked back at the chaos in the street—the sirens were finally getting closer. "Look."
In the distance, three black SUVs were weaving through the traffic, driving with a terrifying, synchronized speed. They weren't police. They had no markings, and the glass was so dark it looked like obsidian.
"The Government?" I asked, my blood running cold.
"Worse," Valerius spat. "Men who play with the shadows they don't understand."
He pushed me out into the alleyway. The air was cool, but the world felt different now. The colors were too sharp, the sounds too loud.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my heart hammering.
Valerius looked toward the mountains on the horizon, his expression grim and royal.
"We go to the places where the old magic still breathes. We go to find what remains of my army." He looked at me, his gaze softening for a heartbeat. "And we teach you how to burn down anyone who tries to take you from me again."
I looked at my hand. It was still shaking, but the white light was humming just beneath my skin.
"I'm going to need a lot more cinnamon," I muttered.
Valerius actually laughed—a deep, rich sound that made the alleyway feel less dark. "Come, Little Priestess. The war has officially begun."
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