by Laura Bickle
I slammed down on four feet on the attic floor, blinking, sun-dazzled…and still in maned wolf form.
I wheeled to my left, where wings shuddered at Halley’s place in the circle. A red-tailed hawk climbed into the air and lurched toward the window.
I rushed over the edge of the broken circle, blood roaring in my ears. I jumped and snapped at the hawk, but she slipped beyond my teeth and streaked out into the afternoon with the rustle of wings.
I rested my paws on the window ledge, panting. The hawk was receding in the blue sky, distant and uncatchable. The hawk—Halley—was gone.
I turned back. Renan was back in human form, and I heard growling from behind the boxes. Dalton. At least Dalton hadn’t escaped.
“What happened?” Renan asked.
Starr buried her face in her trembling hands. “The magic…the magic was too strong. It…broke the circle. I don’t think we can retrieve Dalton. And Halley…”
I walked back to the circle, my nails clicking on the wood floor. I willed myself to change back to a woman, but I couldn’t.
I stopped inside the chalk line and stared down.
The candles were blown out. And the Tooth of Thralls had shattered into a hundred pieces on this plane, too. It was lost.
I laid down and rested my head on my paws. Dread washed over me.
We were screwed, cursed, hexed, and possibly doomed.