EIGHTY | DARK MAGICK

Elijah

Dawn light spilled into the clearing. Elijah scratched a hand through his dark hair and stared without seeing at the dark swathe of bottle-green pines surrounding them. Pale, fractured sunlight caught the tips of needles and the bends of boughs, highlighting the remnants of birds’ nests and the red belly of a lone robin.

He dug the toe of his boot into the dry dirt from where he was sat, his back pressed at an odd angle against a fallen, moss-covered log and his knees bent, pulled up close to his chest. He was supposed to be sleeping, but thoughts and hazy imaginings of what Lily could be doing – or what could be being done to her – had plagued him ever since night had fallen, and continued to do so as the sun had risen. Sighing, he turned his grey gaze to his Gamma.

“I know you aren’t sleeping. I’m on watch – and there’s no point us both being awake. You’re moping,” said Caslein, arching an eyebrow at Elijah. “Again. Stop it.”

Elijah’s throat bobbed. “No, I’m not. I’m thinking