Snowmageddon: Beyond the Shroud (System of the Witch's Eye Book 2) by Gentry Davidson

Author:Gentry Davidson [Davidson, Gentry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Istill had a second to call a warning, but the air turned thin and mean the minute we set foot on Choir turf. The bone-and-feather totems marked the border—towering, cruel, every one painted white as powdered teeth, with frost runes crawling their length and little windchimes singing songs I could feel in my molars. The path narrowed on both sides, and the snow went glassy, reflecting a dozen shifting ghosts every time the wind tried to rip visibility out of the world.

We stepped in as a unit, the coven bond flickering golden, but for a heartbeat the world was pure silence.

Then the Choir hit.

They didn’t bother with logic or negotiation. White-robed zealots blitzed from the flanks, bone masks covering any real expression, and started in with the chant so high and tight it made the air vibrate: “The vessel approaches! The vessel approaches!” Their boots didn’t even break snow—they just skittered across the surface, arms lifted, ritual knives glinting wildly off every scrap of light the ice could spare.

Mercy braced at my side, lightning crawling her gloves, the electricity so sharp I could smell the ozone before the Choir even finished their first circle. “They’re gunning for you,” she muttered. “Don’t drift—I’ll break the first line.”

Jerrica didn’t waste time. “Matri—NOW. Defensive net, double weave!” Her hand was already in the air, blue runes sparking out from the staff, lacing the space in front of us with a pattern you’d need a math degree and a death wish to decode. The rest of the coven slotted in, hands up, every finger game to channel whatever kept us alive.

The Choir circled, voices rising, so piercing it hurt, a pitch so mean it made my eyes water. My bloodline didn’t just notice; it howled. Every vein in my arms lit up, pain-fire running the length of my limbs with every new incantation from the zealots. The bond tried to cushion it, golden light crawling visibly over my skin, but the Choir magic was tailored, every word mapped to the logic of Knight blood and the old world’s desire to wring it out of me.

Luster prowled the inner circle, his body twice as agitated as even against the Barons, and he never blinked. The frost lines on his fur glowed in pulses, each throb brighter than the last. He shot the bond with images straight from the nerve: Choir circles closing, bone wands scripting the air, and, louder than pain, the need to not let a single damn zealot touch me.

The Choir unleashed the next phase: bone wands up, then down, every move connecting glowing lines in the air. They aimed straight at me, lines arcing out to wrap me up, cutting me clean from the rest. The sensation was agony—a claw at the base of the spine, pressure in the chest, the world narrowing until only the spell-cage and the pain existed.

Mercy roared. She slammed her fist forward, blue lightning exploding from every joint, and the closest four bone constructs shattered instantly, fragments sizzling in the storm.

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