"In the name of the Queen, give me the feather."
My insides were glitter, the world a dreamy haze, and the mysteries of the universe mine to unravel.
"Ash," Priya squeaked.
Her anguish penetrated my euphoria. Slightly. "The feather. Yes."
I pried my fingers off it, but in the seconds it took Moran to release her and move close enough to take the feather, I pulled the magic out of it in a black smudge. Red forked branches pinned it and the white clusters bloomed.
Still caught in the grip of the high, I laughed hysterically.
Nadija, demonstrating an exceptional determination and impressive recovery time, screamed in rage and ran at me and then it was pandemonium as Miles' people poured out of a van.
The feather in my hand had gone from white, fluffy, and full of magic, to grey, limp, and impotent.
"All gone," I said to Moran. Seeing was believing, after all.