“No!” She tried to shout, but could not draw enough breath. Her vision blurred.
He pushed her face onto the floor, and her jaw clamped shut. The taste of warm, metallic blood filled her mouth. Hot tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. Dirt smudged her lashes, and she felt the grit of it between her teeth.
Fei Ming ripped at her trousers, and she banged against the ground like a rag doll. He fondled her bare skin. She struggled in terror, but was pinned beneath the bulk of him. Her head spun as she fought off waves of nausea, made worse by the taste of blood and soil in her mouth.
Fei Ming raised himself for one brief moment. She gasped for breath, horrified. She tried to push herself off the ground; in an instant, he was gone. The jade pendant blazed hot against her chest.
Seconds later, there was a heavy thud and the creaking of tired wood boards. Confused and filled with fear, she rolled onto her side to find Fei Ming slumped on the ground, his chin on his chest and his lower half exposed. An aura of white sparks enveloped him.
Before she could look away, he flew into the air and slammed with a sickening crack against the ceiling. Pinned there, the glow that shrouded him cast leaping shadows across the derelict temple. Her pendant flickered brightly. She was doing this. And she didn’t know how to control it.
Fei Ming crashed to the ground. Blood dripped from his nose, then dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“No,” Ai Ling whispered.
A green mist began to coalesce, rising from Fei Ming until it took on the shape of something monstrous, twice taller than any man. Its head was huge, its face as flattened as an angry bull’s, the lower incisors jutting out. Red streaked across its features, reminding her of the opera masks that had scared her as a girl. Frost plumed from the flared nostrils. It lunged toward Ai Ling in one stride, its green eyes ablaze.
The demon moved into her. Consumed her. It caught her breath and heartbeat, plunged her in ice. A chaos of screeching overwhelmed her mind. The demon’s spirit pulsated within her, attempted to expand like an ink spill in her mind. Horrified and sickened, Ai Ling resisted. She closed herself to the evil, folding her spirit into a slippery wisp. The demon shrieked and slashed through her being.
Then it was gone. Her head felt split open. A stench like burned hair hung in the air, and her ears were ringing. She gulped for breath. Her heart thudded against her chest like a fist.
With great effort, she lifted her head and saw Fei Ming sprawled on the floor by the wall, his bloody face turned toward her. He was alive, but struggling. A gurgling sound escaped from his throat with each ragged breath.
The rope fell from her wrists, untwining like a snake in the air. Ai Ling tried to stand but pitched forward instead. And the world collapsed to pinpricks of light until her vision failed her entirely. Ai Ling groaned when she woke. Unable to focus, she blinked several times, feeling the ache and tremble of her body. Bright sunshine filtered through the windows of the abandoned temple.
She rose to her feet with effort, stumbling once and scraping the heel of her hand on the rough floor. Wincing, she slowly walked over to Fei Ming, who had not moved. Dry blood crusted his nose and mouth. His eyes were half closed, his pallor like the naked skin of poultry offered at the butcher’s, but he was still breathing.
She kneeled on bruised knees, pulled down his black tunic with a quivering hand to cover him. Her breath came in short gasps, and her stomach lurched. She grabbed her pendant, drawing comfort from the grooves etched in the stone. Fei Ming terrified her, even though he must have been possessed.
She laid a light hand on him. She hesitated, her trembling fingers trailing from his slack arm to his barely risingand-falling chest. Ai Ling did not know what she searched for, allowing instinct to guide her. She stopped as her palm hovered over his heart. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, tangled black hair fanning across her face. She waited.
There was nothing at first. Just the sunlight behind her eyelids and the feel of the man’s silk tunic beneath her fingers. She cast her spirit toward his, a weak, wobbling cord. It dissipated without reaching its target. She drew a deep breath and tried again. Her navel tightened as her spirit entered Fei Ming’s.
She delved into his body, and his pain slammed her. Struggling to breathe. Struggling to live. A part of him wanted to give up; give in to the darkness. Ai Ling unfurled her mind to him. She searched for his being.
It cowered, as if shoved into a corner. Fei Ming was aware he had been possessed. He had watched everything, a prisoner in his own mind and body. His spirit was traumatized, damaged, and afraid. Yet he still fought for each breath that seared his lungs. His heart fluttered, tapping out a faint and erratic beat.
Ai Ling willed her own spirit over his wounds, glided across broken ribs, the cracked collarbone, and the punctured lung. She knew nothing. She’d never studied anatomy or medicine, but she went where she felt his pain. She wrapped his injuries within her healing essence, coated and covered them until she felt his heart beating with a strong, regular rhythm. Until he took a deep breath without wincing, even as he lay unconscious, crouched inside his own mind.
Suddenly Ai Ling was aware of hurried footsteps. The sound came to her as if through a deep tunnel. She withdrew from Fei Ming’s body, snapped into herself, and turned her head sluggishly. Master Tan approached like thunder, followed by Chen Yong and two manservants. He ran to his injured son and kneeled down beside him. Fei Ming remained unconscious but stirred and groaned.
Chen Yong dropped by her side, his dark brows drawn together. “Ai Ling, are you all right?”
“What happened here?” Master Tan demanded.
Ai Ling clutched at her torn clothing, feeling weak, depleted. Chen Yong cradled her elbow, as if afraid she would fall over otherwise.
What was there to say, except the truth?
“He laced my tea with poison. I woke and found myself here.” Her voice, unfamiliar to her own ears, croaked with thirst.
“What?” Master Tan shook with fury. “Beware of your accusations, Ai Ling. I know my son.”
“He—he was possessed,” she whispered.
Master Tan’s expression hardened, the color draining from his face. He pounded closed fists together and spat at the ground before her.
“Witch! Sorceress! How dare you come into my home and bring such evil on us?”
“There must be a misunderstanding,” Chen Yong said. “We should send for the physician. Fei Ming can tell us what happened when he recovers.” There was a strain in his steady voice she hadn’t heard before. What did he think? Who would he believe?
Ai Ling lowered her head. It was her fault that Fei Ming was in this condition. Was it her fault as well that he had been possessed?
Master Tan gingerly touched his son’s cheek. “Quickly! Bring the litter and fetch Physician Shen. Go!”
The two manservants rushed off without a word, panic on their faces.
“Leave, before I fetch the magistrate.” Master Tan waved one arm at her and Chen Yong, his wrath unable to hide the tears of concern for his son. “I don’t ever want to see your faces again. Go!”
Ai Ling met Chen Yong’s eyes for the first time. They were unreadable, his face taut and without expression. “I’ll get our things,” he said quietly, and he turned to go.
Ai Ling scrambled to her feet to follow. Her chest ached until it felt numb—like the rest of her.
Chen Yong walked with long strides, his posture stiff. “What happened?” he asked without looking back at her.
“It’s as I said. Fei Ming poisoned my tea. I woke in the temple.” She propelled herself forward so her legs would not buckle beneath her. “He was possessed.” It was difficult to talk and half run, to keep her gaze on Chen Yong’s rigid shoulders.
“Why is he unconscious?” he asked, again without turning. She felt like a rejected pet, scurrying after her master. Pride and anger would have surfaced under normal circumstances, but Ai Ling had no energy for such emotions.