The Frozen Witch Book One by Odette C. Bell

screamed in anger, turning over my
shoulder to check on the man once more. The ice had not grown up
and encroached over his body again, but I could hardly leave him
there.
    Nor could I leave his weapon there.
    Turning hard on my foot and skidding through
the room once more, I lurched down and grabbed the sword up. As
soon as my hand wrapped around the handle, I felt a twinge. A
second later, that twinge turned into a full-on burning
sensation.
    I screamed, jerking my hand back as I
dropped the sword. I stared down in horror as I caught sight of my
palm. It was burnt, the skin blistered in places, a few droplets of
crusty blood making it out of gaps in the scorched flesh and
trickling down my palm.
    The sword, rather than clattering by my
feet, began to hiss like a broken steam pipe.
    It remained, frozen in midair, jerking on
the spot. As I took a terrified step back from it, it suddenly
exploded. It did not, however, send burning shards of metal
blasting through the room. Instead, it turned into a cloud of fine,
grey dust. And that grey dust shot back to the man. Before I could
become terrified that it would hurt him somehow, it disappeared
back into the symbol on his wrist.
    He convulsed, but soon became still.
    Warily, I crept over to him, pressing my
fingers against his neck once more.
    He was still alive, and if I was any judge,
his breathing was calming. His skin wasn’t deathly white anymore,
either.
    If I was any guess – and, let’s face it, I
wasn’t, considering I had all of two days experience in this
magical world. Still, if I was any guess, he’d extended himself by
creating that sword. And now it had disappeared back inside him, he
was getting better.
    Which meant he might just wake up soon.
    I backed towards the door, but before I
could run through it and try to rustle up some help, I stopped.
“You have to restrain the criminal, idiot,” I chided myself as I
reached a hand around and snapped the magical handcuffs out from
the pocket of my jacket. The guard had given them to me before I’d
left the armory.
    Leaning down, carefully shifting the man
until I could access both of his hands without hurting him, I
snapped the handcuffs over his wrists. There was a resounding
click, click.
    I checked them, even though they were so
solid they looked as if they could keep a frost giant in place.
    Finally satisfied, I stood up, took a step
back, then another, then turned.
    I was woozy, dizzy, marching nausea climbing
up my back and locking hard into my jaw. I’d lost a lot of blood,
even though I couldn’t appreciate that. The wound to my shoulder
was deep. I’d also used a lot of my nascent power.
    That didn’t stop me from stumbling forward,
eyes wide as they searched the darkened corridor for any sign of
another person.
    I brought my phone out and stared fixedly at
the signal bar, waiting for it to change.
    “Come on, come on, you bastard,” I begged
as I reached the stairs and took to them. I had to lock one hand on
the rail, lest I fall back. I was starting to become seriously
woozy here.
    Fighting against my nausea, I reached the
top of the stairs. This level was somehow nicer than the actual
nightclub. I’d noted that before, but I hadn’t paid that much
attention considering the fact I’d been chasing down a
murderer.
    Now I frowned, pressing the back of my hand
against my mouth as I winced against another surge of dizziness.
Crumpling over, pressing a sweaty hand against the wall, I checked
my phone once more.
    It still had no signal.
    Swearing, not daring to move my hand from
the wall, lest I fall over, I pushed forward. My whole body was
shaking now, bucking as a cold sensation began to press up through
my limbs.
    I might have felt completely warm in the
ice-covered basement, but now it felt like I was freezing from the
inside out.
    The lighting down here was a little more
reasonable than upstairs, but it was still dim. Even so, I could
make out the expensive Persian runner that divided the