There is so much magic in flux that is it difficult to breathe properly, and every move requires conscious thought -- and then the shriek that suddenly rends the air sends all of Merriman's senses ringing with alarm. For as the Dark that was within Blodwen Rowlands loses its host, it rises from her to coalesce in the air above her, a writhing mass of ancient, ageless malevolence that has been unwillingly deprived of a physical form.

Without that physical form to hold it together, to contain and channel the hatred and the need to destroy, there is nothing to prevent it from striking out all at once, at anything within reach. And there is still enough of the mind of Blodwen Rowlands within that churning force to exert an influence over it, to direct it at her natural targets.

Three of whom are standing well within range.