Oz flings whatever’s in the vial he holds in an arc. Black dust fills the air, and Clem and I stumble backward, tripping over each other. A wall of thick mist the color of dark blood shoots up from the floor, blocking the conjuring dust. The black cloud of whatever the hell Oz threw at us hits the wall and rolls over like a wave, then crashes back into his startled face. The red wall of mist recedes, sinking into the floor and vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Oz’s hands shoot up to his neck, and he lets out a hoarse, gagging cough.
