“Now what?” I whispered.
“Hnn. I think you said … kill them all.” He flashed his canines, savage voracity lining his face. “I will do that.”
“But how? There are still so many of them.” Two champions, four contractors, four demons, Karlson, and Travis. Twelve opponents, plus Amalia was in danger and needed help too.
Zylas eyed me sideways, then reached for his hip. With a twist, he freed the infernus’s chain from his belt and dangled the pendant above my face.
“Payilas, can you make the spell of bright light again?”
“I need something to draw with. Something like—” I watched a drop of blood run down the side of his hand. I was lying in a pool of it. “Yes, but if you tell me what you have in mind, I might be able to do better than a light cantrip.”
As he grinned, vicious and eager to deal death, I grasped the hanging infernus. This time, I wouldn’t try to stop him. This time, I would help him protect us both.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Boom. The shipping container jolted violently as the hammering continued. The doors, held together by Zylas’s glowing spell, caved inward.
In front of the shaking doors, I’d drawn a three-foot-wide rune in my own blood. Yuck. Even knowing Zylas’s super-speed healing magic had repaired my neck and replenished my blood, I was still freaked out that so much of what was supposed to be inside my body was all over the floor. Painful thirst constricted my throat.
I tightened my hands on his shoulders. He was crouched just behind the rune, and I clung to his back with my legs clamped around his waist. Crimson talons extended from his fingers, and he raised one hand toward the door as another powerful blow shook it.
“Are you ready, payilas?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied tersely. My pulse was racing, my throat was dry, and my limbs shivered with adrenaline. But Zylas knew what he was doing. He didn’t start fights he couldn’t win.
Power lit across his palm and crawled up his arm in twisting veins that glowed through his sleeve and armguard. A circle formed around his fingertips, runes flashing through its center.
“Now,” he said, and a streak of red power leaped from his hand and hit the doors, blasting them open.
“Luce!” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut.
My rune blazed into an incandescent brilliance that shone through my eyelids. As the men outside, blinded by the spell, shouted in pain and alarm, Zylas leaped forward. He could still see; with his infrared vision, he was hindered by neither a lack of light nor an overabundance of it.
We flew out into the cold sea breeze, my arms wrapped desperately around his shoulders. He landed with a crunch on the concrete. I cracked my eyes open as he sprang between two demons, unmoving while their contractors were disoriented. Aiming at his first target, Zylas slashed his talons across the man holding Amalia.
As the rogue fell, I dropped off Zylas’s back. Grabbing Amalia’s arm, I hauled her away from the Red Rum mythics and their demons. They had recovered from the light spell and were turning on Zylas—four demons controlled by four contractors, and two armed champions protecting them.
The wall of lumbering muscles, horns, and spikes closed in on Zylas, the demons spreading out to encircle him.
I raised my arm. My sleeve was pushed up to my elbow, and I’d drawn three bloody cantrips on my skin. The most basic Arcana—draw the rune, speak the single-word incantation, and unleash a simple spell.
“Surrige,” I declared.
An invisible force caught the nearest contractor and lifted him off his feet. As he flailed in confusion, his demon halted all movement.
Zylas dove under the immobile demon. Lunging for their adversary, the other three bowled over their ally, and Zylas wheeled toward the four contractors, his tail snapping out for balance. The two champions rushed forward to intercept him, one with a shining broadsword and the other with a pair of small but terrifying battle axes.
The swordsman slapped a hand to his blade and the earth trembled with his magic. The other pointed an axe and shouted an incantation.
I thrust my arm out. “Ventos!”
My second rune flashed and wind erupted, buffeting the champions and whipping grit in their faces. The gust scarcely made them stumble, but it created the distraction Zylas needed.
The sorcerer’s spell missed him by inches. The spiral of burgundy power hit the pavement and exploded in a wave that covered everything nearby in a glistening layer of … something. Shouting furiously, the terramage whipped his sword out, and the earth split open in front of him—but Zylas had already leaped. He slammed into the mage, plowing him into the ground as his claws flashed.
The demons were moving again, all four barreling toward Zylas and the two—now one—champions.
I swung my hand toward them. “Nebu—”
Amalia grabbed my shirt and yanked me backward. A dart of searing hot magic grazed my shoulder as a spell whipped past me—launched by the axe-wielding champion.
“Nebulam!” I yelled as fast as I could get the word out.
The largest cantrip on my arm flickered and a hazy mist rose off the ground, billowing around us. The last thing I saw was Zylas turning on the remaining champion as four demons charged him. Mythic and demon forms blurred in the fog.
A scream rang out. Metal clanged. Another cry of agony.
The fog cantrip was already fading, too small and weak to last against the sea breeze. Shadowy shapes reappeared—a pair of unmoving demon statues, and the two demons still in battle, controlled by the last survivors. Zylas was a lethal blur darting among them, glowing magic dancing over his hands.
Dh’ērrenith, he would’ve called this moment. Assured victory.
“Watch out!” Amalia yelled.
I whirled around. Karlson, the short Red Rum leader, came at me with a silver knife in his fist. I lurched backward, my hand flashing up, a bloody rune drawn on my palm.
“Impello!” I cried.
The invisible push spell hit him and he staggered, the blade knocked from his grasp. He paused, his eyes burning with fury, then extended his empty palm, concentration hardening his jaw.
A steel battle axe appeared in his hand.
He stepped forward, the blade gleaming. It was the champion’s axe. Somehow, the fallen champion’s weapon was now in Karlson’s hands—and he was almost on top of me, the deadly edge angled toward my body.
“Stop your demon,” he spat. “Now!”
Another scream split the air—the last contractor dying. Karlson’s gaze darted to the bloody battlefield, and I saw the decision in his eyes. No demon was worth his life. He was going to kill me to stop Zylas.
His other hand opened and a second battle axe appeared in his grip. He swung the weapons up and I stumbled back, too close, too clumsy—
He jerked convulsively. His face went slack, then he pitched forward. His weapons hit the ground with clangs that echoed in the sudden quiet. Travis stood behind the collapsed man, holding a blood-splattered rock. He stared at Karlson, his face white.
Ten yards away, Zylas stood alone, surrounded by his fallen enemies. All the demons had disappeared, their contractors dead, and blood had turned the musty concrete into a macabre painting. Zylas was splattered all over.
My stomach squirmed and I looked away. So much death. So many lives ended. Numbness spread through me, and I didn’t know what to feel. Should I have felt anything else besides the relief coursing through me?
Tail swishing, Zylas hopped across the battlefield. When he’d cleared the bodies, his gait shifted to a dangerous prowl, gaze fixed on Travis.
“Well, payilas?” he crooned as Travis’s expression slackened with terror. “Should I kill this one too?”
I studied Travis, who clutched his rock like it might save him. Amalia gave me a pleading, desperate look.
Briefly closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. “Zylas, I think enough people have died already.”
“Mercy is for the weak, payilas.”
“The weak can’t afford mercy.” I met his eyes. “I think we can.”
He stared at me, then grimaced—his favorite “you’re so dumb you don’t even make sense” grimace. I rolled my eyes. Looking like he could hardly believe his luck, Travis cleared his throat to speak, then changed his mind. We stood mutely, silenced by the trauma and violence we’d survived.
“We should leave,” Amalia suggested.
Travis nodded eagerly. “I have a car parked on the street. This way.”
Together, the three of us started across the lot, leaving the massacre and Red Rum’s burning boat behind. Zylas trailed after us, rubbing at the blood on his hands with his nose wrinkled in disgust. As we passed the bumper of an abandoned tractor-trailer, the three of us stopped abruptly. A road ran alongside the concrete lot, and directly ahead, a black car with tinted windows idled at the curb.
The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out, large sunglasses obscuring his face, but a distinct scar ran up his chin and distorted his lower lip.
“Claude?” Amalia and Travis exclaimed.
Uncle Jack’s partner and fellow summoner smiled with warm relief. “Amalia, Travis—and Robin—I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“How did you find us?” Amalia demanded.
“I have many contacts in various circles.” He lifted his sunglasses to peer at Zylas in appreciation, strangely unalarmed. “So that’s the demon from the library, is it?”
“What are you doing here?” Travis asked sharply.
I wasn’t the only one wondering what was really going on.
“I came to fetch you—to get you all away from Red Rum.” Claude waved at his car. “Come along, kids.”
Part of me, the part that was exhausted and terrified and heartsick, wanted nothing more than to climb into that car and let a smart, experienced adult take over. But I wasn’t desperate enough to ignore the warning in my gut, and judging by the tense look Amalia and Travis shared, they felt it too.
Claude’s faint smile didn’t falter, but his eyes cooled. A slight shift in his expression, as though his attention had turned elsewhere. Turned inward—
Zylas sprang.
He crashed into me and I hurtled backward. I hit the ground as a reddish shadow plummeted out of the sky. It slammed down on the spot where I’d been standing—where Zylas was now crouched, having thrown me clear.
Monstrous wings flared as the demon smashed Zylas into the concrete. Crimson power burst off Zylas and he twisted free, whirling away in a blur—and the other demon followed, almost as fast, its long arms reaching. The demon and Zylas tangled, claws flashing, then Zylas broke away with an unsteady stagger.
I scrambled onto my feet as Zylas backed toward me. He turned, forgetting his adversary entirely. His eyes were dark, unfocused, blankly staring.
He dropped, his metal greaves clanging against the pavement. I leaped and caught him as he pitched forward. On his knees, he sagged against me, face against my stomach, his weight pushing me backward.
“Zylas?” I gasped, gripping his shoulders.
The attacking demon watched us, its eyes burning like magma. I’d almost thought it was Tahēsh, somehow returned to life, but at six and a half feet tall, this demon wasn’t as large. Its wings were more delicate, its tail ending in barbs similar to Zylas’s. Long black hair was pulled away from its sharp features and tied in place with a strip of leather.
The unfamiliar demon tossed a small object to Claude. The summoner caught it—a steel syringe with a thick, sturdy needle. Dark blood coated the sharp point.
“A good summoner,” Claude commented as he slipped the syringe into his pocket, “knows how to neutralize a demon safely. Neutralizing humans is far simpler, though.”
The demon turned and grabbed Amalia and Travis by their necks. It lifted them off the ground. They writhed, grabbing at the demon’s wrists, mouths gaping silently.
“No!” I cried, clinging to Zylas’s head and shoulders. He weakly grasped my legs and I lost my balance. I fell, landing on my butt, and he sprawled across my lap, twitching feebly as though struggling to move.
The demon continued to strangle the step-siblings, Travis hanging limply and Amalia’s legs spasming.
“Don’t kill them! Please don’t!” I begged, tears spilling down my cheeks.
Claude considered my plea, then nodded at the demon. It opened its huge hands. Amalia and Travis hit the ground and crumpled, unconscious. Were they breathing? Did they need CPR?
“Why are you doing this?” My fingers twisted in Zylas’s hair as I mentally implored him to get up. I needed help. I couldn’t do this alone.
“Why?” Claude repeated. “It’s quite simple, Robin. I’ve invested years into acquiring the demon you stole from under my nose.”
“What …”
He crouched so we were at eye level. His demon towered beside him, wings folded and tail lashing idly.
“With the acquisition of the First and Twelfth Houses, I’m the first to possess all twelve names since the Athanas summoners. The First House is the most powerful, but the Twelfth House …” His gaze swept over Zylas, collapsed across my lap. “The Twelfth House is truly special.”
“Special how?” I whispered.
“I’m not entirely sure. The answers lie in your mother’s invaluable grimoire.”
My hands tightened on Zylas. “The grimoire belongs to me.”
“Indeed it does, which is why I have a proposal for you, Miss Page.” He smiled invitingly. “Come with me. I’ll teach you how to survive, how to build a relationship of true power with your demon, and together, we can translate your family’s grimoire and discover all the secrets your mother kept from you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Claude’s offer echoed in my head.
A relationship of true power … The summoner’s demon stood patiently beside him. Watching. Listening. Its tail twitched just like Zylas’s—an idle movement no legally contracted demon could make.
“You’ll be safe with me, Robin,” Claude added gently.
My throat had gone dry, my pulse hammering. Everything I wanted: safety, my mother’s grimoire, and someone else in charge. All I had to do was trust a man who’d just sicced his demon on his former partner’s family.
I swallowed. If I refused his offer, he might kill us. I would agree for now, and find a way out later, when Zylas had recovered—assuming he recovered before we were in too deep. Assuming he recovered at all.
“You have to leave Amalia and Travis alive. Don’t hurt them anymore.”
“If you prefer.” He held out his hand. “So you’re with me, then?”
“Yes,” I lied, cautiously reaching for his hand.
He closed cool fingers over mine. “Hmm. I’m disappointed, Robin. Haven’t you realized yet that demons can detect lies?”
My eyes, widening with horror, shot to his demon, and I tried to yank my hand away. A silver ring on his index finger bit into my skin.
“Ori profundior decidas.”
Hot magic rushed into my hand and swept down my arm. Every muscle in my body clenched, then went limp. I collapsed sideways, unable to move, Zylas’s dead weight pinning my numb legs.
Claude rose to his full height. “Kill the Harper brats, then bring those two. The extract will wear off soon, so I need to dose the demon again.”
His demon chuckled nastily. I couldn’t move, my head canted at an awkward angle, jaw slack, glasses askew. The demon’s blurred shape loomed over the unconscious siblings as it reached down.
Reddish light erupted—but not demon magic.
A burning orb struck the demon between its wings. The fire burst like a water balloon, liquid flames splattering the demon’s skin. As it reared back with an agonized bellow, the ground trembled. The concrete between the demon’s feet split and the beast staggered sideways.
Three men appeared—literally out of thin air. A trio of mythics in black combat gear, weapons in their hands, formed a triangle around the demon. The
nearest—salt-and-pepper hair, close-cropped beard. Recognition punched me in the gut.
Darius King, the guild master of the Crow and Hammer.
A pair of silver daggers in his hands, he pointed a blade at Claude from a dozen paces away. The summoner stumbled backward, grabbing at his face.
“What’s happening?” he yelped. “I can’t see!”
His demon snapped its wings, flinging the liquid flames off its back, and lunged for Darius. The mythic vanished, but the demon whirled as though tracking an invisible target.
Darius’s teammate leaped in behind the demon, a heavy staff spinning in his hands. He slammed the end into the concrete. A fissure opened under the demon, spewing a geyser of lava over its legs. Snarling, the demon leaped away from the bubbling lava.
Darius reappeared, arm cocked back, and he hurled a small object at the demon. It exploded, throwing the beast forward.
The third teammate pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt. His lips moved in an incantation, then he fired. Each bullet hit the demon with a burst of displaced air, the force hammering it backward. It crashed down.
But a demon wasn’t so easily defeated.
It lunged up, slowed by neither pain nor injuries. Red magic swirled along its arms. The air turned arctic and frost swept over the lava, hardening it into black lumps. A six-foot-wide rune circle appeared beneath its feet.
Zylas pushed up on shaking arms and dragged himself on top of me.
The demon’s spell exploded and the impact hit us like a speeding car. Zylas shielded me with his body, his arms wrapped around my head. The ground shook and crimson light flared wildly.
The fierce glow faded and quiet settled over the concrete lot. Zylas laboriously lifted his head. I still couldn’t move but I could see the winged demon. It carried Claude under one arm, its wings beating hard as it flew out of range.
“Damn,” a voice muttered.
Footsteps crunched, coming nearer. Scooping my limp body against him, Zylas lurched onto unsteady feet. He got a few steps before dropping to one knee, unable to stand.
Darius and his two teammates—Girard, the guild officer I’d spoken to last night, and a volcanomage—formed a half-circle around us. Girard was unscathed, but the other two were banged up, their clothes singed and scuffed with dirt; they hadn’t escaped that magical explosion.
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