Fallen

chapter 12

I came down onto a stone floor. Behind me, the gate winked out, and an instant later I felt something shift and tear. The statue didn’t break or shatter, but the life seemed to go out of it. No one was going to be using it as a gateway anymore.

“Well, well,” a voice said. “Look who’s here.”

I was back in the mansion storeroom. I turned and saw Onyx.

And Pyre.

And half a dozen other guys standing around them.

And even more standing around them.

The storeroom was packed, Onyx’s gang filling it to standing room only. They formed a semicircle around me, the closest no more than ten feet away. They ranged from teens to as old as their thirties, some showing tattoos and jewellery, hairstyles ranging from dreadlocks to shaven. They carried an assortment of weapons from handguns to knives to AK-47s to a hand grenade; one held a steel chain and another a sawn-off shotgun. Those with no visible weapons radiated magic instead: one had claws growing from his hands, and another was juggling a fireball. The looks on their faces were hungry, predators eyeing a meal.

“Surprised?” Onyx said. The Dark mage was slender and whip-quick, dressed in black with gold flashes. He wore an unpleasant smile, and his eyes were cold. “We put in a sink ward. Guess you’re staying.”

I finished my count. Seven adepts with one type or another of combat magic: four elemental, two living, and an illusionist. Seventeen normals, sensitives, or noncombat adepts, all armed. Onyx and Pyre. And one more. Pyre had Selene at his feet, one hand tangled in her hair.

Pyre met my gaze and smiled. He was good-looking, with blue eyes and messy blond hair. “Hey, Verus.” He yanked on Selene’s hair, pulling her head back; she flinched but didn’t make a sound. “Found your little helper.”

“Give me the fateweaver,” Onyx told me.

I looked back at him silently.

“I’m tired of your shit, Verus,” Onyx said. “Every time this happens you run away. Well, this time you’re in a room that’s warded and sealed. You aren’t gating and your elemental isn’t getting through the doors. So I’m only going to ask one more time. Give me that fateweaver.”

“Don’t kill him yet,” Pyre said. “I want him to call Cinder’s boy. I knew he’d—”

“Shut up,” Onyx said clearly, and Pyre did. Onyx didn’t take his eyes off me. “You’ve got five seconds.”

I looked around and addressed the crowd. “Lay down your weapons and you can leave.”

The room burst into laughter. The adepts and normals jeered, shouted insults. It was apparently the best joke they’d heard in a long time. Pyre was laughing too. Only three people stayed silent. Onyx, Selene, and me.

As the laughter died away, Pyre’s eyes fell on my arm. “Hey, look at his hand. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Onyx didn’t take his eyes off me. “Cut it off.”

“Wait!” someone called, and one of the boys stepped out. It was Trey. His ear was bloody, and his expression as he looked at me was ugly. “I owe him.” He pulled out a machete, the blade nearly a foot and a half, gleaming in the light.

I crouched and laid my armour down on the floor, folding it neatly and setting the cube on top of it. Trey stalked towards me. “You ripped out my rings, you piece of shit,” he told me. I could see the bloody marks on his right ear, and his fingers were bandaged where I’d bitten him. He bared his teeth, lifting the machete for a downward strike.

I blocked, hit the weapon openhanded on the hilt. It flew out of Trey’s grip, making two complete circles before I caught it and turned the motion into a spin. Trey was still staring up when I slashed open his throat.

“Kill him!” Pyre shouted.

The room erupted, shouts and gunfire echoing in the confined space. I was already moving, darting away from the dying Trey and into the middle of the people surrounding me. The first one made the mistake of trying to stand and fire. I slashed his hand and kept moving.

Relying on divination for fights is dangerous. You can look ahead, see immediate threats, but it’s chaotic: everything is changing and you can’t reliably see more than a few seconds ahead. With the fateweaver, everything was different. I could pick out a reasonably probable future and decide that this was what would happen. I didn’t need to keep checking to see what my opponents would do: I could choose what they’d do and pick a counter at my leisure.

Three of Onyx’s gang surrounded me, two wielding a switchblade and a combat chain, and an adept using force-enhanced punches. The knifer came in for a grab, and I chose an angle of attack that would expose his arm, then pivoted into a cut that half severed his hand. He went down screaming; the adept tried for a blow that would have broken my spine, and I twisted away and stabbed on the reverse. My back was to him but I’d already decided exactly where he was going to be. The machete went through his stomach and he collapsed, pulling the weapon out of my hand as he fell.

The guy with the combat chain advanced, links whirring in an arc. He was joined by another adept, this one bare-handed with death magic at his fingers. Behind I could see half a dozen more levelling guns and spells, but they were blocked by their allies. I analysed the incoming attack pattern in a fraction of a second, identified the point of greatest vulnerability, and manipulated the futures to ensure I’d be in a position to exploit it. The first two swings of the chain missed; I caught the third, pivoted to kick the death adept’s centre mass. He slammed against the statue, and I tangled the chain wielder with his own weapon, then tripped him to let him fall against me with the chain taut around his neck. Trey’s body was near my feet and I used the chain wielder as a shield while pulling Trey’s handgun from its holster. The death adept was just getting back to his feet when I shot him through the chest.

“Shoot him!” Pyre shouted.

The chain wielder thrashed frantically, reaching out towards the people aiming guns and trying to say something that could have been “no.” A couple hesitated; most didn’t. I let go and spun behind the statue as the chain wielder died under a hail of gunfire.

The chatter of automatic weapon fire filled the room, bullets sparking off the statue and whining past my ears. I checked Trey’s pistol calmly as the bullets flew past. Two rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. Six gun users: four on the left, two on the right. The one on the far left was firing wildly, and I noted his ammo expenditure. Three, two, one, go.

The rifle clicked on an empty chamber, and I was already stepping out from behind the statue, taking a marksman’s stance. The guy with the rifle was looking down at his weapon when my shot exploded his head. Fire tracked in on me; I selected a future where the shots missed, and aimed carefully as the bullets whined past. Headshot the second guy, reacquire, track, headshot the third. The fourth scrambled for cover as I stepped back behind the statue.

Magic surged from the other side of the room: Pyre and the fire adept were bracketing me with flame blasts. I twisted the futures, broke into a sprint, heat washing over my back as I burst into the open. Pyre and the adept tried to track my movements; I threw the empty gun at Pyre, rolled and snatched up a knife, threw that too. Pyre threw up a shield that deflected the gun. The adept couldn’t shield and the knife took him in the eye. He twisted as he fell: fire gouted from his hands and turned the gunman next to him into a blazing torch.

The roar of a shotgun echoed through the room; the guy with the sawn-off was firing. I managed to push away the futures in which I was hit, but only barely. The cone from the second shot was too broad, and I dived behind a crate. The guy pumped the action on the shotgun and started advancing. The one I’d disarmed earlier had retrieved his gun and was circling to my right, aiming left-handed. I lunged out of cover, closing the distance before he could fire, twisting his hand behind his back in a wrist-lock and putting him between me and the shotgun user. The guy with the shotgun hesitated. Pyre didn’t. I shoved the gunman away, letting him take Pyre’s fire blast in the chest, then broke left. The shotgun user didn’t react fast enough: his first blast hit air, he worked the action, then I caught the barrel before he could fire again. I kicked him in the crotch, twisted the shotgun to break his fingers, fired into him at point-blank range.

A kid with dreadlocks who radiated earth magic came rushing for me, fingers hooked. I worked the action on the shotgun, fired into his chest, aimed left, shot another who’d been about to open up with a machine pistol. Another fire blast from Pyre forced me to roll, and I came up to see that the earth magic adept was still standing and glaring at me. I frowned, lowered the shotgun, blasted his legs out from under him.

Another of Onyx’s gang charged me with a shortsword, yelling. I leant away from the first swipe, but couldn’t bring the shotgun to bear; two more were pressing in with a pickaxe handle and a Stanley knife. I pushed the knifer into the club man, giving me a second to focus on the guy with the sword. It was a cheap wakizashi, painted black. I blocked the slash with the barrel of the shotgun, shattering the blade, then hit the guy across the jaw with the shotgun butt. He went down and the knifer tried to get me in the back; I let him catch me, put the shotgun against his body, fired. It was the last shell; I let the shotgun go, moved into the guy with the pickaxe handle, threw him, ripped the club out of his hands as he went down, then pivoted with a full-body swing to bring the handle down on his head with a crack of splintering bone.

The earth adept was up again and swinging. I ducked, hit him in the face with the handle, then slugged him across the jaw. It didn’t seem to do much but piss him off. He swung again and I leant back, took a windup, and hit him in the side of the head.

The pickaxe handle broke. The earth adept shook his head, glaring, then kept coming. I looked at him in annoyance, stepped back from his punch, saw that the guy with the wakizashi was trying to get up, and stamped on the hand with the broken sword, making him yell and drop it. I scooped up the wakizashi, jerked its owner’s head back, cut his throat with the jagged blade, then rose to face the earth adept. He came in with a straight punch and I stepped into the attack, letting his fist brush my hair as I rammed the broken sword through his eye and into his brain.

The earth adept’s death gave Pyre a clear line of fire. I turned and ran, following a curving arc as bolts of flame flashed past, yanking the machete from the body of the dying force adept and bending to scoop up a handgun. Another adept blocked my path, this one carrying a longsword that blazed with fire. I leant away from his strike, cut his arm, then had to jump aside from another of Pyre’s bolts, snapping off a shot as I did. Pyre’s shield flared red, sparks flashing as he deflected the bullet. Before he could recover, I was on him.

I pressured Pyre, machete in my right hand, handgun in my left, trying to find a way through his defences. Pyre backed away, shooting hurriedly aimed blasts. I watched the flow of his movements, studying his shield in my magesight; a weak point appeared and I aimed my gun, trying to force a future where the bullet broke through. At the last second I realised it wasn’t going to work and I had to jump aside, shooting at Pyre’s face to make him flinch. The kinetic component of Pyre’s shield was slipshod, but a bullet didn’t carry enough mass to destabilise it.

The adept with the sword attacked from behind, flames roaring around his blade. I ducked, fired again at Pyre, twisted to dodge the follow-up. Futures opened up and I chose the one I wanted. Pyre aimed a fire blast at the same time that the adept tried a downward slash; I spun aside and Pyre’s spell hit the adept, giving him time for one agonised scream before his head and chest were burnt away. Pyre turned on me, snarling, and I fired my second-to-last bullet to make him miss, then lunged in with the machete held low.

Pyre saw me coming, strengthened his shield, and I picked the future where the weak points aligned. The machete sank into the shield, destabilising it: the shield ruptured in an explosion and a flash of flame, and the machete flew apart into red-hot shards. Pyre stumbled back, his shield renewing itself almost instantly.

Almost, but not quite. I’d already dropped the broken machete and was aiming my gun. Time seemed to slow. I could see Pyre, his face narrowed in concentration as he worked to repair the shield. My finger tightened on the trigger and the bullet left the barrel with a bang. The hole in the shield shrank as the bullet flew; I found the future I wanted, pushed, and the bullet threaded the needle, reaching Pyre’s body just as the shield closed behind it.

A hole opened up under Pyre’s ribcage. He staggered, coughed, threw up a wall of flame that forced me to jump back. “Kill him!” he shouted.

The last half dozen thugs were between me and Onyx. They hesitated.

Pyre spat blood, glared at them. “Get in there or you’re dead!”

The three at the front looked at each other, then charged.

I was getting faster with the fateweaver the more I used it, and I had all three categorised before they’d taken their second step. An adept with curved claws growing from his fingers, an illusionist with a butterfly knife, a normal with a hatchet. By the time the claw user slashed and missed, I had one of their deaths plotted and was setting up the second and third. It felt so inevitable that I almost couldn’t understand why they were still coming.

I drove the claw adept back with a kick to the stomach. The hatchet user came in from behind as the illusionist engaged me from the front, butterfly knife whirling. The illusion he was using was a displacement trick, appearing a few feet from where he actually was; it might have worked on someone who couldn’t see the future. The visible knife passed harmlessly through my chest as I caught his arm and spun him, choosing the future in which the hatchet user’s swing met his. The illusionist screamed as the hatchet sank into his back; the hatchet user let go of his weapon and backed away wide-eyed. I hit the illusionist in the throat, reached past him as he fell to yank the hatchet out, and turned to meet the claw adept’s rush.

The remaining guy with an AK-47 was aiming it at me: he’d reloaded but now the claw adept was between us. “Get out of the way!” he shouted. “Let me shoot!”

The claw adept was tunnel-visioning on me and didn’t react. He attacked, and I pulled my stomach away from a swipe that would have spilled my guts out. I slashed at him but the hatchet was clumsy; he dodged and the future I was trying for wisped away.

“Get down!” the guy with the AK shouted. “Let me—!”

The claw adept’s and the AK user’s heads came in line and I threw the hatchet, the weapon spinning through the air with an eerie whickering. The claw adept had enough time to dodge. The AK user didn’t. The blade sank into his head with a thunk as the claw user charged, and the now-hatchetless thug tried to grab me from behind. I spun him around, let the claws go through his stomach, then while the adept was still struggling to pull his claws free, I hit him in the gut, then again on the back of the neck. He went down and I grabbed the illusionist’s butterfly knife and rammed it into him, stabbing over and over as he struggled to rise.

Pyre threw another fireball. I dived and rolled, heat washing over me, a scream from behind dying away in a gurgle, then I came up in a run, aiming for the fallen AK. I caught up the assault rifle, worked the action, then opened fire, short controlled bursts. Pyre fell back, staggering, one hand held up before him to focus his shield, the other clutched to the blood leaking from his body. Bullets sparked off his shield, melting and bouncing away, but the assault rifle had far more power than the pistol, and Pyre was hurt. The shield weakened, fracturing under the hail of bullets. I held Pyre’s gaze and saw the dawning realisation in his eyes. “Wait!” he shouted, throwing up his other hand. “Wait! I’m done!”

The futures aligned and I picked out the one I needed. A three-round burst shattered Pyre’s shield, then another went through his chest. Pyre jerked and fell. I emptied what was left of the magazine into him just to make sure.

Turning, I saw that only three others were still standing. A guy with a handgun, another with a combat knife, and behind them, Onyx. I started walking.

The two boys looked at me wide-eyed, then raised their hands. “Don’t shoot!” the one with the gun called.

“We give up!” the other shouted. “Okay? We give up!”

I kept walking.

“You said we could go if we dropped our weapons,” the guy with the gun said, the words spilling out hurriedly. He dropped his handgun. “I’m going.”

“Yeah.” The other guy dropped his knife. “I’m done. We’re both done.”

I walked up and they backed off to the wall. I dropped the empty AK-47, bent and picked up the handgun. It was an old-model 9mm, scuffed and damaged. Five bullets left.

“Just let us go. Okay?” The first guy glanced fearfully at Onyx, but when Onyx didn’t react, he looked at me. “We won’t do nothing.”

I looked back at him, then raised the gun. His eyes went wide and his voice rose to a scream. “No, wait, don’t—!”

I shot him through the head. His friend tried to bolt for the door and I shot him too.

All of a sudden, the room was quiet. After the shouts, screams, gunfire, and explosions, the silence was eerie. The only noise was the quiet crackle of fires and the moaning of the last one of my attackers still alive and conscious. It was the one whose hand I’d half severed, and he was curled up on the floor whimpering. Without turning to look, I put a bullet through his head and he went still. Now the only sound was the fires.

Two others were left alive. One was Selene. Pyre had dropped her early in the fight and she’d scrambled away into the corner: she was staring at the carnage with eyes wide in horror. And there was Onyx, standing in front of the door, arms folded.

I looked around. The floor was covered in bodies, killed by fire and bullets and blades. Blood was everywhere. I studied the slaughterhouse for a moment, then turned to Onyx.

“Well,” Onyx said. “Guess Morden was right about one thing. You want a job done right, you got to do it yourself.”

I glanced down at the 9mm and tossed the pistol aside. It clattered to the floor and I walked to the body of the adept with the sword.

“Had a feeling it’d be this way,” Onyx said. He walked forward into the room, kicking aside the 9mm. He turned his head to watch me as he moved. “I’ve been waiting for this a long time.”

Without taking my eyes off Onyx, I bent down and took hold of the weapon’s handle. Most of the gang’s equipment had been junk, but this wasn’t. It was a focus item, well-crafted, designed to channel the wielder’s magic through the metal. Not really meant for a diviner, but it would resist spells better than a normal sword and had a slight ability to pierce shields.

“So let’s do it,” Onyx said. “You and me.” A plane of force sprang out from his right hand, the length and shape of my own weapon. He held his left hand out towards me and beckoned.

I advanced, studying Onyx’s shield. Onyx wasn’t Pyre; his shield was a shimmering weave of force, planes meshing and overlapping. It was optimised against ranged attacks, but effective in melee as well. Futures of the next few seconds unfolded, a thousand Veruses attacking a thousand Onyxes from every position and angle. None broke through.

I did a short lunge, testing Onyx’s defences. Onyx blocked the first attack, let the second glance off his shield. He stabbed for my eyes and I leant away, the thrust stopping an inch from my face.

“Come on, Verus,” Onyx said. “Show me what you got.”

I attacked, careful not to overextend. My bladework was better than Onyx’s, and more than half of my strikes got through. None broke his shield. The planes of force shifted to block the incoming blade, the focus item’s magic meeting Onyx’s with a tiny flash at each contact. Onyx counterattacked from time to time but his strikes were casual, almost careless; he was feeling me out.

One of my thrusts glanced off Onyx’s shield, and his face twisted in disgust. “Come on!” He walked towards me, his arms spread wide. His shield glowed brightly in my magesight as he reinforced it. “Hit me!”

I backed away. Onyx swiped his blade through the air in short cutting arcs, pushing me into the middle of the room. “Hit me!” Onyx said again. “You beat me with that fateweaver once. Made me run. It was the first time, you know that? After I became Morden’s Chosen, I never lost a battle until you. So hit me with everything you got!”

I kept backing up, watching Onyx warily. The last time we’d done this, I’d used the fateweaver to redirect Onyx’s attacks, turning one back into him. He was being more careful this time.

“Morden never treated me the same after that,” Onyx said. “When I found out you were going to Fountain Reach, I was ready. It was going to be a rematch, just you and me. Except you didn’t, did you? You ran away.”

I was still studying Onyx’s shield. It was strong—very strong—but there were gaps between the planes of force, chinks where an attack might slip through if he were distracted.

“Pissed me off so much when I learnt what you did,” Onyx said. He slashed as he advanced; each time I skipped away. “Yeah, I could kill you, but I wanted to face you full strength. That was half the reason I took that statue. Pyre thought he was going to get the fateweaver for himself, but I didn’t give a shit. I knew if I waited long enough, you’d come. So bring it, Verus. Give me your best shot. I want to take you on with that fateweaver and kill you with it!”

Onyx had backed me up against the statue, and with the last words he lunged. I stepped aside and brought my sword up, picking out the future I wanted. Onyx’s blade drove into the statue just as my own sword slid through a chink in his shields and scored his arm.

Onyx jumped back with a snarl, raising his left hand. I dived aside as the statue exploded into a hundred pieces, shards of stone cutting my back and pinging off the walls. Onyx came on again, teeth bared; blood was dripping from his right hand but he was obviously more angry than hurt.

I parried, backed away. There were no futures where I broke Onyx’s defence, and I had to give ground. Onyx forced me into a corner, then raised his free hand: blades of force appeared from every direction and arrowed in. I saw myself die in a hundred futures, found one in which Onyx made a slight mistake, pushed. It was close. Two of the blades were too accurate to dodge and I had to block with the sword, the impact jarring it out of my hand.

Onyx slashed and I rolled under his blow, jumping over a body and snatching up a machine pistol. I fired at Onyx blind, the automatic weapon chattering; Onyx advanced through the hail of fire, bullets glancing off his shield until the gun clicked empty. The combat chain was lying near the ruins of the statue and I caught it up.

“Come on!” Onyx snarled. “Room’s sealed, only way out is through me, so stop running and fight!” He slashed for my head and I leant away, lashed the chain against his arm to deflect his next strike. I took the second’s breather to step back into a ready stance.

Onyx kicked a body out of his way and kept coming. “Morden wouldn’t shut up about you, you know that?” The sword whipped out and I dodged back. “‘You should get on with Verus.’ ‘You should work things out with Verus.’ ‘You and Verus could learn from each other.’” Another slash; again I dodged. “Without the fateweaver, you’re nothing. I beat you every time. You were the one who kept running away. And then Morden picks you for his aide. I was his Chosen.” He slashed again. “It should have been me!”

This time I stepped into the blow, ducking down. Onyx’s blade snipped a few strands of my hair as the chain whipped out to coil around his leg. Force shields are good at absorbing blows, but they don’t do much to stop a pull. I jerked Onyx’s leg out and he hit the floor, the blade vanishing as his concentration wavered.

I struck down, using the chain as a whip. Onyx threw up his arms, and the steel links glanced off his shield. I hit once, twice, then Onyx lashed out, force blades exploding upwards.

I was already stepping away, curving the futures to a point. The blades hit the ceiling above, tearing through a support beam, and with a groan a section of ceiling collapsed, burying Onyx in debris. I ran to the corner, snatched up the sword.

Onyx was pulling himself out of the rubble, covered in dust. Force shards sprayed from his hands, but he was too angry to keep tight control anymore and I easily opened up a channel, walking through unharmed. I struck at Onyx’s head, and the force blade sprang back to his hand as he parried.

“I’m going to rip off your face and send it to Morden in a fucking envelope!” Onyx slashed high and low; I ducked the first and parried the second. Onyx clambered over another body and kept coming. He was breathing heavily, and it wasn’t just anger anymore. Onyx might be a battle-mage, but he’d spent the last few years living in a mansion with lackeys to do his fighting and slaves to do his chores, and he was slowing down.

Onyx tried to ram his blade through my chest and I stepped in, hitting him with the sword’s pommel, then followed up as he stumbled. He aimed a spell that would have torn me in half, but it hit only air and I stabbed down through a gap in his shield, gashing his leg. Onyx tried to blast me again but I was already jumping away.

“Going to kill you,” Onyx said. He was short of breath, having trouble talking. “Morden shouldn’t have . . . Going to show him.”

I studied Onyx’s movements in the present and futures. They were getting sluggish, but his shield was still strong. I widened my focus, searching for options.

Onyx came in again, slashing, and this time I stepped aside, striking his leg. It glanced off but made Onyx stumble, and before he could recover I was on top of him, switching hands. Onyx slashed wildly; I parried left-handed, feeling the sword crack under Onyx’s blade, and rammed my fist into his shield.

Magic flashed white, the energy of the fateweaver attacking Onyx’s shield, planes of forces splintering and breaking. Onyx couldn’t reach me with his blade; he let it vanish and thrust his hand at me, trying to tear me apart point-blank. I ducked under his arm, used a shoulder throw. Onyx hit the floor on his back; his concentration wavered and in the instant before it recovered, I drove the sword down two-handed through the weakened section of shield.

The blade went through Onyx’s stomach with a shthunk, pinning him to the floor. His eyes went wide and he lost his breath in a huff. I met Onyx’s gaze, staring down at him as I leant on the sword. “Morden left you,” I told him clearly, “because you were stupid.”

Onyx’s face twisted in rage and I jumped back. Shards and beams of force lashed out, smashing holes in the ceiling and exploding crates into splinters. I ran back, picking out the futures in which I was safe, looking for the item I needed. It was lying near the door, clipped to one of the bodies, and I caught it up.

“You’re dead!” Onyx screamed. He couldn’t get up with the sword pinning him to the floor, but he still lashed out, spells tearing apart the walls. He twisted his head to try to see me, feet scrabbling and murder in his face.

I rose, standing calmly side-on as force blades hissed past. Behind me, the door blew out in a spray of splinters. I pulled the pin from the grenade, waited a second, tossed it.

Onyx saw it coming and threw up a barrier, but my throw had been high. The grenade arced over Onyx, hit the shattered legs of the statue, bounced back. The sword was still piercing Onyx, blocking his shield from fully regenerating. The grenade hit the gap between the edge of his shield and the blade, rattled back and forth, dropped through. Onyx had just enough time to look down before it went off.

I was already ducking for cover. The explosion was muffled, with an odd echo to it, wet and splattering.

And then everything was quiet.

I stood up, studied my handiwork. Onyx’s shield had contained the explosion, focusing it inwards. What was left of his body was barely recognisable. The snapped-off blade of the sword still pinned the red mess to the floor. All around were the bodies of his men. Smoke and dust hung in the air. The air smelt metallic, gun smoke and blood.

Well, I thought, looking down at my hand. Not bad for a first try.

I walked to the ruins of the statue, brushed rubble and dust off my folded armour, picked it up along with my dreamstone and the cube. Then I looked over at Selene.

Selene flinched at my gaze. She was pressed into the corner of the room, dust coating her hair and clothes. “Are there any more?” I asked.

Selene swallowed, speaking carefully. “No.”

I nodded. “Come with me.”

Slowly, Selene rose. She was clearly terrified, but more terrified of what I might do if she disobeyed. She stopped as far away as she dared, avoiding looking down at the bodies.

I walked out the door and down the corridor, Selene following at a distance. Luna, I said through the dreamstone. You’re clear to gate.

You’re back? Are you okay? Where are Onyx and Pyre?

I’m fine. As for Onyx and Pyre, you can come see for yourself.

I turned the corner to see the two girls we’d met in the kitchens. They were hovering in the main hall. The fat-faced one who’d tried to raise the alarm saw me, and her eyes went wide. “Hey!” she shouted. “It’s him!”

I looked back at her.

The girl opened a side door and ran off in the direction of the storeroom, shouting. “Hey! It’s that Verus guy! He’s here! Hey!”

As her voice trailed away, I looked at the other girl. “Your masters are dead. You can stay, or go.”

She looked back at me uncertainly.

The shouts for help in the distance cut off abruptly, followed by shrieks. Apparently the first girl had reached the storeroom. The shrieks continued, and the other girl looked in that direction, eyes wide, and bolted.

I carried on walking. Selene trailed me at a careful distance. “Kyle and my friends are coming,” I told her. “You can stay with him, or I can take you somewhere else. What do you want?”

Selene hesitated.

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Could I . . . think about it?”

I nodded. “We’ll be leaving in an hour or so. You’ve got until then.”

We’d reached the front door. I opened it, walked out onto the patio, sat down on the steps. Light pooled around me from the windows and outside lamps of the mansion; all around was darkness. Selene hung back in the doorway. Off to the left, in the black shadow of the hill, I felt a gate spell and knew it was Vari. I laid my armour and items down and sat on the steps, the summer air warm against my bare skin, and waited for my friends.

Luna, Variam, and Kyle were relieved to see me, though in Kyle’s case he seemed more happy about Selene. The three of them went in to check the building. When they came out again they were more subdued.

“You did all that?” Luna asked.

“Yes,” I told her.

Variam shook his head. “When I said you might be too nice, I didn’t expect you to take it this far.”

“Someone told me that being nice didn’t work,” I said. I glanced over at Kyle; he was standing next to Selene, talking quietly. “I decided to listen.”

“Can I see it?” Luna asked.

I held up my right hand, and Luna and Variam bent in to look. “It’s like it’s part of you,” Luna said.

“More of a symbiote,” I said. The fateweaver was a steady presence in the back of my mind, ready to be called upon when needed. “Abithriax told me that these items were always unstable. He managed to link with it mentally. I needed something more direct.”

“What’s with the streaks?” Variam asked.

“Connection points,” I said. The thin lines of white running into my forearm seemed a little deeper than they had been an hour ago, but it was a bit late to be worrying about things like that.

“Oh, right,” Luna said. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”

“No hurry.”

“You’re back out of the bubble realm. The Council can track you again.”

“They’re trying,” I said. I’d attended to that while waiting on the steps. “Their tracking spell isn’t working very well.”

“You can do that?” Variam asked.

“I can do pretty much anything, as long as it’s a future I can see.” The futures of the Council’s tracking attempts failing took a little effort to maintain, but not much. “Think Luna’s curse, but the emphasis is on selection. Which reminds me.” I picked up the red cube and tossed it to Luna. “Here.”

Luna caught it. “It’s okay?”

“Seems to be.” The cube had been quiet since my return. “I’m not sure what an imbued item does once the purpose for its existence has gone. Maybe you can help it find something new.”

Kyle exchanged a last few words with Selene, then walked over. “Hey,” he told me. His weapons were hidden away in his dimensional storage again. “You sticking around?”

“No.”

“You left a pretty big mess back there.”

I knew Kyle didn’t just mean literally. Killing someone like Onyx has consequences. “Sorry, but I’m not going to be here to clean it up,” I said. “I don’t have the time, and even if I did, you aren’t going to want the consequences of having me around.”

“I figured,” Kyle said. He hesitated, gave me a challenging look. “I’m staying.”

“Okay.”

“You going to give me any trouble?”

“I hired you for a job,” I said. “You’ve done it. How’s she doing?”

Kyle glanced back at Selene. “Pretty traumatised.”

It wasn’t really surprising. Selene might have been a slave, but the people in that mansion would have been most of her human contact for the past few years. “Keep an eye on the other girls. Some might decide it’s the time to go settling old grudges.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve learnt my lesson as far as that goes.” Kyle started to turn.

“Kyle.”

Kyle stopped, looked back at me.

“I’m going to say we’re even,” I said. “You agree?”

Kyle studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine.”

I held out my hand.

Kyle looked askance, then shook it before turning away and heading back to Selene. I stretched, wincing slightly at the stiffness in my muscles. “Okay, guys,” I told Luna and Variam. “Time to go.”

Up on the hillside, Variam left to call Landis and check that no one was after him, leaving me and Luna alone. “Are you okay?” Luna asked once he was gone.

“I’m not injured, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not.”

“Didn’t think so.” I leant against a tree, the bark rough against my skin, and looked across the valley at Onyx’s mansion. Or what had been Onyx’s mansion—I’d have to come up with a new name for it now. Its windows glowed against the night sky, a network of light in the darkness. “I lost more than a hand back there.”

“Was it the fight with Abithriax?” Luna asked. “I kind of forgot about that in everything else. I mean, I can tell you’re not possessed this time. But it’s like you’re . . .”

Luna trailed off and I waited for her to finish. She didn’t. “Like I’m what?”

“Different.”

“Arachne told me I’d have to make sacrifices,” I said. “Back then, I didn’t understand what she meant. You know what I did with Abithriax?”

Luna shook her head.

“I killed him. Just like Onyx and the others.”

“I suppose they didn’t give us much of a choice,” Luna said with a grimace. “Don’t tell Vari, but I’m starting to feel like I’ve seen too much of this.”

“If you’re feeling that way, you’re probably right,” I said. “But as for the first part, you’re wrong. I did have a choice.”

“Not the best one.”

“I just broke into someone’s house to steal something and killed them when they tried to take it back. That was my choice.”

“I think they deserved it.”

“They didn’t die because they deserved it.”

Luna looked troubled but didn’t reply. Variam reappeared out of the darkness, a slim shadow against the trees. I left the mansion behind me and walked away.