Magic Bleeds

CHAPTER 26

SUNSET BLED ON THE SKY, SMOLDERING IN ITS final death throes. The encroaching twilight tinted the buildings black, turning the blanket of snow indigo.

I sat on top of the building, watching bonfires illuminate the rim of the Mole Hole through binoculars. Curran sat next to me. He wore his warrior form: a seven-and-a-half-feet-tall gray creature stuck on the crossroads between man and beast.

After Curran’s guard suffered a collective apoplexy over Naeemah, I’d managed to install her into her own set of rooms and went to cook our dinner. The Beast Lord joined me a few minutes later. We made venison steak, french fries smothered in cheese, and a quick pumpkin pie. We ate, then we made love and slept, curled up together in his ridiculous bed, and then Curran changed into his warrior form and I spent two hours drawing the poem of Erra on Curran’s skin with a little tube of henna. When I got tired, I made him call Dali and she took over. Her handwriting was better anyway. I had no idea if it would offer him any protection, but at this point I would try anything.

Behind us, female shapeshifters waited, positioned in individual squads along the street leading to the Casino. The wolves were right behind us, the boudas lay in wait across the street, then the rats and Clan Heavy, jackals, cats, and finally almost three blocks out, Clan Nimble. The squad from Clan Nimble consisted of an older Japanese woman, who was apparently the alpha, and four slender women who looked like they were fifteen tops. Curran told me they were foxes. They held themselves with stern elegance and I bit my tongue and hoped they knew what they were doing.

Somewhere in the darkness Naeemah hid. She picked her own spot and I didn’t argue. Her scent made the shapeshifters uneasy.

I looked back to the Mole Hole. A bonfire burned in the center of the crater, flanked by clusters of metal drums. To the left a row of Biohazard vans waited. People crowded the lip of the crater, medtechs, PAD, bowmen. Most were male. Despite my reports, Ted chose to put men at the crater, probably because he couldn’t raise enough female fighters in time. I’d cursed when I first saw them. Curran shrugged and said, “Bullet meat.”

Beyond the bonfires, a crowd had gathered in the remnants of office buildings. They sat on the makeshift wooden scaffolds, in the darkness of broken windows, on the roofs, on the mountains of rubble. Damn near half of Atlanta must’ve seen the flag and turned out to watch the Order slug it out with the Plaguebringer. Every single one of them could die tonight and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

My binoculars found Ted standing next to a large, fit woman with short red hair. Hard pale eyes. Black pants, black leather jacket, a sheath at her waist with a blade in it. A boar’s head on the pommel of her sword—Sounder’s Armory. They made falchions, single-edged swords of medium length shaped like the bastard children of a longsword and a scimitar. Great-quality swords, but expensive as hell. Judging by the sword and the getup, I was looking at Tamara Wilson.

Ted had imported Order knights from out of the city. He’d planned this—it would’ve taken him at least two days to pull personnel from North Carolina. Whether I walked off or not, this wouldn’t have been my petition anyway.

The magic rolled over us in an invisible wave. Showtime.

Tamara started down a staircase cut into the side of the Mole Hole. She crossed the floor of the crater to the center, where a huge bonfire burned on the glass. Positioning herself before the bonfire, she held up a long pole with the Order’s standard—a lance and a sword crossed over a shield. The light of the bonfire clutched at her black armor. She pulled a watch cap onto her head, hiding her hair.

A lean creature climbed over the roof. Long, hunched over, covered with clumps of gray fur, it moved with fluid quickness. Its feet and hands were disproportionately large, and short black claws tipped its fingers. A conical muzzle flowed into an almost humanoid face, framed by round pink ears.

A wererat. Stealthy, fast, deadly. They didn’t make good warriors but they made excellent scouts. And assassins.

She scuttled over to us and sat on her haunches, her arms folded to her chest. Her muzzle opened, displaying oversized incisors.

“The barrels are filled with napalm.” Her misshapen mouth slurred the words, but they came out clear enough. “They have archers hidden along the edge, some with incendiary arrows.”

Made sense: Erra walks into the Mole Hole, heads for the standard, because it’s a challenge. The archers hit the barrels with incendiary arrows. Erra drowns in a sea of fiery napalm. Tamara magically escapes. Good plan. Except for the part that it won’t work.

“Everybody is going to die,” I said.

The wererat’s dark eyes fixed on me for a second and flickered to Curran. “Also, the People have got themselves a bloodsucker party. They’re camped about two miles behind us.”

“Good,” Curran said.

Andrea had come through. I never doubted she would.

A high-pitched scream erupted from the darkness of the street to the left. It tore through the encroaching night, a long, piercing shriek suffused with sheer terror. The shapeshifters tensed.

A man emerged from the gloom. Of average height, wrapped in a long cloak that flared with his every step, he strode through the snow, and as he walked, snowflakes rose in the air, swirling in glittering clouds. Gale. Erra’s undead with the power of air.

Another man leaped into view and crouched on the rim of the Mole Hole. Nude, covered in dense dark hair, he was slabbed with thick muscle like a weightlifter on a life-long steroid binge. Huge and hairy. Right. Here comes the Beast.

Erra had brought at least two. No matter how strong her powers were, controlling two at once had to be hard. It was likely they would mirror each other’s movements, acting in groups.

A third figure followed, a naked man so thin, his skin clung to his bones, outlining his ribs and pitiful chest. He turned his head, scanning the crater, and I saw his eyes, yellow, like egg yolks. Darkness.

The three undead froze, still as statues. Milking the entrance for every drop of the drama.

A long moment passed.

Another.

“Get on with it,” I growled.

Another. This was getting ridiculous.

The mist parted. Erra strode into view, head and shoulders above her undead. The light of the fires washed over her. A white fur cape streamed from her shoulders, the waterfall of her hair a dark stain on the pale collar.

A hush fell over the Mole Hole.

Erra’s gaze swept the crowd, taking in the archers, the Biohazard, the vans, the equipment, the audience up in the ruins nearby . . . She raised her arms to the sides. The cape slipped off her.

Glossy red fabric hugged her body. It clung to her like a second skin of pure scarlet. My aunt apparently had developed a fetish for spandex. Who knew?

Gale thrust his hand through his cloak. His fist gripped a large axe. The orange light of the flames shimmered along the ten-inch blade attached to a four-foot handle. The axe probably pushed six pounds in weight. A normal swordsman would be slower than molasses, but with her strength, it wouldn’t matter. She could swing it all day and then arm-wrestle a bear.

Gale turned on his heel, walked five steps to Erra, and knelt before her, offering the axe on the raised palms of his hands.

“We should clap or something,” Curran said. “She’s trying so hard.”

“Maybe we could scrounge up some panties to throw.” I adjusted the binoculars to focus on her face.

Erra raised her head. Power brimmed in her eyes. She looked regal, like some arrogant goddess poised above the chasm. I had to give it to her—my aunt knew how to put on a show. Would’ve been more dramatic if she had seven undead instead of three, but hey, at least she had some flunkies to bring.

Erra reached for the axe. Her fingers closed on the handle. She thrust it at the sky. With a hoarse scream, power pulsed from her like a shockwave, shaking the foundation of the ruins. It slammed into me, setting my blood on fire. Curran snarled. By the Mole Hole, people cringed.

Needles burst from Erra’s red suit. Veins of dark crimson spiraled up her legs. The fabric flowed, thickened, snapping into recognizable shapes: fitted curaise, spiked pauldrons, gauntlets . . .

It wasn’t spandex. Shit.

I leaned to Curran. “She’s wearing blood armor. It’s impenetrable to normal weapons, claws, and teeth.”

His eyes darkened. “If I hit her hard enough, she’ll still feel it.”

I nodded. “My sword will eventually soften the armor, but it will take time. She doesn’t know you’re here. If you wait, you could get in a good shot.”

My personal monster leaned closer. “Still trying to keep me from the fight?”

I slid my fingers along his furry cheek. “Trying to win. She made no helmet—she’s too vain.”

Ancient or not, she was still a human and he was a werelion. If he timed it right, he could crack her skull like an eggshell with a single blow.

“One shot,” he said.

“I’ll keep her busy. Just don’t bite her. Broken teeth aren’t sexy.”

He grinned, presenting me with a mouth full of finger-sized fangs. I rolled my eyes.

Erra took a step forward. For a moment she towered above the drop, light dancing over her scarlet armor, and then she plunged into the Mole Hole. Gale chased her, a soundless shadow gliding across the glassy floor. Darkness and Beast remained behind.

Twenty yards to the center and the bonfire.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Tamara unsheathed her sword. Fiery sparks flared at the edge of the crater. PAD archers lighting their arrows.

Eight.

The archers fired.

The barrels exploded, punching my eardrums with an air fist. An inferno drowned the Mole Hole, emanating heat. Within its depths I glimpsed Tamara, unscathed, the fire sliding along her body but never touching her.

The spectators cheered at the human barbeque.

The roar of the flames gained a new note, a deep whistling tune. It grew louder and louder. The flames turned, twisting faster and faster, rising in a spiral, like a tornado of fire. The cone of flame parted, revealing Gale floating in the heart of the tornado, his hair streaming from his head, his arms crossed on his chest. His body leaned back, completely relaxed. His eyes were closed.

So much for napalm.

Below him Erra stood. A red helmet hid her face and hair. The blood armor encased every inch of her. Oh, good. Because it wasn’t hard enough before. She had to go and put a helmet on.

The fiery tornado shifted out of her way. The helmet crumbled, revealing her face. Her mane of hair spilled over her back. Score. No helmet was good for us.

With a grimace, Erra swung her axe and charged.

Tamara struck, her sword preternaturally fast. Erra batted it aside like a toothpick and swung in a crushing reverse blow. The axe bit deep into Tamara’s shoulder, cutting through the collarbone all the way into her ribs.

Tamara screamed, a desperate sound of pain and fear.

Curran clamped his oversized hand on my shoulder. “You can’t help her. We wait.”

Erra caught Tamara by her throat and lifted her off her feet. Her roar smothered Tamara’s screaming. “Is this all you offer me? Is this it?”

She shook Tamara once, as if flinging water from her hand. The noise of the fire drowned out the telltale crunch of bones, but her head flopped to the side, loose on a broken neck.

“Where are you, child?”

I rocked forward.

“Not yet.” Curran pushed me down.

“She’ll kill them.”

“You go in there now, we’ll all die. We stick to the plan.”

In the air, Gale opened his eyes.

“There is no escape. I’ll find you,” Erra promised.

The cone of fire unfurled like a flower and splashed against the rim of the Mole Hole, torching the archers. Tortured screams ripped the night apart, followed by the sickening stench of charred human flesh. Gale turned, and the inferno followed, roaring like a hungry animal. He cooked the survivors alive as they fled.

All around the Mole Hole, people in PAD and Biohazard suits ran aimlessly, their weapons abandoned. The idiot spectators still packed the building. Erra’s magic didn’t reach them.

“Here I come!” Erra thundered.

Charred, smoking corpses littered the opposite side of the crater. A thin female voice cried somewhere close, sobbing hysterically, a high-pitched note against the guttural screaming. At the far right, Darkness and Beast perched on the edge of the Mole Hole, untouched by flames. They must’ve circled around while we watched the human barbeque. “Wait,” Curran said.

I clenched my teeth.

A gust of air erupted from the bottom of the Mole Hole, lifting Erra to the edge. A moment later her three undead joined her.

“Go.” Curran released me.

I ran across the roof, grabbed the rope attached to the fire escape, and slid into the street.

SNOW CRUNCHED UNDER MY FEET. BEHIND ME THE Casino floated in a cloud of ethereal light streaming from the powerful feylanterns.

I had a simple mission. Get Erra’s attention. Draw her down the street, away from the crowd, so the shapeshifters could get behind her.

Yeah. Piece of cake.

I braced myself. “Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back.”

Erra turned to me.

I waved my fingers at her. “Hey, Twinkle Toes.”

A gust of air shot from Gale. I ducked, but not low enough. Wind slammed into me. The ground vanished and I flew a few feet and slammed against a parked truck with a thud. My back crunched.

“We don’t run from a fight and we don’t hide behind lesser men.” Erra started toward me. “You’re young and weak, but have no fear. I’ll help you. I won’t let you flee and shame the family twice.”

I rolled to my feet and swung my sword, warming up my wrist. “Shaming the family is your job. Nothing I’ve done could ever compare.”

“You flatter me so.”

She started toward me, bringing her goons in a triangular formation: Beast on the left, Gale on the right, and Darkness in the center. Keep coming, Auntie dear. Keep coming.

“I’m just giving you your due. Every war your brother started, you managed to screw up. You have a record of failure thousands of years long.” I spread my arms. “How could I compete?”

“Before you die, I’ll set you on fire,” she promised. “I will burn you slowly for hours.”

“Promises, promises.” I began backing up again. She followed. Come with me, away from people. Come with me, Erra. Let’s dance.

Darkness raised his arms. Magic pulsed from him like a blast wave after an explosion. The world went white in a haze of panic. I couldn’t breathe. My thoughts fractured and scurried off, leaving me lost and unbalanced. A luminescent haze floated before me, like a thundercloud backlit by splashes of lightning, and beyond it I sensed a gaping void. Nothing but calm empty darkness.

So that was what Darkness meant. Fear. All-consuming, overwhelming fear, so powerful that it tore you from your life and threw you into the void, alone and blind.

Rage reared inside me. I grabbed it like a crutch and pulled myself up, back to reality. My vision returned. I shook myself like a wet dog.

“Is that all? I thought it would be something powerful.”

She raised her arm, showing off the segmented gauntlet. “Where is your blood armor, whelp? Why don’t you cut your wrist and grow a blade? What’s the matter? You can’t do it, can you? You don’t know the secret of molding the blood. I do. All you do is talk and run.”

My family was full of overpowered assholes. I kept walking. We were four blocks from the Mole Hole now. I had no idea what her range was. “No matter what you do or how hard you try, you will never surpass your brother. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

Magic splayed from Darkness in dark translucent streams, bending back, flooding the Mole Hole behind him and stretching farther and farther, to the decrepit buildings, to the hundreds of people packed like sardines into the concrete shells of the ruins. The enormity of his power shook me.

“Watch,” Erra called out.

The Darkness brought his arms together. No, God damn it, no . . .

A wild howl pierced the night. Another voice joined, another, more . . .

A torrent of people burst from the ruins behind Erra.

Fucking shit.

People streamed toward me, eyes mad, mouths gaping open, running like crazed cattle. I ducked behind a car. The human stampede thundered past me. Bodies thudded into the metal, making it shudder. Screams filled the air and above it all Erra’s laughter floated, like the toll of a funeral bell.

A blast of magic ripped from Darkness. Reality fractured and I floated among the pieces, unsure who I was or where I came from. Thoughts and words swirled around me, round and round, in a glowing cascade. Darkness beckoned just beyond the chaos. I reached into the cloud and pulled a word out.

“Dair.” Release.

Magic bit at me with needle jaws. I shuddered, shaking, the shock of the pain tearing the haze.

A body landed next to me, shaggy with fur. Mad eyes glared from a face that was neither beast nor human. A female shapeshifter. Her body snapped, twisted, jerked, and a coyote stood before me. She leapt up and dashed down the street, galloping after the herd of terrified people.

He didn’t send them after the undead? Not yet. We’d agreed. I jerked upright and saw Erra in the middle of the street, the undead behind her, no shapeshifters in sight. The lone shapeshifter must’ve been hit with a stray blast of power.

Every inch of me hurt from magic spent too quickly.

You’re the distraction. Get up and do the distracting.

I got up and walked into the open, Slayer bare.

She started toward me, and I backed away. Half a block to go. Close enough to the Casino, far enough from the Mole Hole, the perfect distance for the shapeshifters to strike.

“Again you run.”

“Not my fault you walk too slowly to catch me.” Up close her armor resembled scale mail: bloodred scales, some large, some small, overlapping over her frame. Now why couldn’t I do that? What was I missing?

I crossed over the manhole cover. The last of the stragglers dashed by. The street was empty except for me and her, and her three corpses.

She charged. The world ground to a screeching halt. I heard myself breathe, my chest rising slowly, as if underwater.

In the three seconds it took her to cover the distance between us, I heard Voron’s voice from my memories. It said, “If it bleeds, you can kill it.”

She bled—her armor testified to it—and I was better.

Erra smashed into me. I leaned back, letting her axe swing past me, ducked, thrust, and sliced under her arm. Slayer glanced off. She whipped around, but I danced away. She lunged, I ducked and jumped clear.

“You can’t win,” Erra snarled.

Behind her, dark shadows lined the roof. Of the fifty Curran had brought, only half were left. Here’s hoping it would be enough.

“I’m not trying to win,” I told her.

“What are you trying to do?”

Keep you occupied.

The shapeshifters dropped off the roof like clawed ghosts.

A seven-foot-tall scaled monster hit Beast. They clashed in a mess of fur and claws. The primeval deep roar of an enraged crocodile rolled through the street.

I launched a whirlwind of strikes. My sword became a whip, cutting, slashing, dicing, left, right, left. Focus on me. Focus on me, damn you. As long as I kept her busy, she would have trouble coordinating the movements of all three undead at once and keeping me at bay.

Over Erra’s shoulder, Gale rose into the air, clutching Darkness in his arms.

The shapeshifters had missed them. Damn it.

Erra’s axe ground against Slayer. She drove me back.

Gale soared above the street twenty feet in the air, wrapped in a cone of wind. Foul magic pulsed from Darkness.

A chorus of enraged snarls and howls answered, punctuated by an eerie slice of hyena laughter.

Erra kept pushing me back. I veered from the wall and danced back, toward Gale. I ducked and dodged, trying to turn her, but she barreled at me like a freight train.

To the left of me an enormous werewolf crouched on the pavement. She hooked the manhole cover with her clawed fingers, did a 360, and hurled it at Gale. The metal disk cut like a knife through the whirlwind surrounding Gale and smashed into Darkness.

A deep female voice yelled, “Noboru! Sekasu kodomotachi! Noboru! Noboru!”

Red-furred shapeshifters surged up the walls of the buildings—the foxes of Clan Nimble.

Erra elbowed me. I flew back and rolled into a crouch, just in time to swipe her legs from under her. She fell. I struck her twice on the way down and withdrew.

Dark slashes scored her armor, like the strikes of a whip—places where Slayer connected. None looked deep enough to do any damage. Voron had promised me that the saber would slice through blood armor, given enough time, but so far Slayer wasn’t cutting it. If she’d been wearing regular armor, she would have been bleeding like a stuck pig. If wishes were money, the world would have no beggars.

Still something looked different about her. Something . . .

The spikes on her armor were gone.

I backed away. Where the hell did the spikes go?

Erra hefted her axe, her face demonic in its fury. Her chest heaved. My arms ached like they were about to fall off. A slow pain gnawed on my back, and when I turned the wrong way, something stabbed my left side with a hot spike. Probably a broken rib. That was okay. I was still on my feet.

The werefoxes launched themselves at Gale from the roof. They clung to him, biting and clawing. The fox on the left ripped out an arm.

Erra snarled. Gale dropped Darkness, shuddered, and plummeted to the ground, banging into the buildings as he fell, the foxes still clinging to him. Gale bounced once off the pavement and the rest of shapeshifters swarmed him.

Erra looked no worse for wear.

When out of options, mouth off. I nodded at Darkness, lying only twenty feet away. “Whoopsie. Did that hurt? Now there is only one.”

“One will be enough.” Erra grinned.

A small chunk of her armor broke from her shoulder and fell to the asphalt, turning liquid. I watched it sink into the snow. A tiny streak of vapor escaped and then it vanished into the white.

A crumb of her armor. Her blood. A drop of her blood.

Behind us, the snow churned by our feet marked our trail—we’d drawn a circle in the street and all the while we beat on each other, she’d been dripping blood from her armor.

A dark shadow loomed on the roof behind Erra. Curran.

“No!” I lunged at her, but it was too late.

He dived off the roof. Erra dodged at the last moment, but Curran’s paw connected to her skull. The blow took her off her feet. She flew, nearly plowing into me.

“Run!” I lunged at her prone body and stabbed with all my strength, again and again. “Run, Curran!”

Erra roared. Slayer’s blade kept glancing off.

A wall of red flames surged up from the snow, sealing the four of us from the shapeshifters. She’d locked us in a blood ward.

Erra rolled, knocking my legs from under me. I stumbled back and she jumped to her feet. Blood dripped from her cheekbone and poured from her mouth. The left side of her head was caved in, dented by Curran’s blow.

I lunged at her and ran right into the spike topping her axe. It took me in the stomach, just below my ribs. Pain exploded. I jerked free and she kicked me, driving me back into the snow. The axe jabbed through my left side. I screamed. She’d pinned me to the ground.

Erra spat blood and teeth and swung, as if throwing a baseball. Spikes shot from her armor, falling in a ragged line between Curran and me. The blood ward snapped up just as he charged and he crashed into it at full speed.

She’d halved the circle: her and me on one side, Darkness and Curran on the other.

“You want to rut with a half-breed,” she snarled. “Watch. I’ll show you exactly what he is.”

Curran spun toward the undead.

A torrent of magic burst from Darkness, tearing at Curran. The blood ward cut us off and I felt nothing—Curran got the full dose. He stumbled, shook once, as if flinging water from himself. His body shifted, growing leaner, slicker. Fur sprouted along his back.

This was it, the Darkness’s power. It would make Curran go wild.

I writhed under the axe, trying to break free. The Beast Lord took a step forward.

Erra’s hand clawed the air. Darkness vomited another torrent of crippling fear. Curran shuddered. His hands thickened, growing longer claws.

Another blast of magic. He kept walking.

Another blast.

“Look!” Erra leaned into the axe, grinding it into me.

Curran crouched in the middle of the street. Dense fur sheathed him, flaring into an enormous mane on his back and disproportionately huge head. No trace of a human or lion remained—his body was seamless and whole, a nightmarish mutated blend that was neither. Long limbs supported a broad, muscled body, striped with dark gray. His eyes glowed yellow, so bright and pale, almost white. I looked into their depths and saw no rational thought. No intelligence or comprehension.

He raised his head, unhinging his enormous jaws, and roared, shaking the street, all teeth and fur.

Curran had gone mad.

I wouldn’t lose him. I would not lose him on this dark, cold street. It wouldn’t happen.

The beast that used to be Curran leapt at the undead. Huge hands grasped Darkness, pulling him up. Muscles bulged and Curran tore him to pieces, dismembering his body as if it were a rag doll. Blood gushed from the savaged body, drenching the snow.

Erra’s hands shook on her axe, but her weight kept me down.

Curran smashed into the blood ward. Magic boomed. He hit again, the impact of his body shaking the red wall and the street beneath. His eyes blazed white. The fur on his arms smoked from the contact with Erra’s blood ward.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Cracks formed in the blood ward.

Erra stared, her face slapped with shock.

Curran rammed the ward.

The red wall cracked and fell apart. He burst through it, roaring, his fur on fire, and crashed into the snow. Magic tore at me, like a typhoon wild in it fury. I screamed and Erra echoed me, doubling over in pain over me, her hair falling like a dark curtain.

I grabbed her hair and jerked her down with all my strength straight onto my sword.

Slayer slid into her eye. I felt it pierce the bone and drove it in all the way.

Erra vomited blood. It drenched me like fire, my magic mixing with my aunt’s lifeblood leaking from her body. I felt the magic in it, the way I’d felt it in the rakshasas’ golden cage.

I smeared our mixed blood onto her face, pushed, and saw a forest of needles burst through her skin.

She screamed and laid on the axe, and I screamed as the spike ripped my innards. The needles crumbled and melted into her skin.

“You will not take me down,” Erra ground out. “You will not . . .”

Her legs failed and she crashed to her knees.

“It’s over,” I whispered to her with bloody lips.

Desperation claimed her broken face. She clawed at the spear, trying to pull herself upright. Our blood painted the snow a bright rich scarlet.

“Die,” I told her.

She fell on all fours next to me. Her one good eye stared into mine. “Live . . . long, child,” she whispered. “Live long enough to see everyone you love die. Suffer . . . like me.”

Her words clamped on to me like a curse. She collapsed in the snow. Her chest rose for the last time. A single breath escaped with a soft whisper and the life faded from her eye.

I looked at her and saw myself, dead in the snow.

The smoking ruin that was Curran raised his bloody head.

“Curran,” I whispered. “Look at me.”

The burns blotching his monstrous face melted. Fur sprouted, running along his frame, hiding the wounds. His eyes were still pure white.

He strode to me, swiped at the axe, and plucked it out of me like a toothpick. Clawed hands picked me up.

“Talk to me.” I peered into his eyes and saw nothing. “Talk to me, Curran.”

A low growl reverberated in his throat.

No. No, no, no.

Emaciated twisted shapes dashed by the ward—the first vampiric scouts. They’d watched the battle until they figured out the winner. Curran saw the vampires. A horrible sound broke from his mouth, halfway between a roar and a scream. He lunged at the ward. In the split second before we hit the scarlet flames, I thrust my bloody hand into Erra’s defensive spell. Magic shot from me. The red collapsed, and everything went black.