Wesley tried to turn, to raise the gun again, but Blanshard put a hand out, and Wesley hit the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the gun clattering uselessly to the ground.
“My magic is full of others’ life forces. I am unstoppable, I do not die,” Blanshard went on, advancing on Wesley. “And now I’ve consumed the magic of a de Leon. Look at him dying, Lord Fine. I took everything from him, just like I’ll take everything from everyone here. Starting withyou.”
It happened with horrible slowness. Wesley tried to raise his arm again, but Blanshard crouched and plunged his hand into the air over Wesley’s heart, and Wesley screamed.
“Wesley!”
And Sebastian’s dying blood found the last spark in the lion. He staggered to his feet and threw himself at Blanshard.
He had one chance. If he was going to die, if he was going to be murdered by Blanshard, he was going to steal the brooch and take its magic with him, take the magic to a grave where Blanshard couldn’t use it to hurt anyone—couldn’t use it to hurt Wesley.
Blanshard’s shriek split the air as Sebastian crashed into him. As they hit the pavement together, Sebastian swiped for Blanshard’s vest.
His hand came away with the brooch, his grip so tight the pin drove into skin.
And then, everything happened very fast.
Wesley’s scream changed to a choked gasp. Blanshard’s shriek became a howl.
And magic poured into Sebastian like it was an army of wild horses and he’d just thrown open the stable. More magic than he’d ever had, a relic’s magic, stolen from Blanshard and now returning tenfold.
Blanshard made another animal howl and lunged for Wesley, aiming for his heart, his hands out and hooked like claws. Like he was going to try to bolster himself by takingWesley’slife—
The horses dove out of Sebastian’s control and straight for Blanshard, a merciless stampede that took no prisoners, that crushed everything in its path. Where once he had felt other paranormals’ magic only weaken, Blanshard’s magic now disintegrated under Sebastian’s magic like dust.
Blanshard screamed. And then he began to crumble, starting with the tips of his fingers that still reached for Wesley, skin and bone and flesh falling like the ash at the end of a cigarette until nothing was left but a suit and a pile of dust.
Sebastian stared.
“Sebastian.” Wesley was scrambling to him. “Christ, are you all right?”
“I—” Sebastian’s voice cracked. “I wasn’t trying to kill him—but he was going to kill everyone here—he was going to killyou—”
“And you stopped him.”
“I turned him to ash.” Sebastian’s voice broke again. “Ash, Wesley, my magic did that—”
“Good,” Wesley said, and pulled Sebastian into a tight hold.
Every inch of Sebastian’s skin buzzed like the horses were still stampeding through him. He dimly realized the closest people were scattered all over the ground, while others were still screaming and running frantically round them. “Did I hurt anyone else?”
“Your magic knocked a few people down but they’re fine. Everyone’s just being dramatic about it,” said Wesley. “Let’s go, come on.”
“Sebastian!” That was Isabel’s voice, coming over the crowd. She was sprinting toward them, her arms loaded with cloth. “Vamanos, the French police will be here any second.”
Sebastian stared at the ashes already blowing away. “Blanshard—”
“Was a monster,” said Wesley. “You just saved dozens of lives, including mine, and frankly having his ashes scattered by the wind is better than that bastard deserves.”
Wesley yanked Sebastian up and the three of them began to run.
They made it out through the gate and to the street beyond, where they got a taxi back to the fifteenth arrondissement.
Sebastian was near silent the whole ride. Wesley didn’t know what to say—good riddance to Blanshard and Mercier both, as far as he was concerned—but perhaps it was a bit earth-shattering to suddenly turn an ancient paranormal to ash with your mind.
As they drove over the Seine, Wesley hesitantly pressed a little closer into Sebastian’s side. Sebastian leaned into him almost immediately, like he was drawing comfort from Wesley’s touch.
And maybe it didn’t matter that Wesley almost always chose the wrong words, because maybe with Sebastian, he didn’t always have to find those elusiveright wordsthat would make everything better. Maybe he could just be here, which he would gladly do, and maybe that could be enough.
