—and then the air went cold behind me.
I spun.
Another one had formed.
Then another.
And another.
They were pulling themselves out of shadows, detaching from doorways, crawling out of the spaces between parked cars—too many, circling, hemming us in.
Fear crushed down on my lungs.
“There are too many,” I whispered.
He saw them.I felt it in the way his shoulders squared, the way he backed us toward the shop.He shoved the keys into my hands.
“Get inside.Now.I’m right behind you.”
“What about you—”
“I’ll hold them off.”
I fumbled with the lock, hands slick with sweat as the first key slipped uselessly against the metal.Light detonated behind me as Owen hurled magic into the street, demonic howls echoing in the night.
“Piper!”
“I’m trying!”
A set of claws slashed against invisible resistance inches from my face.I screamed, jamming another key into the lock—wrong again—
A demon lunged.
Owen’s magic cracked like thunder.
The door finally gave way.
I stumbled inside as Owen leapt after me, slamming it shut.He slapped his palm against the doorframe, white light sealing the cracks—but the impact of bodies hit immediately, the magic shuddering under the weight.
“That won’t hold them long,” he said grimly.“Come on.”
We ran.
The store felt endless in the dark, every shadow threatening movement.Owen navigated without hesitation, pulling me into the storeroom and flicking on the light.
I slapped the grimoire onto the worktable like it might bite, then wiped my damp palm on my jeans.
“The sword,” I gasped.“The long box.”
He wrenched the lid free and thrust the sword toward me.
The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, the world changed.
The blade warmed—not with heat, but with awareness.Power surged up my arms, not overwhelming, not violent.Recognizing.As if the sword had been waiting for this hand.For me.
Something deep in my chest answered.
Owen cracked open another crate and drew a second blade, its edge etched with ancient runes that flared briefly as he grasped it.“Stay close.”
