“Yes, but no guarantee she still is. There were some pretty serious arguments happening down the other end of the house.” Ginny uncorked the bottle and carefully poured the holy water onto the welts. Her skin sizzled softly, and she hissed.
“Do you know what the argument was about?” I took off my coat. It wouldn’t be as long on her as it was on me, but it would cover the vital bits.
“Their next steps, from what I can gather. Luke did not agree with whatever Lanie was planning.” She paused. “I got the strangest feeling that of the two of them, she was the one in charge.”
“She certainly implied that in the conversation we were given.”
“Yeah, but this was different. Her whole manner seemed to change.”
From the other end of the house came a low-grade growl and a deeper surge of magic. Atticus had entered the fray.
I needed to get down there—now. “You going to be okay for a few minutes?”
She nodded. “I can shift shape if that bastard comes at me.”
“He won’t. He’s well and truly leashed.” I tugged out the earwig and handed it to her. “Call in everyone, including Gerard.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Yeah, you fucking do, so stop arguing and do what I ask.”
A smile touched her lips. “I hope René likes bossy women.”
“I think it’s fair to say he loves women in all shapes and forms.”
I touched her shoulder lightly, then thrust to my feet and ran down the thickly shadowed hall, scooping up my bag as I headed to the other end of the house. Broken threads of magic floated on the air around me, some light, some dark, and some holding absolutely no color at all. There were also grunts and a low rumbling sound that definitely wasn’t coming from a human throat.
Atticus was pissed at something or someone.
I neared the end of the hall and slowed, though in truth I wanted to do anything but. The door to my right was open and led into a bathroom, while to my left there was a set of double glass sliding doors that led into another large room. This time it was a living area, and was, unlike most of the other rooms, furnished with several sofas and a large TV that sat on old wooden crates. I couldn’t see René, Atticus, or whoever it was they were fighting, but the magic was coming from the section of the room I couldn’t see—although between the glittering barrage of broken threads and the shadows curtaining the room, I might not have been able to see much anyway.
I took another deep breath and regretted it almost immediately when a foul rotting scent filled my nostrils and lungs. I gagged but somehow held back the instinctive urge to cough. Something inside that room was dead. I hoped it wasn’t Monica.
I switched to breathing through my mouth and carefully reached out, sliding the nearest door all the way open. The fighting continued unabated, the waves of magic a fierce wind that battered my senses. Luke was obviously more powerful than I’d thought if he was holding both René and Atticus at bay.
I carefully peered around the doorframe. René and Atticus stood within a circle of iridescent green fire—arcane fire, designed to consume magic and anyone who crossed it. The sort of fire only dark witches could raise. Beyond them was Luke, standing in the middle of a protective shield that rippled, bent, and in some places, fragmented under the continuing magical assault.
Either side of him, sprawled on the floor and slowly disintegrating, were two claw-footed demons. They were obviously the source of the foul scent. On the far side of the room, a deeper shadow moved. My gaze darted that way, and, after a moment, I caught the movement of another clawed demon.
Behind it was Lanie.
Hands raised, blood pouring down her arms from cuts on her wrists, the threads of the spell she was raising dripping with a bloody hue.
Blood magic.
It was fuckingbloodmagic.
And the spell was powerful enough to break the arcane fire surrounding René and Atticus. I knew that even if I had no real understanding of the spell’s intricacies.
I swore, unclipped the remaining knife so it was ready to use, then swung off my handbag and retrieved the remaining bottles of holy water, shoving two in my pockets and keeping hold of one before silently dropping the bag to the floor. Then, before I could contemplate the stupidity of what I was about to do, I raced through the door and ran straight at the demon.
It reacted instantly, spinning toward me, its feathers gleaming like black fire against the shadows haunting the room. It came at me, beak open, its squawk a sharp, high-pitched, hideous sound. I uncorked the bottle with my thumb, my gaze not leaving the creature, my mind oddly detached as it calculated the distance and the danger. Closer and closer I drew, until instinct was screaming and all I could smell was the creature’s acidic scent. Then it fluffed up its feathers and launched at me, talons first. I flung the water, then dove to the right, hitting the carpet hard enough to force a pain-filled grunt as the bottles in my pockets dug into my gut but miraculously didn’t break. Maybe they too were magicked. I scrambled upright and uncorked the second bottle in readiness. The water from the first one had splashed across the demon’s chest, and smoke billowed from its feathers and flesh. It screamed and came at me again, its red eyes gleaming with fury and pain. It was so damn fast I barely had time to cast the second bottle before diving away again. This time, I managed to keep upright, stumbling away several feet before regaining balance. The air seemed to scream with a warning, and I ducked, but not quite fast enough. The tip of a diamond-sharp claw sliced across my arm, and blood spurted. I swore and backed away, but the creature didn’t follow. It was shaking its head from side to side, its face raw and smoking and its red eyes now blackened and burned. It couldn’t see, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a danger.
I quickly leashed it in place, then turned, drew my remaining knife, and ran at Lanie.
And realized that not only did Monica lie behind her, but a growing vortex of power.
It was a means of escape.
