“Shut up,”she tosses into her mind before speaking aloud. “I have a question for you guys.”
“You’ve lost your mind, woman,”I hiss, preparing to settle deeper into her body and take over her limbs. She hisses back.
“Maybe that’s because I haveyouyammering in my head all the time. Do you want answers or not?”
Before I can respond, she’s talking to the men again. “I thought I saw some wingers around here earlier,” she says, tilting her head as if she’s only mildly intrigued by the idea. “Ephilium. You haven’t seen anyone like that, have you?”
One of the thugs stares at her blankly; the other two exchange a look of confusion.
“What’cha talking about? What the fuck you want with wingers?”
“You know the bawdy house over on Wick Street?” she says. I can’t see the shy smile playing on her lips, but I can feel it. “My madam sent me to drum up some business down by the river, and everyone knows the ephilium pay best.” The lie comes smoothly, just specific enough to feel authentic.
When they still look blank, she takes another step backward. “But if you reckon I’m in the wrong part of town, I’ll be on my way.”
The scarred man’s brow furrows.
“Nice gamble, but he doesn’t buy it,”I say, slipping my magic down her arm to the delicate shape of her wrist, shifting it closer toward the knife concealed beneath the hem of her tunic.
“You don’t look like no whore,” the thug says, scanning her dark pants and tunic.
“Told you so,”I snap, closing her fingers around the dagger’s handle.
“Wow, you know how to flatter a girl,” she laughs weakly, then in her mind to me:“Just let me have a moment; I can give them the slip.”
But I can feel her panic rising as she throws a glance over her shoulder.
The shortest thug is squinting up at the warehouse now, suspicion creeping across his face. We have about ten seconds before they decide she’s lying and try to gut her.
“Sorry, Rose Radley, but we’re doing this my way.”
“Don’t—!”she shouts at me, but I’m already pouring myself into her, wrapping my power around her limbs, fully taking over. I pull the knife out from under her tunic, raising it in warning.
“Leave heralone,” I growl from her lips, letting the crimson of my eyes shine through her own. The men’s eyes widen, mouths gaping, but the sight of a blade has them immediately reaching for their own weapons.
I seize the shadow of the one on the far right, pulling the darkness up and wrapping it around him. Like a hungry snake, it yanks him to the ground, the alley filling with choking gurgles as the shadow crawls down his throat to suffocate him.
That man must’ve been the brains of the operation, because instead of running for their lives, the scarred man lunges for Rose. The move is sloppy—I can see where he’s aiming from a mile off. These men might be used to street fights, but they’re clearly the type to rely on brute force rather than skill.
I twist her body around, driving her arm up to block the thug’s strike at an angle where she can quickly slice open his wrist too.
Except it never gets to that.
The moment her arm connects with his, it’s thrust back—she simply lacks the strength to stop his momentum. Her shoulder joint screams in its socket from the impact, sending a throb of agony through her body. Worse, the Infernum knife goes flying, skidding along the alley as the man’s dagger descends.
I throw my magic against Rose’s legs, shoving her body aside just in time. The blade glances across her side instead of driving into her stomach. Still, I feel her body recoil as the metal bites at her flesh, leaving a thin gash. No cry escapes her lips—I’m still in control—but a shriek of pain rips through her mind, clawing at me.
Then a meaty fist collides with her jaw.
The world spins around us as she goes flying, thrown a good two feet backward as she hits the ground. I’m aware of the agony radiating across her face, burrowing into her bones, but my focus is elsewhere. Through her blurred vision, I can see my rune-etched knife laying a couple yards away.
I throw my magic toward it, trying to lasso the knife into her open hand with a shadow.
My power fizzles out like a wet match.
Damn it.This isn’t like the night in the sacrificial chamber, where the whole room swelled with demonic energy. There’s no Cyrax chants or bloody runes here. I should’ve realized I can’t raise shadows in someone else’s body, not without something from the demon realm to channel the magic through. Without the knife itself in my hand, there’s nothing to help my power manifest outside of her.
The thugs must think they’ve knocked her out, because they’re currently busy trying to revive their dead friend. They’re wrong, thank the gods. She’s still conscious, which means I haven’t been thrown out of her head. But her mind is a whirl of pain-filled, confused thoughts, her usual sharp wits shaken loose by the punch:“…have to get him out of my head…this ground is so cold…get up, Leah, get up…don’t let him kill…not again…GET UP…”
