Chapter 24

The Crow and Hammer boasted twenty-five combat mythics—if you counted the half-trained apprentices. I wasn't sure I should be on the list, considering that, one, "half-trained" was too generous for my skills, and two, I was human.

Unfortunately, three members who did count as experienced and battle-capable were missing from our ranks. When shit hit the fan a week ago and Darius gave everyone the option of barricading together in the guild or running for it, Weldon, Zhi, and Ming had taken Option B. Good riddance to creepy old sorcerer Weldon, and the other two, young Arcana siblings, had never spent much time at the guild anyway.

The last member I would've loved to have standing beside me was Robin, not only because I was desperate to know she was safe, but also because her demon was scary-lethal and we needed all the help we could get.

But without them, that left twenty-two of us. Twenty-two men and women who would protect our guild from the Keys of Solomon bounty hunters while our non-combat guildmates hid inside.

The chilly night breeze smelled of coming rain. Each fitful gust nipped at my cheeks and tugged at my ponytail, a few stray strands dancing around my face.

Ezra stood beside me, his curls hidden under a black beanie. His bad-guy-smasher gloves ran up his arms, and in each hand, he held a short sword. Not his twin terrors, but similar in length and weight.

On my other side, Kai wore solid black, his combat vest loaded with small weapons. His two katana were sheathed at his hip. He wasn't a Crow and Hammer member on paper, but he belonged right here in every way that counted.

Arranged on the street with us were the rest of our combat mythics. Tabitha stood with Laetitia, Sylvia, Cameron, and Darren. Felix was teamed up with his wife Zora, Gwen, Drew, and Cearra. Andrew would lead Lyndon, Ramsey, Philip, and Venus—who was, it turned out, a combat alchemist.

Aaron stood just ahead of me, Ezra, and Kai. The three mages were powerhouses who could play off each other's strengths, and I'd act as their rearguard.

The last three members of our small army strode along the line like generals assessing their troops. Girard, artifacts clipped to his belt and two heavy pistols in shoulder holsters. Alistair, his white beard bristling and a thick, metal-capped staff in one hand.

Leading them was Darius. Dressed entirely in fitted black. Lots of leather. The four silver daggers hanging from his belt drew the most attention, but only a fool would miss the cuff-like bracelets gleaming around his wrists. He might be a rare luminamage, but Darius King wasn't a mythic who limited himself to a single type of weapon.

He reached the center of our line, halted, and glanced across the empty streets. The Crow Hammer was situated on a corner, meaning enemies could approach from four directions.

"Ezra?" he murmured questioningly.

"I can't sense any movement yet."

Nodding, Darius faced the line of combat mythics, decked in gear, carrying as many weapons as they could wield.

"This is a situation I never thought we would face," he said, his voice carrying to every ear. "As your guild master, I am your guardian and defender. It's my duty and honor to stand between you and the MPD—whether their administrators, field agents, or a guild they've assigned power to.

"The Keys have the power, the temperament, and lawful permission to kill." His gaze swept down the line of mythics. "By myself, I can't protect you, but together, we can protect each other."

On my left, Ezra's swords shifted as he tightened his grip. On my right, Kai closed his gloved hand around the hilt of his longer katana. In front of us, Aaron drew Sharpie from its sheath, orange light from the streetlamp overhead gleaming across the faint, flame-like pattern that rippled down the blade.

My hand drifted to the paintball gun at my belt. Gone were my yellow sleep potions. Sin had given me two magazines. One was a "super" sleep potion, and she'd spent a solid five minutes warning me to stay at least ten feet away from my target before shooting because the stuff would put me in a coma for three days. In the second magazine was a potion she'd simply called "hellfire."

Each magazine held seven paintballs, totaling fourteen shots. Fourteen enemies I could potentially take down.

Zak's crystals hung around my neck. My force-amplifying brass knuckles were already on my fingers. My back pouch was empty—I'd left orb-Hoshi with Kaveri where she'd be safe—but I'd added the Carapace of Valdurna to my left pouch instead.

Ezra's head came up. His eyes half-lidded as he concentrated. "They're coming."

Nodding, Darius turned to the empty intersection. "Remember, we must hold this line. Protect the guild." He glanced back across us, a spark of bleak amusement in his eyes. "And don't die."

He made it sound so simple.

The chill breeze washed over us, its quiet rustle the only sound. Everything was still and empty, the police's neighborhood evacuation thorough and complete. Justin had been texting updates to Sin, and with his final "it's done" message fifteen minutes ago, we'd formed our line outside the guild.

A raindrop landed on my nose, cold and wet. Another plopped on my cheek. As the light rain fell, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps, shadows formed in the distant darkness.

They came from all four directions, striding confidently across the pavement. Nearly all male. Big, strong, muscular. Cold, hardened faces and hungry leers. Weapons of every kind. Mythics of every kind.

My stomach turned over with growing dread as more and more Keys men appeared. Fifteen mythics approached from the east, fifteen from the west. Fifteen more from the north, and yet fifteen more from the south.

Sixty. Sixty. That wasn't four teams! That was most of the guild split into four attack squads.

The rain increased from a light sprinkle to a steady patter as the four groups reached the intersection. Their lines combined into a single arc of men, weapons, and impending violence.

I sucked in rapid breaths, my head spinning with panic. We'd expected sixteen or twenty men. Instead, we were outnumbered three to one.

A man near the center of their line stepped forward—tall, heavily muscled, thick beard, and wide-set eyes. He carried a two-handed sword as long as he was tall.

"Darius," the man rumbled.

"Nicolas," Darius replied coolly. "You've moved up in the world since we last met."

"‘Met,'" the Keys GM repeated, his tone thoughtful. "Is that how you describe murdering my predecessor in front of me?"

"Nothing personal. Business is business."

"As is this. Do understand that we can't accept the surrender of anyone from your guild, as demon mages could be hiding among your members."

My gaze darted over my shoulder, where a handful of familiar faces were visible in the pub's windows. Did the Keys intend to kill all our non-combat members sheltering inside too?

"There are no demon mages in my guild," Darius said.

"Men like you never change." Nicolas heaved the point of his sword off the ground, and his guildeds shifted with restless anticipation. "You shouldn't have sent your pets into my guild. Did you think you'd get away with murdering four of my men?"

"Ha!"

I didn't realize that sharp, humorless laugh had come from me until Nicolas's gaze snapped to my face.

"Something funny about the deaths of my men?"

Sixty murderous glares attempted to flay the flesh from my bones. Oops.

"Death is never funny," I called. "But it's funny that you think we murdered them. Can't you count?"

"Count?" the Keys GM growled.

"Yeah. You didn't notice the fifth guy? The total stranger killed by… wait, what was it?" I pretended to think. "Oh right. Demon magic. Just like Piotr, Anand, and Chay were killed with demon magic." I crossed my arms. "But no, go ahead and blame us."

Kai groaned almost inaudibly.

"Were you there, girl?" The GM bared his teeth. "You're one of the cowards who killed my men?"

Oh. Double oops. Now the entire guild would try to kill me first.

"Have you given any thought to what my guilded is saying, Nicolas?" Darius asked calmly. "Demon magic killed your men and killed the stranger in their midst, and you have no questions about that?"

"My only question is how you snuck your demon mage into my guild." Nicolas raised his fist in a wordless command, and every Keys member who didn't already have a weapon in hand drew one. Crimson power flashed over and over—two dozen demons taking form among the mythics.

Two dozen demons. They had more demons than we had fighters. I clenched my hands into fists to hide their trembling.

"I told you there are no demon mages in my guild," Darius said, his quiet voice rolling through the streets. "And you're about to take innocent lives at your enemy's bidding."

"I do no one's bidding, Darius."

Nicolas swung his arm down to signal the charge—and the earth trembled.

Behind the Keys' line, the pavement split open. A pillar of dirt and concrete shot upward, rising two stories and halting when it reached the top of a nearby building.

A man stood on the roof, glaring down at the gathered mythics. He stepped onto the pillar and it sank back into the earth, carrying him downward like an elevator. He thumped his wooden staff into the pillar's top and it went still, three feet above the road.

"Blake?" the Keys GM growled. "What—"

"Are you out of your mind, Nicolas?" The terramage yelled. "You're about to slaughter an innocent guild!"

Nicolas snorted. "You're the one out of his mind."

His gaze sweeping across the assembled Keys men, the terramage struck the earthy pedestal with his staff. "We faced Enright together. We fought a battle more horrific than anything we had ever seen, and we lost friends and comrades. It was worth it because we were stamping out an evil force before it could grow any larger—but that's not what happened. We didn't stamp out the cult."

"Shut up, Blake!" someone shouted. "You've lost it!"

"I was in there when Russel, Anand, Piotr, and Chay died," Blake roared. "They were part of the Enright cult! Russel had become a demon mage!"

A man laughed, the sound cruel and mocking.

"Get off that rock, Blake," Nicolas yelled. "You need medical attention."

"I needed medical attention after Russel blew a hole in my chest, not now." Blake pointed his staff at the GM. "Four weeks ago, a Crow and Hammer team showed up at Enright. They were investigating the possibility that the cult had survived, and we found an active sect in Portland. I called for backup. I got an assassin instead. The cult has infiltrated our guild, turned members, and is trying to discredit and kill me—and they're tricking you into destroying the only guild that knows the truth!"

The wet drum of rain on the pavement filled the quiet that answered him.

Nicolas chuffed. "A wild story without any evidence, Blake."

"You know what else you have no proof of?" Blake shouted. "That anyone in that guild is a demon mage!"

"The MPD has—" Nicolas began.

"You know the MPD plays its own games!" The terramage's deep voice rolled right over the GM's. "Everyone who was with me at Enright—you've all talked about the horrors of watching those families die. Women and children, damn it! And now you're going to commit the atrocity yourselves?"

Movement in the mass of combat mythics—scattered men shifting their weight or looking around as if to see what their comrades thought.

"Hell, Nicolas." The mythic beside the GM, a lean man pushing sixty with a wide, weathered face. "He's got a point. I thought this was a hardened combat guild about to go full rogue, not a bunch of misfits and kids."

Kids? We weren't that young—though, considering almost half our fighting force was under thirty, we probably looked pretty young to the grizzled veteran.

"The demon mages in Enright were kids too," Nicolas replied flatly.

"This isn't Enright." The man—probably an officer—shook his head and stepped out of the line. "If we're going to dismiss Blake's claims because he doesn't have hard evidence, then I'm not butchering a guild without hard evidence either."

"I've seen the evidence, Tyrone. I got it straight from the source. Now get in position."

"I want the evidence too."

"You calling me a liar?" Nicolas snarled.

Tyrone took another step back. "Why are you acting like this?"

I snapped to attention. Was Nicolas's behavior unusual?

Tyrone sheathed his short sword and pulled out a cell phone. "I'll decide for myself how much blood I want on my hands."

As he began to dial a number, I scanned the rooftops.

Nicolas snatched for Tyrone's phone but the officer twisted away, stepping farther into the no-man's-land between the two guilds. It rang on speaker.

I peered into the darkness behind the lines of Keys mythics, searching for a telltale shadow or glimpse of movement.

The line clicked.

"MPD Hotline," a bored female voice answered. "How may I assist you?"

"This is First Officer Tyrone Bartell of the Keys of Solomon. Get me Agent S?ze and make it fast. This is an emergency."

"One moment please."

The line clicked again and a tinny elevator tune filled the street as cold rain peppered our heads. Twenty-two Crow and Hammer mythics, sixty Keys of Solomon bounty hunters, two dozen contracted demons, and one lone terramage stood in silence, waiting.

I surveyed the dense enemy line, three mythics deep, seeking the smallest, slimmest form among them. Kai and Ezra noticed what I was doing and began searching too.

A pop from the phone speaker as a line connected.

"First Officer Tyrone," a cold, commanding woman greeted.

Tyrone started. "Where's Agent S?ze? I thought he—"

"Agent S?ze is indisposed. You are speaking to Captain Blythe."

"Indisposed? We received orders from him less than—"

"He is unavailable," Blythe interrupted. "Has your guild engaged the Crow and Hammer yet?"

"No," Tyrone muttered. "We—"

"Damnatio Memoriae has been rescinded. Withdraw immediately."

Nicolas twitched strangely. "What?"

"I am ordering you to withdraw," Blythe repeated. "If you attack, you'll be charged with murder."

Nicolas went completely still, his face blank of emotion. "Fine. We will withdraw."

"Do so immediately and report to me."

"Yes."

Tyrone pressed his screen, ending the call. A restless shudder ran through the Keys mythics, and I could sense the relief in it. They might be remorseless killers when it came to rogue contractors and demon mages, but many of them were human enough to care if they were killing innocent people.

A similar wave of relief swept across our much smaller line of mythics, but my shoulders didn't sag like theirs. Instead, I rose on my tiptoes, neck craning as I scanned every face across from us.

"Well," Tyrone said, "it seems we—Nicolas?"

The GM's huge two-hand sword fell from his grasp. As it crashed to the pavement, he pulled a dagger from the sheath on his thigh.

"Watch out!" I screamed.

I expected the GM to lunge for his officer, but his feet didn't move. The blade in hand snapped up—and he plunged it into his own throat.

Blood spurted across the black pavement, and the tall man swayed. His mouth gaped, emotion contorting his face—confusion, then horror, then terror. The dagger dropped and he clutched his throat, trying to stop the bleeding.

Knees giving out, he collapsed on the street—and behind him, hidden by his broad form, was a tall, thin woman.

Xanthe smiled.

Right there. Right in the GM's shadow, controlling him. Blending in like always, dressed for combat with her raven hair tied into a high ponytail, her dark eyes glinting as they met mine.

With shocked cries, Tyrone and half a dozen Keys men rushed toward their fallen GM.

A shriek of terror.

My head snapped around. One of the Keys' demons, head and shoulders taller than the humans around it, lifted a man into the air by his neck. The demon's fist clenched, bone crunched, and the struggling man went limp.

Another roar of pain. A scream. A burst of white-hot flame among the Keys' men.

And chaos exploded among them.

Weapons clashed. Bodies surged. Magic flared. Screaming. Shouting.

I reeled backward and Ezra caught my arm. His face was pale, stare locked on the battle erupting in front of us. Keys attacking each other. Keys killing each other.

My horrified gaze caught on Xanthe and her smile widened before she disappeared among the struggling bodies.

Several Crow and Hammer members took uncertain steps forward, and Darius lifted a hand, silently commanding them to hold their positions. I craned my neck, trying to follow what was happening. This wasn't Xanthe's doing. It couldn't be. No way she could control this many people.

Men broke away from the tangle, stumbling backward toward us. Tyrone was shouting, rallying his men. Weapons flashed—then the earth heaved. With a crack louder than a cannon blast, a three-foot-wide fissure split the intersection.

In a frantic scramble, men leaped across the chasm, choosing one side or the other—joining their allies so they wouldn't be caught alone among enemies.

As the two forces separated, the violence quieted.

Twenty-five Keys mythics retreated toward our ranks, their backs to us. Tyrone headed the group, and beside him was Blake, who'd somehow crossed the chaos and created the narrow rift, drawing a literal line through the battlefield. He clutched his staff, breathing hard from the strain of the magic he'd unleashed.

He and his allies faced fifteen other Keys, who'd withdrawn to the far end of the intersection. Twelve were demon contractors, their powerful beasts lined up in front of them. The remaining twenty Keys mythics littered the pavement, victims of the sudden outbreak of violence.

Darius slowly slid two daggers from their sheaths, one in each hand.

Across the intersection, the group of Keys traitors parted down the center. A man wearing a black leather duster ambled leisurely toward the battle. He was too far to identify, but the winged demon following obediently on his heels was unmistakable: Nazhivēr.

Xever stopped—and Xanthe appeared from among the Keys' minions she'd corrupted to join him.

Side by side, the two cult leaders faced us.