Chapter 3

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until—"

"It's fine, Aaron. We'll be fine." I plucked the keys from his hand. "Quit worrying."

Standing beside the open driver's door of his SUV, the pyromage frowned at me and Ezra, then sighed. "Okay, fine. But be careful."

"I'm always careful," Ezra said in that somber tone that gave no clue as to whether he was teasing or not.

Aaron's frown deepened. He squinted between us, then turned on his heel and stalked toward the guild's front door to join the other officers for an early morning meeting.

Meanwhile, Ezra and I would complete the job Robin had given me.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled the SUV into the Capilano View Cemetery parking lot. When we'd shown up two weeks ago in search of the cult's lair, it'd been a ghost town—no pun intended. Today, however, a dozen cars waited for their drivers to return.

I parked at the farthest end and climbed out. The early February wind nipped at my cheeks as I checked that my combat belt was hidden under the hem of my jacket. Though I'd returned Justin's gun last week, I wasn't lacking in weapons.

Not only was my belt reloaded with alchemy bombs and a new paintball gun, borrowed from Lyndon, but I finally had an artifact back—after Friday night's meeting, Lim had delivered my brass knuckles, a force-amplifying spell imbued into the metal. Weldon, being significantly less reliable than the Arcana scholar, had yet to produce a replacement fall spell for me.

Ezra, unfortunately, had no weapon to carry—though considering his dual magics, he probably didn't need one.

I linked our arms as we walked onto one of the many paths that led through small fields of flat gravestones. A middle-aged couple meandered past us, their faces heavy with grief. Farther out, a family was gathered around another marker. An old man sat alone on a bench, a bouquet of white daisies in his hand and his weathered features holding a thousand memories as he gazed toward the distant trees.

I slid my hand down Ezra's arm and entwined our fingers. I'd never lost a loved one to death. There were no graves in the world that meant anything to me, but at just sixteen years old, Ezra had lost everyone he'd ever known.

"What happened to their bodies?" The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Ezra glanced at me. "Whose bodies?"

"Your… your parents. Do you know?"

"Unclaimed bodies are buried on private land managed by the MPD. I don't know where… in Oregon, probably."

"When this is over, would you like to find out where they are?"

He considered my question as we roamed down the path, heading toward the forest at the northern end of the cemetery. "Maybe someday."

My fingers tightened around his. Against my will, the Death card slid into my mind's eye, followed by the Hanged Man, his face blank and peaceful in death. Sacrifice.

It's his choice now.

"Ezra…" Words failed me.

"What is it?"

We stopped at the edge of the forest. The cemetery's other visitors were distant figures, and the rustle of branches in the cold wind was the only sound.

Searching his eyes, I opened my mouth—but again, I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say. How could I demand he make no sacrifices? I might as well ask him to stop breathing. If his friends were in danger, he'd do anything to protect them.

He brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth as though to rub away my frown. "What's wrong, Tori?"

"I… I just…" I sucked in a breath. "It's nothing. But I do have a question."

"What question?"

I headed up the path, searching for the spot where we'd hacked our way into the underbrush. "Did you know all that stuff Robin explained about demons powering up with heat?"

"I knew everything always goes cold when I tap Eterran's power, but I didn't know why." He shook his head in exasperation. "If I'd realized demons could turn fire into magic, I would've mentioned it a long time ago."

"Nice of Eterran to fill you in."

"He's never been free with his knowledge."

No kidding. Dick move, Eterran.

Ezra arched an eyebrow. "Now tell me what's really wrong, Tori."

Crap. I should've known I couldn't derail him that easily.

Luckily, we'd just located our two-week-old trail into the forest, and I pushed through the branches. Crunching steps and snapping twigs confirmed Ezra was right behind me, probably wondering what weird tangent my brain was on.

After our text-confessions of love and that white-hot kiss in the cemetery parking lot, Ezra and I hadn't had the time or privacy to really talk. Between our new arrangement with Robin and helping Darius prepare to take on—and take down—the Court, we'd been too busy.

And, as I'd told Sabrina, it was all just so… complicated.

I broke free from the trees, and as I entered the clearing, tension infused my muscles. The memories of our panicked flight hit me hard—Aaron barely able to walk, Kai limping badly, Ezra glowing with demonic magic.

The cenotaph was no more. Chunks of the shattered angel statue lay amidst the broken pillars, and the weathered chalice she'd held had fallen on its side near her dismembered hand as though she were reaching for it.

Unlike when we'd left, the underground stairway wasn't completely buried. Someone had uncovered the passageway's entrance—but we'd known to expect that. Darius hadn't neglected this crucial location. The morning after we'd uncovered it—and barely escaped with our lives—Darius, Girard, and Alistair had combed through the rubble inside, but Xanthe and Xever had removed everything important except the summoning circle. Not that they could've packed that up and moved it out, mind you.

The GM had stationed a surveillance team in the cemetery to watch for returning cultists, but no one had shown up. The cult had abandoned their lair.

Which was exactly why Ezra and I were here.

I pulled a flashlight off my belt. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way."

I started down the stairs, careful not to trip on the rubble. "Wouldn't it be great if we got to use a cult summoning circle to un-cult-ify you? The irony is delicious."

"Nazhivēr and I might have damaged it," Ezra said, referring to his battle with Xever's powerful demon. "If it survived, though, it would be…"

He trailed off as we reached the bottom. I shone my light across the cavernous storm reservoir.

"… almost too easy," he finished dryly.

I clenched my jaw. "Damn it."

My footsteps echoed loudly as I crossed to the circle I'd hoped we could hijack—but nope. The perfect summoning circle had been reduced to shattered rubble.

Darius had told me the circle was intact, which meant it'd been destroyed at some point between his visit to the underground lair and now. But our guild had been monitoring the site. How the hell had the Court snuck in here without our guys noticing?

The wooden altar had been demolished too, and the stone lectern where I'd found the cult grimoire had been smashed—rather angrily, I thought. How had Xanthe and Xever reacted when they'd realized I'd stolen the grimoire from its protective case? Something told me the cult leaders hadn't been happy about that.

I craned my neck back. Xanthe and Xever had even removed the scarlet crystals from the pillars and stripped away the sigil-emblazoned tapestries. Talk about an efficient cleanup. Had Xever put his injured demon to work after we'd escaped? I almost felt bad for the demon.

Almost.

"Do you think they've left Vancouver entirely?" I asked, kicking at a chunk of stone. There was nothing left that suggested a cult had operated here.

"They may have moved the High Court, but I doubt Xever is ready to leave yet. He's working on something."

"That stuff you were helping Robin with, right?"

Ezra nodded. "He's hell-bent on getting his hands on—"

Bzz-bzz-bzzzz.

The loud vibration of my phone filled the reservoir, and I dug frantically into my pocket, amazed there was any reception down here. I whipped out my phone, frowned at the unfamiliar number on the screen, then lifted it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Tori?" a deep voice inquired.

"Who's this?"

"Blake."

I blinked. "Blake? Like, the Keys of Solomon terramage?"

"How many Blakes do you know?"

Relief flooded me. I hadn't heard a word from or about the terramage since we'd fled the Keys headquarters, leaving him bleeding on the floor. "I'm so glad you're alive."

A low, humorless laugh. "I told you I wouldn't die—though staying alive has proven more difficult than I'd expected."

"What do you mean?"

"That's actually why I called. We flushed out four Keys members corrupted by the cult—but we didn't get them all."

A rush of adrenaline hit me. "There's another one?"

"At least one more. After you left, I was almost killed three times before I could get out of Salt Lake City. I'm in hiding now, but it's too late."

"Too late?"

"Someone spread rumors through the guild that I've been suffering from PTSD since the Enright extermination, and after living alone on the site of the attack for eight years, I finally cracked. My guild membership has been suspended and there's a bounty to get me committed—for my own safety, they claim."

Ezra searched my face, probably reading the horror all over my features.

"Shit, Blake. If they catch you—"

"—I'll be dead before anyone realizes it's a setup. Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'm well hidden."

"Is there anyone in your guild who can help you?"

He sighed. "I thought I knew who I could trust, but I'm not sure about anyone anymore. I wrote out everything and sent it to my GM, but I don't know if it'll reach him."

Not good. Pinning down the Court was like trying to hold water in your hands. There was no way to grab hold of it. It just slipped away.

"I can talk to my GM," I said. "I bet he can get through to your—"

"Too risky," Blake interrupted. "The Keys have no leads on the ‘murderers' who killed Russel and the officers. You can't give them any reason to suspect your guild."

"We aren't murderers. We were—"

"It doesn't matter. If the cultist moles can convince the guild to turn on one of its own members, they can convince the Keys to turn on your guild too."

I swallowed hard.

"I'm calling to warn you and your guildmates to watch your backs. Stay away from the Keys—and stay away from that cult."

"Uh, well, it's not that simple. It turns out the top-level court thingy—what did you call it, Ezra?"

"The High Court," he supplied.

"Right. The High Court is here in Vancouver. I'm actually standing in their lair right now—their lair as of two weeks ago when we uncovered it, I should say."

Blake was silent for a moment. "Why the hell are you in their lair?"

"Former lair. They abandoned it after we broke in. Our guild's been watching it for two weeks but no sign of any cultists."

The terramage grunted. "The cult is trying to kill me because I know about them. They'll try to kill you too—and you're making it real damn easy for them."

"There's no one here, Blake."

"Have you forgotten about the mentalist?" he growled. "Even just walking around in the open is dangerous."

Grimacing, I glanced at Ezra. "We're leaving now anyway. The thing we came here for was a bust."

"Good. And once you're out, get your ass back to your guild."

I waved at Ezra to follow me and strode across the reservoir. "You're awfully bossy, you know."

"You'll thank me when you don't die. I just explained how the cult's been trying to kill me, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah." I started up the steps, phone in one hand and flashlight in the other. "So you're going to stay in hiding, right? You can just sit tight until my guild deals with the cult."

"Your guild?"

"Well, not only my guild." Grayish sunlight bloomed through the stairwell, and I flicked off my flashlight as I hastened toward the friendly glow. "We'll get help from other guilds too."

"Do you think that'll be enough?"

"Our GM is basically a genius." My head popped up out of the sunken, earthy stairwell, and I climbed the last few steps. "If anyone can do it, he—"

"Tori!"

A few steps below me, Ezra grabbed my legs. At the same time, something dropped past my face—and a rope snapped tight around my upper arms.

Someone behind me yanked me up out of the hole, tearing my legs from Ezra's grasp. I was flung down onto the rubble, bits of rocks digging into my back through my leather jacket—and a length of shining steel appeared an inch from my nose.

The stranger towering over me set the point of his long sword against my throat.