Chapter 26

Zylas's power faded. As his luminescent spell dissolved, the demon lifted his hand from Uncle Jack's chest. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped his bloody palm on the man's pant leg.

Uncle Jack drew in a trembling breath and released it. Amalia clutched her father's hand, but her disbelieving stare was on Zylas.

"You healed him," she whispered hoarsely.

Zylas rose to his full height, tail snapping irritably, and hopped over the table. Catching my elbow, he swung me off my feet. I yelped in surprise as I thudded against his back, automatically clamping my arms and legs around him.

"What—" I began.

He leaped the length of the living room, nearly dumping me off his back, and sprang out the broken window. Thudding down on the deck, he paused, head swiveling as he scented the breeze.

"Zylas," I tried again, "what—"

"This is not over. Hold on."

As I squeezed my legs more tightly around his waist, he shot to the end of the deck and launched off it. He hit the ground and dashed into the forest. Towering spruce trees flashed past, snow swirling down and the icy wind cutting through my shirt.

He ran at full demon speed—fast enough to outstrip the best human sprinter. Tail lashing for balance, he cut past trees, branches whipping against our sides. The ground sloped down, the mountainside sweeping for miles to the city below. I had no idea where he was going or what he was chasing.

Then I saw the flare of crimson light through the trees.

Zylas slowed to a slinking prowl, his steps silent on the snowy leaf litter. The forest opened into a wide swath of dirt and pebbles—an old rock slide. At the edge of the trees, he stopped.

Vasilii stood in the center of the clearing, the grimoire held casually in one hand.

Claude's demon stood ten paces from the darkfae, his reddish-brown skin contrasting with the dusting of snow. Wings curled against his back, tail snaking across the ground, dark hair tied back from his sharp-featured face. His magma-red eyes glowed with power.

Vasilii slowly canted his head to the right—toward Zylas and me. He returned his attention to Claude's demon.

"My ability to track my prey surpasses that of even my fae brethren," he said in his slow, dry voice. "I did not expect you to possess similar skills, Nazhivēr. How did you arrive here so soon after me?"

Claude's demon smiled coldly. "You have underestimated us from the beginning."

I shuddered at his deep, rumbling growl. His English wasn't as heavily accented as Zylas's but the guttural inflection was the same.

"Have I?" Vasilii whispered. "I ascribed your master only the intelligence he has displayed. He thought me a mere vampire. He thought, by peddling your blood to my nest, he could win their loyalty. He thought me too simple a creature to discover what he searched for, or to seek it myself."

The demon flicked his tail across the ground, an angry tic that Zylas possessed too.

"Such great boons have come to me, Nazhivēr. Did you know I came here seeking a druid? Instead, I found his territory abandoned."

I gripped Zylas's shoulders. A druid? I'd never heard of a druid in Vancouver.

"An unprotected hunting ground," Vasilii continued, "which I have now claimed. No sooner did I draw the city's vampires under my control than you and your master so freely handed me even greater power." Vasilii caressed the grimoire's leather cover. "And now I have claimed this as well."

"You think we did not see your betrayal well before you acted?" Nazhivēr rumbled, satisfaction pulling at his dusky lips. "What you have done is save us a great deal of time."

"You presume to take this from me?" Vasilii mused. "I see. Take it, then, demon. With but one hand, I will slay you."

The darkfae cradled the grimoire safely against his chest and raised his other hand, fingers casually curled. The slender digits darkened to black and extended into rigid claws.

Nazhivēr raised his hands in turn, scarlet glowing across his wrists and up his arms. Before the demon's talons could finish forming on his fingers, Vasilii vanished.

Blood sprayed and Nazhivēr lurched backward, his chest raked with wounds. Vasilii slashed again and the demon darted sideways, scarcely evading. As Nazhivēr swung his glowing talons, Vasilii reappeared behind the demon. Blood splattered the ground.

Vasilii was so fast I couldn't follow him. So fast he seemed to disappear as he moved.

Zylas pushed on my legs and I dropped off his back. Deepening his stance, he cast me a silent, commanding look—stay there—then slunk into the clearing. Motions blurring, Claude's demon and the vampiric darkfae circled and slashed. Only Nazhivēr bled.

Cautiously, Zylas closed in, and when Vasilii blurred beyond my vision, Zylas launched forward. His glowing talons struck Vasilii's lower back, tearing through his dark shirt and ripping deep into the fae's flesh.

Zylas leaped sideways, evading Vasilii's counterstrike, and Nazhivēr smashed his fist into Vasilii's stomach. The darkfae flew backward, landed on his feet in a graceful skid, and straightened.

He gazed emotionlessly at the two demons, standing side by side as though they'd planned to ally against him all along. He blinked his charcoal eyes and lifted the ragged bottom of his shirt.

Zylas's talons had torn deep, revealing dark, inhuman flesh beneath his humanlike skin—but the bloodless wounds were shrinking. The skin drew back together, the injury melting away. As the slices disappeared, the fae's skin dimmed. His flesh grew darker and darker—and as it blackened, his body changed.

Limbs lengthened as though stretching out, thin and wiry. His spine stretched up, tattered shirt rising above his waist to reveal black skin clinging to prominent bones and rangy muscle. His face sunk in, inky eyes largening until they dominated his face. His bulky jaw opened, gaping wider than it should've, to reveal inch-long fangs.

With that horrifying grin, the seven-foot-tall darkfae vaulted toward the demons.

Zylas and Nazhivēr split, spun, and came at Vasilii from opposite sides. The three adversaries flashed across the clearing, too much speed and agility for my human eyes and slow human brain to comprehend. Crimson magic flashed in brief spurts, but even Zylas's swift demonic magic required a few uninterrupted seconds to cast.

Vasilii was so swift that neither demon could produce a powerful spell. None of their attacks, even the ones that connected, slowed the fae—while bleeding gashes marred both demons. The fae's long limbs, despite their fragile appearance, struck with crushing power, and through it all, he held the grimoire to his chest like a mother cradling an infant.

Zylas broke free of the lethal dance, skittering sideways on nimble feet.

"Adināathē izh," he barked. "Ittā rēsh!"

Nazhivēr lunged in. His tail caught Vasilii's legs, interrupting his movements for the barest instant, and his fist struck the fae's head.

Zylas angled across the clearing, opening a space between him and his enemy. Crimson power raced up his arms. Runes formed across his limbs in their wake and spell circles surrounded him like satellites orbiting a planet.

Vasilii broke away from Nazhivēr and whirled toward Zylas, the length of the clearing separating them. Nazhivēr grabbed his arm, halting him—and Vasilii rammed his claws into the demon's gut, sinking them six inches deep.

Crimson light blazed.

Vasilii tore away from the wounded demon and flashed toward Zylas, inconceivably swift.

The rune circles spun around Zylas, all six aligning atop one another, facing the oncoming fae. Before Vasilii could change course, a fiery beam exploded from the spell, struck the fae, and hurled him backward. Vasilii flew thirty feet and smashed into a tree trunk, shaking the fifty-foot hemlock. Pine needles rained down as Vasilii slumped to the dirt, his left hand empty—the grimoire gone from his hold.

Silence fell, broken only by gusts of wind whining through the trees and my pulse thundering in my ears.

Nazhivēr, one hand pressed to his punctured gut, walked forward. He stopped in the center of the clearing. From out of the snow, he lifted the grimoire.

A quiet scrape. Vasilii raised his head, then pushed off the ground, clothes torn and smoking. The wounds in his black flesh shrank to nothing. In the time it took him to straighten, his injuries had healed.

He craned his head one way then the other, rolling his narrow shoulders as though working out a mild cramp. His ebony eyes found Nazhivēr.

The demon spread his wings and leaped skyward. As he took flight, he tore open the belt that held the grimoire closed. The loose pages containing my mother's translations fluttered down.

In a flash, Vasilii leaped after the flighted demon. The fae grabbed Nazhivēr's legs and shoved his talons through the demon's knee.

Nazhivēr flung the grimoire away.

It flew end over end, arcing through the air—and Zylas caught it. Vasilii released the winged demon and dropped back to the ground. Wings pumping, Nazhivēr soared above the treetops and disappeared from sight, fleeing the indestructible fae—which left Zylas to battle Vasilii alone.

Zylas took one wide-eyed look at the grimoire he held, then tossed it high into the branches of the nearest tree. He'd barely completed the motion before Vasilii slammed into him.

Tearing free with a splatter of blood, Zylas skittered sideways with rapid steps. Vasilii paused, gazing up into the tree where the grimoire was caught on a branch, then pivoted to face Zylas. He opened his other hand, the one with which he'd been holding the book, and his fingers morphed into long, rigid claws. Now both hands were deadly weapons instead of just one.

Zylas took a slow, cautious step backward—and I realized he was afraid. He'd taught me not to step backward, and he'd only do it himself if he wasn't thinking clearly.

The darkfae vanished—and reappeared in a blur, already striking. Zylas whirled away, but blood misted the air as those claws shredded his arm. He and Nazhivēr together couldn't stop the fae. Alone, Zylas had no chance.

But he wasn't alone. I was still here—but what could I do?

Vasilii slashed again, his long reach far greater than the demon's. His claws tore across Zylas's thigh. The demon staggered and caught the fae's next strike on his armored left forearm. His glowing talons struck the fae's right hip, tearing deep, but the wounds healed immediately.

Was Vasilii truly unkillable? Did he have a weakness? He must have a weakness! I tried to think. Vampires. Fae. I must know something. My brain was full of useless facts, stories, and ancient legends.

Vasilii sank his claws into Zylas's upper arm. The demon ripped free with another splatter of blood, crimson magic shooting up his other arm.

Vampires. Vasilii wasn't a true vampire, but maybe he had the same weaknesses. What had I read? Sunlight—stake through the heart—beheading—garlic? No, that was a stupid myth. What else?

Zylas fell, his cast interrupted. Rolling, he shot to his feet again, tail whipping out. Vasilii smiled.

Holy water? No. Silver? Maybe. Was there anything else? In the story of the famous vampire hunters who'd exterminated hundreds of vampires, how had they done it? A sorcerer and a—

Vasilii grabbed Zylas and pulled the demon into his chest like a passionate lover.

—and a heliomage.

Crushing Zylas against him, Vasilii opened his deformed jaw, fangs gleaming. Fear flashed across Zylas's face. One touch of those fangs and he'd be paralyzed.

I flung myself out of the trees and sprinted toward the fae and demon.

"A shame," Vasilii whispered, "to waste such a delicacy."

He brought his mouth down, fangs reaching hungrily for Zylas's shoulder.

I leaped into them, my arm thrust out as I screamed, "Indura."

Vasilii's teeth met my arm with bruising pain—but no piercing agony. His long fangs were caught on my shirt, the fabric patterned with Amalia's careful hexes.

Yanking my arm free, I clutched Zylas and shouted, "Ori eruptum impello!"

A silvery dome exploded from the small artifact. It struck Vasilii and hurled him backward—but the spell hadn't had time to fully recharge and the burst of force wasn't as strong as before. It was still enough to send Vasilii crashing down on his back.

Holding me tight, Zylas sprang away, opening a wider gap. Vasilii rose with uncanny grace, unharmed. Nothing we did could damage him.

Except, maybe, fire.

We needed an inferno and we needed it right this moment—but how? There were no gas cans for me to ignite with an otherwise harmless flame cantrip.

Zylas, can you light him on fire?

As my mind turned inward, I felt the demon again—that dangerous, shadowy presence inside my head. I could feel his urgency, his fear. He didn't know how to stop this creature. He could heat things up but he didn't have a spell to burn Vasilii. That was human magic. That was—

My magic.

No time to draw a cantrip large enough to do any damage. My magic wasn't fast enough. Fast spells were—

My magic,Zylas whispered in my head.

He raised his hand—and I raised mine. His palm pressed to the back of my hand, our fingers aligned. Crimson power streaked up his arm—and hot scarlet magic blazed over my wrist in twisting veins. In my mind was the fire cantrip, the smooth lines of the rune bold and crisp. Simple. So simple compared to the complex tangles of Zylas's spells.

Crimson light ignited before my eyes. The Arcana cantrip appeared on the ground in glowing lines of demon magic, spanning three long yards—with Vasilii in its center.

An instant for the fae's black eyes to narrow. An instant for the creature to lunge toward us.

"Igniaris!"

Zylas's snarl and my cry rang out together, the sounds melding into one—and the giant cantrip erupted into roaring flames. The boiling fire surged skyward, towering thirty feet. Blistering heat blasted my face, then swirling cold engulfed me as Zylas pulled the fire's energy into his body. His fingers curled down, gripping my hand as the glow of his magic faded from our arms.

The inferno crackled and rippled for twenty long seconds, then the flames shrank and shrank until only burning embers remained, smoldering on the blackened grass. The snow was gone from the clearing, evaporated in seconds.

In the center of the charred circle, a burnt husk lay, unmoving. A fitful wind blew down the mountainside and the corpse crumbled, ash blowing across the ground. Something silver glinted in the debris—my slightly blackened infernus.

All the strength left my limbs and I slumped in Zylas's arms. "It worked. I can't believe it worked."

"Which part?" Zylas asked. "The fire or the vīsh?"

"Both?"

His arms loosened, my only warning. I braced my feet just before he let go, but I wobbled unsteadily. Deciding it was all-around safer, I sank onto the damp earth.

Fire. I hadn't been sure it would work, but one of the two legendary vampire hunters from my history book had been a heliomage. One of the most destructive Elementaria combinations: air and fire.

I stared at the fae's crumbling corpse. We'd defeated Vasilii. Not with demon magic or Arcana but with a union of the two. Just as we had somehow cast a demonic spell together while he'd been too weak to move, we had cast an Arcana spell together—merging his ability to instantaneously create a rune with the swift, simple power of my cantrip.

Later, I would freak out over both those occurrences, but not now. My brain was already threatening to implode.

With a rustle of branches, Zylas dropped out of a nearby tree. Heedless of his bleeding wounds, he crouched beside me and held out the grimoire. Fighting back tears, I took it in both hands.

It… well, it had survived. The clasp was torn but the cover was intact. A few pages were on the verge of falling out, and some had partially torn, but overall, not too much damage. Awe slid through me as I carefully flipped page after page of Ancient Greek handwriting in faded ink. So much archaic knowledge, so much forgotten history.

I turned the last page and my heart lurched painfully.

At the back of the book were the torn stubs of a dozen pages. The ripped edges were white—recently torn.

I remembered Nazhivēr snapping the enclosing belt off the book. Remembered the open book in his hands as he sprang skyward.

"He stole pages," I whispered, horror muting my voice. "He ripped pages out."

And he'd escaped with them, leaving the rest of the grimoire behind, knowing Vasilii would go after the book. Nazhivēr had taken what he'd wanted most and fled, leaving Vasilii to claim the vandalized grimoire and kill Zylas. Furious tears stung my eyes.

"We will get the pages back," Zylas said, "when we kill them."

"Will we?" I mumbled despairingly.

A slow smirk curved his lips. "I cannot let them steal from my grimoire."

I blinked in confusion—and he plucked the book out of my hands. Then he was on his feet and walking away with a jaunty snap of his tail. I blinked again, then shoved to my feet and rushed after him, unsure if I should laugh, scream, cry—or smack that smartass demon right in his smug face.