the floor and straightened, a bogeyman born from childhood nightmares.
I held very still.
He turned, scanning the room, and the moonlight caught his eyes, big and white, reflecting the light with an eerie green glow.
In the bathroom, Shadow broke down into a cacophony of barks and snarls, digging at the door.
He pivoted to the bathroom door. Step. Another step.
Another.
Far enough. I stepped into the soap circle on the floor and sank my magic into it. The arcane lines ignited with sapphire flames in a complex, dazzling array. The assassin froze, startled, his face clear in the glow of the glyphs. Bald, with thick glossy skin mottled with a patina of green, brown, and orange, like the carapace of some strange beetle, he didn’t look even remotely human. The typical contours of a man’s face, the cheekbones, the nose ridge, the brow, were thickened, as if someone had injected fat under his skin in all the wrong places. The nose had no tip, reduced to a broad, flattened bulge. His chin receded, almost delicate by comparison. The eyes, unnaturally large, stretched toward his ears. Only the mouth was somewhat normal.
Revulsion slithered through me. The urge to flee was so strong, I almost took a step back. I couldn’t even tell if it was his magic or just intense xenophobia, triggered by encountering a thing humanlike but not human enough.
Benedict had sent his butcher. He must’ve given up on taking me alive.
The lines around the assassin pulsed with yellow. The feedback jolted me. He’d struck at me and the circle dispersed it. A wave of emotion washed over me, disgust, hate, and anger, and underneath it all, a sucking vortex of bloodlust. The circle had lobbed his feelings at me. There was no way around this feedback.
The assassin leaped to the side. The circle pulsed in response, and he landed back where he started.
I had designed the circle by modifying an Acubens Exemplar spell to incapacitate an intruder, no matter what brand of magic he or she wielded. It was an all-purpose trap created to contain and interrogate. From above it looked like a large circle filled with a maze of lines and glyphs, with a double circle inside it at one end. Five smaller circles, each filled with progressively smaller rings, touched the outer rim of the main circle.
I stood within the smaller double circle, while the assassin was trapped in the larger ring. The complex pattern around the butcher imprisoned him. He couldn’t attack me. He couldn’t leave the circle either. His own magic interacting with the boundary held him back. However, he could still attempt to strike at the circle itself, and when he did, his magic would surge through the lines and run off into the five smaller magic sinks.
The assassin crouched on all fours, looking around. The circle fluoresced brighter under his feet. His big, misshapen eyes found me. “Die.”
A bright yellow flash exploded from him and ran through the lines of the circle. The five magic sinks spun, absorbing it and became still.
“Die. Die, die, die.”
Each burst sent a fresh spike of fury and hate through me. I waited until the sinks stopped spinning. I had all the time in the world.
The assassin stared at me. “Release me.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Release me or I’ll eat your family.”
That’s what I liked about warped assassins. They were reasonable, pleasant people. Such deep thinkers.
“Tell me your name.”
“I’ll kill you and eat your guts while you scream.”
“Not in that order, you won’t.”
He charged my circle, clawing at it, his mouth gaping, his small, sharp teeth trying to scrape at the wall of magic. We were barely six inches apart, yet we might as well have been on different continents.
Outside, the emergency streetlamps came on.
The assassin had worn himself out and crouched on the floor again.
“You’re here because I let you come here,” I told him. “I told the soldiers outside to stay out of your way. I knew Benedict would send you or someone like you. I hoped he would come himself, but he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, does he?”
The assassin bared his teeth. “Whore.”
“Answer my questions and it will hurt less.”
The assassin grinned. “You sound like him.”
“But I’m not him. I didn’t look for you. I didn’t force you into the circle. You came here to kill me, my friends, and my family. You are a murderer.”
“Self-righteous bitch.”
He had retained more IQ points than Lawrence. He had a good vocabulary, and his reasoning ran deeper than the