to the demon, but what had happened to Ezra? Was he still there?
Zylas bared his teeth. “Tell me what you want or I will see how many holes I can rip in that soft hh’ainun body before you die.”
Unfazed, he slid his gaze to me. “We want to trade.”
Those words … they had no accent.
“‘We’?” I whispered.
“Eterran and I want to trade with you and Zylas.”
Ezra. This was Ezra speaking.
I swallowed hard. “You and your demon … you can … uh …”
“Cooperate?” His mouth thinned with something like disgust. “Obviously we can. We want to live, and neither of us will survive much longer sharing a body.”
The red glow in his left eye flared. “Which is exactly why we are here,” Eterran added in his harsh accent.
My head spun. From the little I knew about demon mages, I was pretty sure “cooperation” wasn’t usually an option for the demon and its host.
“No demon would ask for a prize without offering an equal payment,” Eterran continued, “but I have learned many things in my time here. Sometimes prize and payment don’t align.”
“Say your meaning,” Zylas snapped.
“I want something from you, and I want it now.”
“You have nothing to exchange.”
“Not now.” A cold smile. “But what if you want something from me later?”
Zylas’s eyes narrowed.
The demon mage’s gaze shifted to me. “Maybe Robin will need something,” Ezra said, “that we can help with.”
“Or maybe you will need help protecting her,” Eterran added silkily, “against an enemy stronger than you.”
Zylas hissed. “Or maybe you will take what you want from us and give nothing in return.”
The demon mage shrugged. “Risk for reward, Zylas.”
I minced to Zylas’s side. “What do you want from us?”
He considered me as though weighing how to respond—and how much to reveal—then his attention darted away. Shadows flickered as headlights cut across the railings on the overpass above our heads, and traffic roared, the echo under the bridge setting my teeth on edge.
Zylas slid sideways—closer to me.
Like an extinguished candle, all the red power crawling over Ezra snuffed out. He stepped backward, deeper into the shadows, and canted his head toward the street in warning.
I turned as gravel crunched underfoot. Someone was approaching from the street.
Ezra had already crashed my and Zylas’s reconnaissance mission, and now someone else was barging in. My fingers curled into fists as I debated the wisdom of calling Zylas back into the infernus.
A man stepped out from behind a thick concrete support. Lights from overhead flashed across him, gleaming across his pale hair, and my breath caught in my throat. We didn’t need to worry about whether Zylas could find the scent of Yana’s killer here. Not anymore.
The albino sorcerer had returned to the scene of the crime.
Chapter Sixteen
He smiled pleasantly. “I wondered if I’d find you here, Robin.”
First Ezra, now this guy.
“Why would you think that?” I demanded, proud that my voice had held steady.
“Just a hunch …” His smirk broadened, pulling at the half-healed scratches I’d left on his face a week ago. “I’m glad my tip to the police paid off.”
My eyes widened.
He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, revealing the metal bands that circled his arms from wrists to shoulders. “Submitting a fake address to the MPD for your profile is illegal, you know. And you really should spend more time at your guild. That would’ve made finding you much easier.”
Prickles ran over my skin.
The sorcerer dropped his jacket as his pale blue eyes raked across me. “I’ve been dreaming about you, payashÄ“.”
Zylas hissed, and on his other side, Ezra twitched his shoulders. The motion drew the sorcerer’s attention.
“And you are?” he asked politely.
“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”
The sorcerer smirked. “Why would I do that? Ori quinque.”
A silvery ripple blasted out from him. It struck us so fast not even Zylas could dodge it. The shimmering magic threw him and Ezra backward. They crashed to the ground with painful crunches.
I didn’t move, the spell a cool tickle across my body. I’d barely felt it.
Zylas skidded on his back, twisted, and sprang to his feet with his tail whipping out for balance. Magic shot up his arms as he whirled on the sorcerer, and Ezra was almost as fast, though he’d yet to call on his demonic magic. Crimson gleamed faintly in his left eye.
The sorcerer grinned, laughter in the creases around his mouth.
“Ori septem.”
Pale blue light flashed—but not from the sorcerer.
The spell whipped out of the darkness behind Zylas. A glowing ring of blue latched