later. I didn’t care how desperate I sounded. He already knew what I was feeling. Truth spells worked both ways.
No, I cannot.
He broke the Truth spell, or uncast it, or did whatever it is a dead guy who can still freaking cast magic from inside someone else’s freaking body can do.
I opened my mouth to curse, but didn’t have time. More and more creatures continued to pour out of the gate. Too many for the magic users to deal with, too many to hope to defeat, too many to let loose into the city.
Victor had carved his way across the field to the front of the gate, his hands lifted in a complicated glyph that would close it. Nikolai, the good-looking Russian Closer, stood next to him, killing the beasts that came too near, holding a Shield of magic so that Victor could do his work.
Close the gate. So that there were no more beasts loose in the world.
Close the gate. And trap Zayvion.
Close the gate. Sealing Zayvion’s death.
Maeve was still on the ground, unconscious, but Sunny knelt next to her, keeping the beasts away with wicked knives.
Shame was also on the ground.
Terric had destroyed everything between him and Shame, and beheaded and de-limbed the Hunger that had attacked Shame. Terric now crouched next to Shame, one hand on his chest, glowing with magic that sank into Shame and poured out of him into the ground, as if Shame were a sieve, broken, unable to carry magic, life, breath.
I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Terric was crying, his teeth bared in fury, his ax raised and crackling with black licks of magic as creatures circled them, came too close, and died on the edge of his blade. The blood on one side of his face was finger-painted in the glyph for life and I knew it had been traced there by Shame.
Shame was dying. Maybe he was already dead. I didn’t have the wrist cuff. I couldn’t tell if his heart still beat.
The gate was about to close. There was no more time to make good decisions. There was only time to make a decision.
Whom to save?
Zayvion had once told me I was not a killer. I’d proved him wrong. I had killed. But right now, it was life I was trying to hold on to.
I ran toward Greyson, caught the attention of too many creatures, and hacked my way through them. Months of training and sheer fury drove me on, Zayvion’s sword drinking down the magic, the energy, of the beasts. It was draining me, but I was pulling on magic from the sky, wild magic that licked and bloomed and caught fire in my blood, my bones, and fed me strength.
I channeled the storm. And now the storm raged in me.
Too bad for the beasts. Too bad for anyone in my way.
Closer, my father said.
I made ground as things born of death’s nightmares leaped at me, tearing at my magic, tearing at my flesh. Something, a claw or a fang, got through, sliced my thigh. Something else raked down my back. I felt the hot pump of blood mix with the hard-falling rain.
Then I was on Greyson.
Still pinned beneath Stone, he was more man than he had been. And I knew why. Chase lay next to him, frozen, her hand clasped with his. She was alive. I thought she was. And she was pouring her life out to sustain his.
Sometimes love made you stronger. And sometimes it made you crazy.
Greyson looked up at me. “There is still hope.”
“Not for you. Give me back my father, you bastard.” I swung the sword.
My father shifted in my head, stretched like electricity crackling behind my eyes. He pushed at my brain, my mind, my head.
My sword halted midswing.
My father’s ghost stood next to me, his hand blocking my blade. “Taking his life with this blade will kill you,” he said, from outside my mind.
I didn’t care. I had a lot of fury and magic holding me up. But there was also a lot of screaming in the back of my head that had been going on for a while. I knew I was ignoring a lot of pain. Maybe ignoring too much pain.
“Get out of my way,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Allison.” My father stepped closer to me. I caught the scent of him, wintergreen and leather. His voice was gentle. “There is no time for revenge. Not if you want life to win.”