for each of the large femoral arteries that run along the insides of your legs.” He spoke as if reciting from a book. “You’ll be dry within five minutes, carissima mia.”
The last words were spoken in Grimaldi’s cruelly perfumed Italian accent. A shadow of distaste passed over Caul’s face. He clenched his teeth, spoke in an undertone.
“Perhaps the most useful aspect of your blood is that I’ll be able to use it to exorcise this greasy Wop from my body.”
She was so cold.
It was the coldness of her hand that made her notice how hot the ring around her thumb had grown. She clenched her hand into a loose fist, ignoring the prick of tears in her eyes.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the needles to slide under her skin, to pierce her, to empty her …
“Stop, sangrimancer.”
Emily’s eyes opened slowly. It was Stanton’s voice, low and shuddering. She turned her head a little, and she could see him standing on shaking legs, pulling himself up against the shelf that held the bottles of chrysohaeme. His skin was the color of plaster; the streaks of dried blood on his cheeks stood out in gruesome relief.
“Stanton.” Caul’s voice was lazy. “And we thought you were dead.”
“There are very few advantages to being burned,” Stanton said. “But there is one. You can’t stop me with raw magic. You might as well try to drown a fish.”
“I’ll remember that,” Caul said. He tilted his head. “You’re just in time to watch me bleed this little tramp. You do remember how they’re bled, don’t you?”
“I’m not going to watch you bleed anyone,” Stanton said. “I’m going to stop you.”
Caul lifted his eyebrows in amusement.
“Stop me? You can hardly stand up.” Caul lifted the large silver cleaver, its edge crusted with Emily’s drying blood. He took a step toward Stanton. “Reclaiming Mirabilis’ power was a dirty trick, but that’s easily reversed. Once you’re dead, I’ll have the stone and the power of the Institute—and even that Aztec High Priest Mirabilis was good enough to obtain for me. In one day, I will have amassed enough power to crush any goddamn foreign subversive who turns an ugly eye on my United States. It’s a great day to be a patriot.”
“Not so much as you’d think.” Stanton pulled one of the glowing glass containers from the shelf beside him. He knocked it against the side of the heavy shelf, cracking it open. He plunged his hand into the shifting, shimmering chrysohaeme.
The transformation was immediate and complete. Stanton lit up like a magnesium torch. His face and eyes and tongue went black as a photographic negative. Around him, a blinding aura of multicolored light flashed and swirled. He raised a hand toward Caul, magic burning in traceries around his fingertips.
“That won’t do you any good.” Caul reached into his pocket and pulled out Emily’s limp, severed hand. It was loosely wrapped in a blood-sodden handkerchief. “You can throw as much power as you like, the stone will absorb it all.”
“I know,” Stanton said.
And he threw power—a flood of brilliance that illuminated the white walls with violently shifting shadows of color. Caul stood, legs spread defiantly, holding up Emily’s gory hand like a shield. He grasped the severed hand with both of his own, straining against the force of Stanton’s magic.
“You could have stood with me, Stanton!” Caul screamed, a high gleeful scream, tortured by the power surging around it. “You could have used your powers for good instead of throwing them away. You called it principles, but it was nothing more than cowardice. I know what you are! You’re nothing more than a goddamn … yellow … coward.”
“I know what I am.” Stanton’s voice resonated. “And I know what I’m not.”
And then it happened.
The stone blossomed. Exploded. It happened so fast that Emily’s blurry eyes could hardly follow it. A black dripping ball of slime wrapped itself around Caul’s hand. The big man looked down in blank astonishment, screaming.
The black mass slithered up his arm like a hundred tiny snakes. His body began to expand. He threw his head back and screamed again—a loud long scream that became high and otherworldly as the rivulets of black slime reached his throat and plunged into it like grubbing maggots.
“Don’t let him touch you,” Stanton said to Emily, his voice echoing as if it were amplified by a million bullhorns. “Get away from him!”
Emily sat up slowly. She could not move very fast. She swung her legs off the table, and