and a streak of red power leaped from his hand and hit the doors, blasting them open.
“Luce!” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut.
My rune blazed into an incandescent brilliance that shone through my eyelids. As the men outside, blinded by the spell, shouted in pain and alarm, Zylas leaped forward. He could still see; with his infrared vision, he was hindered by neither a lack of light nor an overabundance of it.
We flew out into the cold sea breeze, my arms wrapped desperately around his shoulders. He landed with a crunch on the concrete. I cracked my eyes open as he sprang between two demons, unmoving while their contractors were disoriented. Aiming at his first target, Zylas slashed his talons across the man holding Amalia.
As the rogue fell, I dropped off Zylas’s back. Grabbing Amalia’s arm, I hauled her away from the Red Rum mythics and their demons. They had recovered from the light spell and were turning on Zylas—four demons controlled by four contractors, and two armed champions protecting them.
The wall of lumbering muscles, horns, and spikes closed in on Zylas, the demons spreading out to encircle him.
I raised my arm. My sleeve was pushed up to my elbow, and I’d drawn three bloody cantrips on my skin. The most basic Arcana—draw the rune, speak the single-word incantation, and unleash a simple spell.
“Surrige,” I declared.
An invisible force caught the nearest contractor and lifted him off his feet. As he flailed in confusion, his demon halted all movement.
Zylas dove under the immobile demon. Lunging for their adversary, the other three bowled over their ally, and Zylas wheeled toward the four contractors, his tail snapping out for balance. The two champions rushed forward to intercept him, one with a shining broadsword and the other with a pair of small but terrifying battle axes.
The swordsman slapped a hand to his blade and the earth trembled with his magic. The other pointed an axe and shouted an incantation.
I thrust my arm out. “Ventos!”
My second rune flashed and wind erupted, buffeting the champions and whipping grit in their faces. The gust scarcely made them stumble, but it created the distraction Zylas needed.
The sorcerer’s spell missed him by inches. The spiral of burgundy power hit the pavement and exploded in a wave that covered everything nearby in a glistening layer of … something. Shouting furiously, the terramage whipped his sword out, and the earth split open in front of him—but Zylas had already leaped. He slammed into the mage, plowing him into the ground as his claws flashed.
The demons were moving again, all four barreling toward Zylas and the two—now one—champions.
I swung my hand toward them. “Nebu—”
Amalia grabbed my shirt and yanked me backward. A dart of searing hot magic grazed my shoulder as a spell whipped past me—launched by the axe-wielding champion.
“Nebulam!” I yelled as fast as I could get the word out.
The largest cantrip on my arm flickered and a hazy mist rose off the ground, billowing around us. The last thing I saw was Zylas turning on the remaining champion as four demons charged him. Mythic and demon forms blurred in the fog.
A scream rang out. Metal clanged. Another cry of agony.
The fog cantrip was already fading, too small and weak to last against the sea breeze. Shadowy shapes reappeared—a pair of unmoving demon statues, and the two demons still in battle, controlled by the last survivors. Zylas was a lethal blur darting among them, glowing magic dancing over his hands.
Dh’ērrenith, he would’ve called this moment. Assured victory.
“Watch out!” Amalia yelled.
I whirled around. Karlson, the short Red Rum leader, came at me with a silver knife in his fist. I lurched backward, my hand flashing up, a bloody rune drawn on my palm.
“Impello!” I cried.
The invisible push spell hit him and he staggered, the blade knocked from his grasp. He paused, his eyes burning with fury, then extended his empty palm, concentration hardening his jaw.
A steel battle axe appeared in his hand.
He stepped forward, the blade gleaming. It was the champion’s axe. Somehow, the fallen champion’s weapon was now in Karlson’s hands—and he was almost on top of me, the deadly edge angled toward my body.
“Stop your demon,” he spat. “Now!”
Another scream split the air—the last contractor dying. Karlson’s gaze darted to the bloody battlefield, and I saw the decision in his eyes. No demon was worth his life. He was going to kill me to stop Zylas.
His other hand opened and a second battle axe appeared in his grip. He swung