Agave Kiss

drew the blade across my palm. My blood welled up ruby red and ready to work. The crimson fluid dripped down the blade; then the warehouse seemed oddly, ominously quiet, as if there were a barrier between the others and me. When my blood trickled onto the chalk, I released the concentration that kept me from reading random objects and murmured the words of gifting—of sacrifice—and then the circle shimmered.

I hadn’t been positive this would work, but I gained confidence as my remaining abilities went into the protective ring. If this worked as a power exchange, the circle would be drained when the way opened. The ritual would take my magick and give me back Chance. Easy, right?

Not so much.

The demon magick clawed on the way out, raking like barbed wire in my veins as blood spilled from my palm. It stuck to me like tar, unwilling to be sacrificed. With pure will, I forced it out until I had nothing left. Then I closed my fingers to get the bleeding to taper off. Booke was there with a roll of gauze; I hadn’t asked him to buy it, but he wrapped my palm without comment.

“I never saw anything like that,” Chuch murmured with a hint of awe.

I surveyed my work, and it was a pretty damn fine circle. Now, for the fun part. Chanting for gods knew how long, pushing at the way between worlds, until it thinned enough to permit passage. The ritual didn’t say how long it would take.

Eva cocked her gun. “It smells like trouble in here.”

Now that she mentioned it, I did smell something burning; maybe it was just the storm lamps heating up. The Babylonian words sounded strange rolling off my tongue, but they had a hypnotic quality, making it easier to focus. After a few repetitions, all distractions faded. I poured myself into the spell, all I was, all my will, until I was focused only on the circle.

How will I know if it’s working—

Before I finished the mental question, a massive boom behind me tempted me to look, but I couldn’t stop chanting, no matter what had happened.

Chuch was shouting, “Incoming! Take cover.”

“I count eight,” Eva called back.

“Fuckin’ demons,” Shan muttered.

Awesome. So the last Luren in the trifecta of Sexy Evil had come gunning for me—and he was smarter than the others. He’d brought backup . . . but this time, so had I. I didn’t let my concentration lapse; if I did, even for a second, then the spell failed, and there would be no second chances.

“What the hell is that?” Eva asked.

Her shotgun went off. I desperately wished I could see the action, and then some of it spilled onto the other side of the circle. Eight shades. Shit. The demon must’ve hired a contractor. Since shades couldn’t be harmed by mundane weapons, Eva, Chuch, and Shan needed to get away from them. But I couldn’t shout the warning, couldn’t pause in my chant, even though my thigh felt like it was on fire and my throat was raw, my lips parched, and my voice had dwindled to a husky croak.

How long have I been casting?

“We can’t hurt these,” Shan called. “Back off. Leave it to Kel and Booke.”

Thank God for Shan.

I heard Kel fighting. Despite his wounds, he wouldn’t let these monsters get me or my friends. He shouted, “Show yourself, demon!”

“Look in the mirror,” the Luren said slyly.

Its voice carried in the sprawling warehouse. The thing could be hiding anywhere . . . and it was clearly smarter than its predecessors. If I knew demons, this one hadn’t limited itself to shades . . . because it wasn’t just trying to return me to Sheol to pay my debt to Sibella; it was also fighting for its life. And nothing was stronger than self-preservation . . . except for love.

Chance . . .

Booke smashed one of his statuettes and the powerful pop of strong magick filled the air, raising the hair on my arms. A shade hissed as it winked out of existence. The Englishman laughed, triumph in the sound, but then I heard his footsteps as he scrambled away . . . from something.

“Run.” Shan’s calm tone terrified me.

“Kelethiel!” The shout boomed like thunder, shaking the walls around me. Even the concrete floor trembled beneath my aching knees.

Barachiel. Oh, shit.

I tried to break off then—to end the spell. My friends would need all the help they could get—and even knowing it meant I’d never see Chance again, I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. I was trapped in the loop and the chanting continued, ancient words spilling out of my raw throat like the girl with the cursed dancing slippers. I was past the point of turning back; I would cast until I died, the ritual drawing energy out of me until I was a withered husk.

Had my sacrifice been insufficient to open the way?

I’m so sorry.

“Eva!” Chuch’s weapon went full auto, but I didn’t know what he was shooting. Maybe Barachiel.

Not Eva. Oh, gods, no.

The words hurt now, drawn out of me like blood. My eyes filled with tears, so a watery veil blurred the world. In that mist, I glimpsed a swirl of something—maybe—a hint of Chance’s face, but it was too far away, thin and warped. Something . . . something was wrong.

This isn’t working.

Shannon called out a challenge. Don’t piss off Barachiel, I thought. Leave him to Kel. But even Kel couldn’t kill him. Maybe they can tag team him . . . but there’s the Luren . . . and his shades . . .

The ritual took more, pulling my life force like silken threads in a skilled weaver’s loom. I tasted bitter ashes on my tongue. I should never have done this. Oh, gods, baby, I’m sorry. I thought it was safe.

I thought—

Nothing.

There were only the words. They became reality. Owned me. They were thunder and the smell of fire in a pine forest. My friends receded. Their struggles seemed dim and faint, awful but inevitable. The mist rolled closer. A hand stretched toward me, but it was ghostly and ephemeral.

Not enough.

Not—

Kel and Barachiel stumbled toward the circle, locked in a death grip. My friend had his arm around the demon’s neck, his silver knife in its side, and he was using it like a handle. Kel bled from so many wounds that it was impossible he could still be on his feet. I didn’t know why Barachiel wasn’t using the compulsion; maybe knowing the truth gave Kel some limited ability to resist it . . . or maybe it required concentration like the spell that was killing me by inches. Pain broke focus.

If only I could get someone to hurt me . . .

My vision sparked black and white. Even the pain in my body felt distant. And then Kel heaved them both forward, breaking the circle, still full of my power. The explosion rocked me backward, out of the trance, but I was stunned, barely conscious, when I pushed to my hands and knees. The ritual swelled with the added power, incredible energy, and both Kel and Barachiel arched into postures that bespoke impossible pain. I sensed the river of life funneling from the two of them, quickening the ancient spell; it became a black and red tornado swirling around them.

“This is not how it ends,” Barachiel screamed.

The sound went on and on, until it fused with the chant I still could not stop, even now, though my lips were trickling blood. Another explosion rocked the warehouse and the mist caught fire, blasting a tunnel of hell toward us. I lacked the energy to move, but Shan pulled me away from the flames. I expected a horde of demons or angry divine enforcers, but Chance strode from the fires untouched. With every step, he became more real until at last he stood on the other side. From behind him came a quiet voice that was so beautiful it hurt my ears, echoing