dragging themselves up.
“Exalted gods.” Livia’s curse barely rose above the din.
Bram joined her in swearing. No other words came to him.
Demons clambered out of the torn earth, each one more vile and terrible than the last. They swarmed like pestilence, creatures wrought in the depths of nightmares. Some were formed in human shape, massive in size, with blister-red skin and claws the length of a man’s forearm. Others slid upon the ground, serpent-like, dragging themselves forward on stunted arms as their gaping fanged mouths gulped at the air. Winged creatures spilled out like flies from a rotting carcass, and though they had huge bodies and wings like beetles, they had men’s distorted faces.
Bram lost count of variety of demons that crawled and flew from the depths of Hell. He never suspected such an abundance, and the tension within him ratcheted higher as the foulest beasts he’d ever seen gathered at the edge of St. George’s Fields.
Some of the demons carried weapons—jagged blades that devoured light, ancient-looking pikes and short swords seemingly made from sharpened dragon teeth.
The creatures were massing at the other end of the field, shrieking in rage, seething with readiness to fight, yet held back as though waiting for something. More creatures were crawling up from the rift.
A thunderclap shook the plain once more, and there was John, mounted atop a beast that appeared half horse, half lizard. Its eyes of flame nearly matched the madness burning in John’s gaze. Even from the other side of the field, Bram saw the deranged fury blazing in his erstwhile friend. Moonlight gleamed over the flames writhing across John’s skin and on the blade of the sword he carried.
The demons that had managed to free themselves from the rift milled in disordered groups. John positioned himself in front of them, patrolling the line and chanting loudly. Summoning more creatures up from Hell.
His words broke off when he saw Bram and the other Hellraisers. A brief look of confusion crossed his face. He hadn’t been expecting them.
He schooled his features quickly. From the back of his cloven-hoofed mount, he stared at the Hellraisers and laughed. “Once I thought the Hellraisers invincible,” he shouted across the field. “Now I see them for what they truly are: a pathetic collection of reprobates. And their women,” he added with a sneer. “How did I ever count myself as one of your number?”
“Because we took pity on you,” Bram called back.
A snarl twisted John’s face. “I’m gathering Hell’s might behind me. A handful of dissolute libertines and their sluts cannot keep me from my fate.”
“Nor shall we.” Livia looked scornful. “Your destiny is to burn in the flames of the Underworld for eternity. I’m eager to escort you to your fate.”
Snarling, John flung out a hand. A bolt of black fire leapt from his palm. It shot across the field. Bram and Livia pulled their horses sharply to the side, narrowly missing the bolt. It tore into the ground, scorching the grass and flinging rocks.
Bringing his horse back under control, Bram allowed himself the fullness of his rage. It filled him with a cold, deliberate purpose. He dismounted and handed the reins to Livia, who watched him cautiously.
He drew his sword. A trusted weapon. It had saved his life more times than he could recall, had tasted the blood of his enemies and hungered for more. The feel of it in his hand was natural, right.
“I’ve need of your strength,” he said to Livia.
“It is yours. Always.”
He turned to face John and his growing demon army. Despite every soldierly instinct telling him not to, he closed his eyes. Yet he could not allow any distractions. Within himself, he felt the sharp edge of his magic. He drew on it, drew on the anger and darkness and demand for combat. Livia’s magic surged in him, as well, hot and bright as an unforgiving sun, and he welcomed her ruthless power.
There were lives to avenge. Lives to save—especially Livia’s. The task fell to him. He could not falter, nor fail.
The magic within him rose up. He did not know incantations and spells as Livia did. Instinct alone led him. He opened his eyes. Blue energy crackled around him, the sky overhead suddenly filling with jagged streaks of lightning.
A sharp, loud snap. Lightning struck his sword. Its current traveled through the metal, through his veins, filling him with power. He embraced it, pulling it deep, illuminating the darkest corners of his fury.
Livia was there, beside him. “Your eyes . . .”
He studied his reflection in the blade of his sword. Though the blade itself seethed with energy, he could see that his eyes themselves blazed with light, pure blue. Like a demon he looked. Like a demon he felt.
He felt his mouth curl into a savage grin. Livia’s answering smile was equally wicked.
Oh, they were a fine pair.
Bram raised his sword once more. With John watching from the other side of the field, Bram stuck the tip of his blade into the dirt, as though stabbing an adversary. Lightning crackled up from his sword. He dragged the weapon through the soil, trailing electricity. Shimmering blue light radiated up from the gouge in the earth.
“Here and no farther,” he shouted to John. “You will never cross this line.”
The demons screamed and John scowled.
A grinning figure suddenly appeared, twenty feet from where Bram had drawn a line in the earth. Rage choked Bram’s throat when he saw that the Devil wore a parody of a general’s uniform, the fabric black instead of scarlet, adorned all over with silver braid and the marks of his rank.
An insult.
Bram barely held himself back from striding to Mr. Holliday and thrusting his blade into the bastard’s chest. Of a certain the Devil would strike him down before he could so much as cut off one of his silver buttons.
“These displays are enthralling.” The Devil eyed the shimmering demarcation, a mocking smile on his lips. He turned his gaze to Livia, making Bram tense, and then looked beyond her at Whit, Zora, Leo, and Anne. “A superior fighting force you’ve assembled here. Shall we negotiate the terms of surrender?”
“I won’t accept your surrender.” Bram kept his feet planted firmly, his sword in hand. “Only your destruction.”
Mr. Holliday chuckled. “Never lose your sense of idealism, Bram. It will make your torment that much greater.” He raised his hand, and Bram’s heart contracted. In the Devil’s hand was Bram’s soul, gleaming far more brightly than ever before.
Bram thought he’d grown inured to seeing it, his soul. It could no longer move him, or so he believed. Yet to see it again, see its radiance and promise, made him ache with loss. He glanced over at Livia. He hadn’t known what he was missing. Now he did.
Under her breath, Livia cursed in her own tongue.
“I am so used to entrusting these things to my subordinates,” the Devil murmured, conversational. “It never occurred to me how delightful it is to keep them close. Perhaps I shall revise my policy. Besides, there is nowhere safer than in my grasp.” His face twisted into a grotesque sneer, illuminated by the glow from Bram’s soul. “This shall always be mine. You will fight, you will die. And still this will belong to me. The consequences of which you are fully aware.”
“I’ve felt Hell’s fire at my back,” Bram said.
“You will feel it everywhere.” The Devil tapped the center of his chest. “Most especially here—knowing that you fought and died for nothing.”
Bram said, “Not nothing.”
The Devil swore. His smooth countenance distorted with anger and confusion as the soul he held slipped from his fingers. He snatched at it, trying to steal it back, yet it kept sliding from his grasp. As Bram stared, his soul drifted toward him, breaching the distance. Mr. Holliday flung nets of shadowed energy, but no sooner had the net closed around Bram’s soul than it glided free again. It floated resolutely toward him.
“How are you doing this?” Bram demanded of Livia.
Eyes wide, she shook her head. “This is not my work. I believe . . . it is entirely you.”
“I haven’t enough magic—”
“No magic.
