The wet drum of rain on the pavement filled the quiet that answered him.
Nicolas chuffed. “A wild story without any evidence, Blake.”
“You know what else you have no proof of?” Blake shouted. “That anyone in that guild is a demon mage!”
“The MPD has—” Nicolas began.
“You know the MPD plays its own games!” The terramage’s deep voice rolled right over the GM’s. “Everyone who was with me at Enright—you’ve all talked about the horrors of watching those families die. Women and children, damn it! And now you’re going to commit the atrocity yourselves?”
Movement in the mass of combat mythics—scattered men shifting their weight or looking around as if to see what their comrades thought.
“Hell, Nicolas.” The mythic beside the GM, a lean man pushing sixty with a wide, weathered face. “He’s got a point. I thought this was a hardened combat guild about to go full rogue, not a bunch of misfits and kids.”
Kids? We weren’t that young—though, considering almost half our fighting force was under thirty, we probably looked pretty young to the grizzled veteran.
“The demon mages in Enright were kids too,” Nicolas replied flatly.
“This isn’t Enright.” The man—probably an officer—shook his head and stepped out of the line. “If we’re going to dismiss Blake’s claims because he doesn’t have hard evidence, then I’m not butchering a guild without hard evidence either.”
“I’ve seen the evidence, Tyrone. I got it straight from the source. Now get in position.”
“I want the evidence too.”
“You calling me a liar?” Nicolas snarled.
Tyrone took another step back. “Why are you acting like this?”
I snapped to attention. Was Nicolas’s behavior unusual?
Tyrone sheathed his short sword and pulled out a cell phone. “I’ll decide for myself how much blood I want on my hands.”
As he began to dial a number, I scanned the rooftops.
Nicolas snatched for Tyrone’s phone but the officer twisted away, stepping farther into the no-man’s-land between the two guilds. It rang on speaker.
I peered into the darkness behind the lines of Keys mythics, searching for a telltale shadow or glimpse of movement.
The line clicked.
“MPD Hotline,” a bored female voice answered. “How may I assist you?”
“This is First Officer Tyrone Bartell of the Keys of Solomon. Get me Agent Söze and make it fast. This is an emergency.”
“One moment please.”
The line clicked again and a tinny elevator tune filled the street as cold rain peppered our heads. Twenty-two Crow and Hammer mythics, sixty Keys of Solomon bounty hunters, two dozen contracted demons, and one lone terramage stood in silence, waiting.
I surveyed the dense enemy line, three mythics deep, seeking the smallest, slimmest form among them. Kai and Ezra noticed what I was doing and began searching too.
A pop from the phone speaker as a line connected.
“First Officer Tyrone,” a cold, commanding woman greeted.
Tyrone started. “Where’s Agent Söze? I thought he—”
“Agent Söze is indisposed. You are speaking to Captain Blythe.”
“Indisposed? We received orders from him less than—”
“He is unavailable,” Blythe interrupted. “Has your guild engaged the Crow and Hammer yet?”
“No,” Tyrone muttered. “We—”
“Damnatio Memoriae has been rescinded. Withdraw immediately.”
Nicolas twitched strangely. “What?”
“I am ordering you to withdraw,” Blythe repeated. “If you attack, you’ll be charged with murder.”
Nicolas went completely still, his face blank of emotion. “Fine. We will withdraw.”
“Do so immediately and report to me.”
“Yes.”
Tyrone pressed his screen, ending the call. A restless shudder ran through the Keys mythics, and I could sense the relief in it. They might be remorseless killers when it came to rogue contractors and demon mages, but many of them were human enough to care if they were killing innocent people.
A similar wave of relief swept across our much smaller line of mythics, but my shoulders didn’t sag like theirs. Instead, I rose on my tiptoes, neck craning as I scanned every face across from us.
“Well,” Tyrone said, “it seems we—Nicolas?”
The GM’s huge two-hand sword fell from his grasp. As it crashed to the pavement, he pulled a dagger from the sheath on his thigh.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
I expected the GM to lunge for his officer, but his feet didn’t move. The blade in hand snapped up—and he plunged it into his own throat.
Blood spurted across the black pavement, and the tall man swayed. His mouth gaped, emotion contorting his face—confusion, then horror, then terror. The dagger dropped and he clutched his throat, trying to stop the bleeding.
Knees giving out, he collapsed on the street—and behind him, hidden by his broad form, was a tall, thin woman.
Xanthe smiled.
Right there. Right in the GM’s shadow, controlling him. Blending in like always, dressed for combat with her raven hair tied into a high ponytail, her dark eyes glinting as they met mine.
With shocked cries, Tyrone and half a dozen Keys men rushed toward their fallen GM.
A shriek of terror.
My head snapped around. One of the Keys’ demons, head and shoulders taller than the humans around it, lifted a man into the air by his neck. The demon’s fist clenched, bone crunched, and the struggling man went limp.
Another roar of pain. A scream. A burst of white-hot flame among the Keys’ men.
And chaos exploded among them.
Weapons clashed. Bodies surged. Magic flared. Screaming. Shouting.
I reeled backward and Ezra caught my arm. His face was pale, stare locked on the battle erupting in front of us. Keys attacking each other. Keys killing each other.
My horrified gaze caught on Xanthe and her smile widened before she disappeared among the struggling bodies.
Several Crow and Hammer members took uncertain steps forward, and Darius lifted a hand, silently commanding them to hold their positions. I craned my neck, trying to follow what was happening. This wasn’t Xanthe’s doing. It couldn’t be. No way she could control this many people.
Men broke away from the tangle, stumbling backward toward us. Tyrone
