“The kids are the fuel,” Verci said. “If we can’t turn off the machine, let’s stop them from throwing more logs on the fire.”
“The church?” she asked.
“Asti’s on it,” Verci said. He saw Asti moving like a whirlwind of knives through the zealots and the monsters. Laughing. For once, he was letting himself let go completely, and it was terrible and glorious.
Asti was, for once, at peace. His body was a fury, acting with pure instinct and skill as he cut his way through the mob of villains who had dared to come here—come to his neighborhood, his church—and unleash these horrors upon those he loved. He had no mercy for any of them as he carved a path of blood. Knowing what he needed to do brought clarity.
The beast was quiet. Right now, they both wanted the same things. Justice. Vengeance. Death.
Liora was quiet. The part of his mind that served the Brotherhood was quiet. Drummed out for the moment by his rage, by his purity of purpose.
He heard a scream. A scream he knew.
Driving his knife into the throat of the zealot leaping at him, he looked to see another group of zealots cornering a handful of people. Asti’s people. Missus Hoskins and her granddaughter. Almer Cort and Doc Gelson. Jared Scall, trying to hold the zealots off with that old army mace he always carried. And Kimber.
All the saints would cry and the sinners laugh over what Asti would do if they hurt Kimber.
Asti tore his way to them, not caring what he had to fight through to reach them. One of the beasts jumped at him, all teeth and claws. Asti didn’t even pause. One knife in its belly, another in its heart, he pushed it down to the ground. He barely even noticed it had gotten a piece of his arm. That didn’t matter.
Five more steps, he was on the zealots threatening his friends and neighbors. With quick swipes of his knives—heart, neck, eye, kidney—he dispatched the zealots.
Kimber dove in on him, grabbing him in a warm embrace. No fear of him, of the slaughter he was capable of, of the blood he was covered with. Nothing but gratitude and grace.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Are you?” she countered. “You’re bleeding.”
“Nothing that matters,” he said. He looked to Almer and the others. “You need to get out of here.”
“Not sure where,” Gelson said.
“Get in the church,” Asti said, pointing the way. “See the girl with the shield? Go to her.” Missus Hoskins and her granddaughter didn’t hesitate, and Almer pulled Gelson along with an understanding nod.
“And you?” Kimber asked.
“I’m going to end this,” he said. “I have to.”
She nodded.
“I can help,” Jared said, holding his mace. Asti wanted to believe that, would have welcomed it. But despite Jared’s strong arms, his hands quavered. His eyes weren’t focusing. He was already drunk. Or still from the night before.
“Help in there,” Asti said. “Stay with Kimber. If something goes wrong—”
Jared grunted in assent. Kimber squeezed Asti’s arm one more time, and then the two of them ran to Jerinne.
Asti couldn’t watch them go in. Another group of zealots had smashed down the doors of a tenement, and were dragging people out into the street.
Not today.
Not in his neighborhood.
Knives out, Asti dove in.
Minox needed contact. As crude as it was, he had a need to engage in pure physical altercation with Ithaniel Senek, to take down this twisted architect of horror. He charged at the man, balling magic into his fist and knocking a powerful blow against his skull.
Senek smiled as the magic burst off Minox’s hand, and the black and white energy pooled around him, swirling into an impossible blade that formed around Senek’s hand. He brought the blade—looking like lightning and shattered fire—down on Minox. Minox blocked with the sword he was carrying, holding it with both hands. He pushed the magic into his own blade, holding it together, holding off Senek’s attack.
“I told you,” Minox said. “You would be thwarted. Your plans would be denied.”
“I see nothing being denied, Inspector,” Senek said. “You fools are providing a brief moment of entertainment until our ascension is complete. We will be transformed. We will be exalted.”
Minox kept at him, with sword and magic, but to no avail. Every blow Minox struck was blocked, and every bit of magic he threw at Senek, the man just took and reshaped to his own end.
Senek knew his craft, on every level. He was a master mage. Minox was an untrained fool. He would not defeat him with magic. Not directly.
But maybe he didn’t need to defeat the man. Maybe he just needed to distract him long enough for Inspector Rainey and Mister Rynax to disable the machine.
He would need to be controlled. He would need to contain his magic.
Pulling in with all his will, he drew down the magic in his hand. Every ounce. Make it like a dead piece of stone. Without the magic, he couldn’t move his hand or his fingers.
Which is why he had left it as a fist.
He was a Welling. His family’s blood had served the streets of the city, served the Constabulary with loyalty. He would not fail.
He pushed in, remembering his training as a cadet. Remembering the wrestling spars with Oren and his cousins as children. Remembering the first arrest he made as a horsepatrol, the fight that alley rat had made.
He pushed in, knocking Senek’s magical blade out of his way with his sword, and hammered his dead fist at the man. His hand that felt nothing. He slammed it again and again on the man, unleashing brutal punishment on him.
Senek brought the blade on Minox, driving it into his shoulder. It did not cut him, but pierced him with fire that ran through his body, holding him frozen.
Minox screamed, but he would bear the pain.
He
