A stinging pain slashed across my back, and I shoved against it, pushing it away. She’d thrown the spear, and even against the wind it had flown straight; somehow, she’d forced it to go exactly where she wanted—the vampire—but I’d gotten in the way and it struck me instead, its point tearing through my sweater and into skin. It didn’t stick in me, only mangled the skin before dropping away. But I could smell the tang of my own blood, and feel the burning of the wound. It was only wood—it wouldn’t kill me, as it would have killed Kumarbis if it had gone through his heart.
The vampire stared at me, like he couldn’t believe I’d taken a spear for him. I couldn’t quite believe it myself.
I looked back at our attacker. When the demon saw me, her lips curled. “You.”
Yeah, so she recognized me, too. Great.
“My Master will know of you,” she said.
The target I felt painted on my chest seemed to get a whole lot bigger. “Your Master—and Roman’s Master?” Because I couldn’t stop poking. “Roman couldn’t stop me, why should I be scared of you, or your Master?”
She and wrapped my arms around my headers power pulled another spear from one of several strapped to a kind of bandolier across her back, hefted it in her left hand, and drew a sword from a scabbard at her belt. It seemed molten in the firelight, and I was absolutely sure it had some amount of silver in it. The wooden weapon might not hurt me, but the sword would.
The wind tore through the space with the noise of rusty nails on steel. My hair, tangled mess that it was, whipped into my face, and I couldn’t keep it pulled back, I couldn’t see anything. The remaining tongues of flame from the torches seemed to be drawn into the spiraling debris that climbed up the mine shaft. It might have been beautiful, if I wasn’t in the middle of it.
Zora said she’d cast some kind of protection over the place. Whatever she’d done hadn’t worked against this. And me—I’d seen magic, but I didn’t know the first thing about working it myself. My wounded back itched.
The last time the demon appeared had been much like this one: a ritual to open doors or lower barriers gone awry, opposing forces gathered. Cormac had stopped her—he’d been ready with one of those inexplicable spells. But he hadn’t been able to finish her off; in the end, she’d just left, or been taken, or banished herself.
Zora stood staring at her, mouth open, unmoving. Disbelieving. She didn’t have a clue.
Kumarbis, however, was attempting to recover some of his dignity. He climbed to his feet, clutching at his cassock, which had become twisted in the fall. “How dare you?” Kumarbis said. “How dare you?”
The demon laughed, openmouthed, full-lunged. Like she thought this was hysterical.
“Kumarbis, get down!” I hissed at him. Her spear was a length of sharpened wood, an ideal vampire-slaying weapon. He had to see that. He had to get away from her, but this cave had no damn cover. Only the door on the far end of the antechamber. We had to get out of here.
The vampire ignored me. “Who sent you?” he demanded of the thing. As if he were still in control here.
“You of all people should have some clue,” she said. “Kumarbis, is that what you’re calling yourself? You’ve been around such a long time … I can smell it on you.” Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent. “But you are still a traitor. You are all traitors.”
Kumarbis turned on the magician. “Zora, what is this, what’s happening?” She could only shake her head, her mouth working wordlessly.
I grabbed the vampire and shoved him toward the tunnel. I had to put my shoulders into it. How did such a wizened old guy get to be so heavy? “We have to get out of here, right now!”
He resisted. “No, we must finish the ceremony, we’re so close!”
Not a chance. Couldn’t he see the circle was already broken, the spell had already failed? Backfired, rather. Zora had successfully opened a door, but Roman wasn’t on the other side of it. He’d sent a proxy, one who couldn’t be killed by a shaft of wood.
The demon arced the silver-laced sword toward me, and I scrambled away, waiting for the cut to bite into me, sure the strike would land. The walls were in the way, I had no place to go, and Wolf’s claws dug inside my skin.
Enkidu and Sakhmet jumped at her in a beautiful+ I cesh, coordinated attack, Sakhmet tackling low and Enkidu grabbing for the demon’s throat. They hit at the same time, and she stumbled but didn’t fall. She should have fallen, with two lycanthropes crashing into her like that. But her feet spread out, and she kept her balance.
“Watch it, her weapons are silver!” I shouted, and they both sprang away, agile enough to reverse course almost in midair. When the demon stabbed a dagger toward them—and when had she had time to draw that?—they were scrambling backward, out of range.
We were spread out around the chamber now, and the demon circled, not willing to turn her back on anyone. Taking time to choose her next target.
“Who is she?” Enkidu called to me. “How did she get here?”
“I told you, you open a door to them, they can come through it, too,” I said.
“That’s not Dux Bellorum,” he said.
“No. But she works for the same guy he does.” The conversation was rapid, breathless. I was backing away, staying out of range of those silver-alloy blades.
“The ritual—” Kumarbis panted, trying to catch enough breath to speak. “Where is Dux Bellorum?”
“You flushed him,” I said. “He’s gone. You failed.”
“No, we haven’t, we mustn’t, he’s here, he must be here—”
The demon picked her target,
