Night had fallen while I memorized the ritual, a dark and starless night earmarked for Chance’s return. Inside the warehouse, it was gloomier still, but Eva had foreseen that eventuality. “Storm lamps,” she said, setting them around the circle I was drawing in chalk. She activated the batteries one by one, so the squalor was more evident. In the far corner, three rats skittered toward a crack in the wall.
Eva made a face. “Not exactly pretty, is it?”
“No, but if things go hideously wrong, we won’t take out a city block either.”
“There is that,” Chuch said, joining us.
I smiled, but didn’t pause in sketching the circle. My thigh hurt, the way I was crouched on the cement, but I ignored the pain. “Thanks for coming, all of you.”
“It wouldn’t be a welcome back party if the gang wasn’t all here,” Chuch said.
Well, everyone except Jesse. And he wouldn’t show unless things went catastrophically wrong. Here’s hoping I don’t see Jesse Saldana tonight.
Booke returned last, but he had everything I needed. And he wore a harried look. “I may have scraped another car getting out of downtown.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I told him frankly.
“But I’m an outlaw now. A felon.”
“You didn’t mind leaving the country on a fake passport and a charm,” I pointed out.
“That was before I realized I’d be here to face the consequences.”
I laughed. “Quit fretting, granddad, and show me what you got.”
With a grumble, Booke handed me various dried herbs and powders while Kel reminded me when to use each one. Soon this will be over. That became my mantra as I prepared the site with the spell components. From that point, I ignored the others; my focus had to be complete, the ritual flawless. The susurration of their voices rolled over me in waves, but the snippets didn’t penetrate. Finally, I had everything in place, and I was ready to begin.
“I need you all to step off. I’m not exactly sure how big the gate will be—”
“Then shouldn’t you back up as well?” Chuch wondered.
“I have to stay close to the circle. Theoretically, it should contain the energies and keep the portal from spreading to alarming proportions, but . . .” I shrugged. “Just move, okay? And keep a sharp eye out for trouble.” Demon magick was notorious for rebounding in powerful, unexpected ways.
“On it,” Shan said.
Since I would be using the touch—and sacrificing it, plus the remainder of my demon magick—I got out the athame I had carried with me from Sheol. In this realm, it didn’t look as ominous, so possibly the trip back had stripped it of some of its power. But it still didn’t look harmless. I whispered the words in ancient Babylonian as I 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.