Maeve was still on the ground, unconscious, but Sunny knelt next to her, keeping the beasts away with wicked knives.
Shame was also on the ground.
Terric had destroyed everything between him and Shame, and beheaded and de-limbed the Hunger that had attacked Shame. Terric now crouched next to Shame, one hand on his chest, glowing with magic that sank into Shame and poured out of him into the ground, as if Shame were a sieve, broken, unable to carry magic, life, breath.
I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Terric was crying, his teeth bared in fury, his ax raised and crackling with black licks of magic as creatures circled them, came too close, and died on the edge of his blade. The blood on one side of his face was finger-painted in the glyph for life and I knew it had been traced there by Shame.
Shame was dying. Maybe he was already dead. I didn’t have the wrist cuff. I couldn’t tell if his heart still beat.
The gate was about to close. There was no more time to make good decisions. There was only time to make a decision.
Whom to save?
Zayvion had once told me I was not a killer. I’d proved him wrong. I had killed. But right now, it was life I was trying to hold on to.
I ran toward Greyson, caught the attention of too many creatures, and hacked my way through them. Months of training and sheer fury drove me on, Zayvion’s sword drinking down the magic, the energy, of the beasts. It was draining me, but I was pulling on magic from the sky, wild magic that licked and bloomed and caught fire in my blood, my bones, and fed me strength.
I channeled the storm. And now the storm raged in me.
Too bad for the beasts. Too bad for anyone in my way.
Closer, my father said.
I made ground as things born of death’s nightmares leaped at me, tearing at my magic, tearing at my flesh. Something, a claw or a fang, got through, sliced my thigh. Something else raked down my back. I felt the hot pump of blood mix with the hard-falling rain.
Then I was on Greyson.
Still pinned beneath Stone, he was more man than he had been. And I knew why. Chase lay next to him, frozen, her hand clasped with his. She was alive. I thought she was. And she was pouring her life out to sustain his.
Sometimes love made you stronger. And sometimes it made you crazy.
Greyson looked up at me. “There is still hope.”
“Not for you. Give me back my father, you bastard.” I swung the sword.
My father shifted in my head, stretched like electricity crackling behind my eyes. He pushed at my brain, my mind, my head.
My sword halted midswing.
My father’s ghost stood next to me, his hand blocking my blade. “Taking his life with this blade will kill you,” he said, from outside my mind.
I didn’t care. I had a lot of fury and magic holding me up. But there was also a lot of screaming in the back of my head that had been going on for a while. I knew I was ignoring a lot of pain. Maybe ignoring too much pain.
“Get out of my way,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Allison.” My father stepped closer to me. I caught the scent of him, wintergreen and leather. His voice was gentle. “There is no time for revenge. Not if you want life to win.”
How much time did it take to kill someone?
And that was when I felt it. The storm was passing, the rain lifting. Wild storms ended as quickly as they hit. Soon there would be no more wild magic to hold me up. I glanced up, away at the city, crouched in magicless darkness.
Lights flickered on, blazed. Magic caught again like a flame to a wick, and exhaled life and safety into the city. We had done it. We had channeled the wild magic away from the city. The storm was passing.
More than that, the wells and networks were filling fast. I could feel the deep tingle of familiar magic wrapping up inside me again, a heavy warm weight that stretched out against my skin, all pleasure, no pain.
I could easily access that magic, even out here in magicless St. Johns. But it was obvious Chase, lying still, eyes closed, hand clasped with Greyson’s at my feet, struggled to reach magic. To keep him alive.
My father let go of the sword, and bent over Greyson.
Stone growled. My father paid no attention to him. Instead, Dad traced a glyph in the air, a serpentine line that glowed pure white gold. He caught it up on his hands, where it pressed into place like gauntlets a king might wear. My father glowed with that light, as if the magic wrapped him in its vestments.
And then he pressed his hand into Greyson’s head.
Yes. Into.
Greyson went absolutely still, and Dad said something that sounded like an old language. A blessing more than a curse.
The gold lines of magic grew stronger and filled my dad with more light. He stood, and was more solid than he had been, though I could still see Stone and Greyson through him.
He regarded me for a moment. “Good-bye, daughter.” He turned toward the gate.
A rumble shook the ground. I turned. The gate, trapped by Victor’s spells, began to collapse.
Hayden was cutting a swath through the beasts toward us. He’d be here, on top of Greyson and Chase, in a second.
And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Terric stand and swing his ax, killing another beast, while he poured magic, less than before, into Shame. Terric was exhausted. The easy magic, the wild magic, was nearly gone.
Without it, Shame would die.
I spun, Zay’s sword still in my hand, and ran for the center of the field, for the pile of broken, blown-apart disks that no longer held magic, where the gate still shimmered in the air, growing smaller as Victor wrapped it in massive lines of magic that webbed it so that no more creatures poured out.
I didn’t want the disks. I wanted the crystal. Found it, glowing pink with magic beneath the burnt silver disks. I picked it up and could almost taste the sweetness of the full, heavy magic it carried like a perfume on the back of my throat.
“Terric!” I yelled.
He glanced over. I threw the crystal to him, willing it with mind and magic to find him, reach him. He caught it with the hand that was channeling magic, life, into Shame.
His eyes widened. And then he was on his knees, his ax discarded at his side, pressing the crystal to Shame’s chest with both hands, as if it were a new heart for a broken toy. He bent and pressed his forehead to Shame’s, whispering to him.
No time.
My father strode toward the gate. Close enough he could step through, but Victor’s lines blocked him.
“He must let me pass,” my father said.
Victor was focused, caught in a trance of sheer will, sweat peppering his face, his arms shaking as he chanted the spell and forced the gate between life and death to close. He was wielding a hell of a lot of magic with very little resources.
He did not see my dad. He did not know he was sealing Zayvion’s death forever.
There was no cavalry to come to our rescue.
But I didn’t need a cavalry to save Zayvion.
I strode over to Victor. My teacher, Zayvion’s teacher, who might even have been a father figure to Zay. I put my hand on his shoulder and used Influence so that he would understand me and obey.
“Wait until I pass through. Then close the gate behind me.”
“Allie,” he gasped. “It is suicide.”
“Zayvion is the guardian of the gates and I am his Soul Complement. No one’s going to tell me I can’t bring him home.”
Someone yelled. I thought it was Shame. He had told me I couldn’t go anywhere without him.
He was wrong.
I glanced over my shoulder. Shame was barely standing, eyes wide in horror or anger, one hand extended toward me. Terric stood behind him, one hand clasped with his, the other arm wrapped around Shame’s waist, holding him up, holding him back.
“Allie,” Shame yelled. “Don’t!”