“Pyro-Fiends!” a trapper shouted, pointing upward.

  They crawled along the ceiling, raining down Hellfire on the trappers below. When one of the Threes came too close, Katia slammed her bō into it. It swiped at her, and what should have been an illusion proved to have claws that drew blood.

  “Oh, shit!” she said, drawing back. “They aren’t real, but they can hurt us? How does that work?”

  When Simon didn’t reply, she turned to find him immobile, caught in the hellish replay of the night when he’d nearly died. When so many of his fellow trappers hadn’t survived.

  “Hey!” she shouted, shoving him. It did no good.

  If she could find the Mezmer, break its concentration, this nightmare would end. It had to be nearby to feed off their fear, their screams, their life energy.

  “Where are you, you mother—”

  Hit from behind, she managed to turn during the fall, only to find a Three raking its claws toward her throat. She jammed her staff in the way, cutting off its attempt. The stench of its fur and its breath made her gag as she fought to push it away. Then it was gone, slung away by her partner. As he pulled her to her feet, she could see he’d been wounded, blood streaming down his arm.

  “Run!” he shouted.

  Then he was gone, dragged away by a Three who threw him down and began ripping at his chest and stomach. Simon’s bloodcurdling screams filled the air as he fought in vain to free himself.

  This time Riley didn’t come to his rescue.

  But Katia could. With a vicious thrust she jammed the bō deep in the fiend’s back. To her stunned surprise it vanished in a burst of bright fire, its tortured howls filling the air. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the Holy Water or what, but that shouldn’t have happened.

  Simon didn’t stop writhing in agony. As she reached for him, more wounds appeared on his chest, moving steadily down to his stomach. The demon’s magic was killing him, wound by wound. He groaned, in agony, lying on his side, clutching his gut, unable even to pray.

  She had to stop that spell. But how?

  Then she knew. Would it work? Mort had told her how dangerous it was, but there was no other way.

  Using the Holy Water on her forehead to set a protective circle, she cried out in relief when it came into existence. The area beneath them was no longer the floor of the doomed building, but the dark soil of this world. That gave her hope.

  With her right hand, Katia grasped Simon’s closest arm, and when he tried to jerk himself free, she held on. No more wounds had appeared, but he still bled from the existing ones. The lacerations on his abdomen almost made her vomit.

  “Hey! Do you hear me?”

  His eyes finally opened.

  “This is a spell. It can be grounded. I can do it.” Or at least she prayed she could. “Just keep fighting.”

  He stared at her, then shook his head. “No.”

  “Sorry, you don’t get a vote on this.”

  Placing her left hand on the soil beneath her, Katia took a deep breath to prepare herself. She had one shot at this.

  “Simon?” His eyes opened again, his face gray. “I need you to visualize the spell leaving your body. Push it out, you hear me?”

  “You’ll . . . die.”

  Which meant someone, probably Mort, had told him what her gift entailed, and the downsides. She certainly hadn’t.

  “Not if I’m careful.” Which was a total lie, but she said it anyway.

  Katia looked up through the smoke and the flames, still hearing the screams of the dying as well as the triumphant roars of Hellspawn. To her right, Beck ran through the carnage, leaping over dismembered corpses. When he reached an exit he found the door padlocked. Prying on the lock with his steel pipe got him nowhere, so he took off in another direction, desperate to flee the inferno.

  She took a deep breath and let it out, shutting off her mind to everything but her task.

  “I am Katia Allyson Breman.” Because at this point she didn’t give a damn if anyone knew her full name. “I am a chaîne, a conduit, a path. I channel the Light, and I destroy the Darkness. Help me! Help me, now!”

  Closing her eyes, she located the spell, the one killing her best friend, and pulled on it. Nothing happened. Panic set in. What if she couldn’t do it?

  Trust your gift. It was something her grandmother had always told her. This was one of her gifts, so she willed herself to make it work.

  “Come to me. Come to me now and flow to the earth. By the Light, I command it,” she cried.

  An incandescent spark ignited where her hand touched Simon’s arm, then she felt the spell begin to move through her fingers, inch by painful inch. It radiated up her right arm, across her chest, dug into her heart and lungs, then wound around her neck like a python, tightening.

  As she gulped air, in her mind she saw her skin weeping darkness. Down her left arm the spell marched, to her elbow, then to her wrist and fingers. Finally, it flowed out, a sickly black ooze trickled into the earth.

  Though Katia’s fingers grew numb, she kept her palm pressed onto the soil. Her heart stuttered, skipping beats, as her lungs fought for her next breath. If she fainted she’d lose contact and Simon would die.

  The spell continued to flow from him to her, wave after wave. Simon let out a tortured groan and then took a deep breath. She forced her eyes open and found that his wounds were gone, as if they had never been.

  It’s working.

  As Katia felt the last of the enchantment drain away into the soil of this foreign world, she bowed her head in gratitude. She had done the only thing she could do, though it would cost her everything.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The constant pain was gone, the feeling of something tearing into his chest and abdomen had faded. Simon forced himself to sit up, his mind clear of the spell. He was not bleeding to death like he had been at the Tabernacle. There were no demons around them now, no building, no fire, no screams. Just the withered world of The Lady and her kind.

  He found the trapper lying next to him, her face pale, pulse pounding at her neck. “Katia?”

  “I did it,” she said, smiling weakly. “Now go kill that thing, will you? Kill it for me.” And then she fell back into the dirt.

  “What have you done?” a voice demanded.

  It was their torturer, blazing sword in hand. The cloak was gone. To his relief it wore no armor. The sacred circle, their only protection, had broken when Katia fainted. It was up to him to protect her now, just as she had watched over him.

  Simon rose, his own sword in hand. He squared up with the fiend, placing himself between it and the woman who had saved him.

  “When I kill you, will your rotten soul return to your master?” he asked, his voice unusually calm. “And what will Lucifer do with you? Will he torture you like the traitor Sartael?”

  The demon reared back in shock, telling Simon it knew exactly how the Archangel had suffered in Hell at the hands of their master.

  His bones ached and his body trembled, but he would not step aside. With each minute renewed strength flowed into him. He had no idea where it came from, but it was of the Light and that meant everything.

  He gestured. “I’m still waiting. Or are you all talk and no action?”

  The Four didn’t hesitate, but surged toward him, sword sizzling in the air. He ducked at the first swipe, then returned one of his own, catching the fiend high on the shoulder. A bellow came his way, along with another quick slash, one that barely missed his chest.

  The duel continued, the hissing of the demon and the crackle of its blade filling the air. The fiend’s wounds were no longer bleeding which meant it was drawing energy from some source. It was moving too fast for him, and he’d nearly been gutted, twice. He wasn’t winning, not when the fiend was using magic to heal itself.

  A throat cleared to his left.

  When Simon turned to confront the new threat, he could only stare. Mathias Chaffin had followed them into this realm. In his hand was a cane, but no other weapon. Was he here to help, or to side with the fiend?

  “That thing is not playing fair,” the summoner said, shaking his head at their foe. He glanced down at Katia and frowned at what he saw. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  He tossed his cane aside and picked up her bō. “Ah, that’s better.” Ramming the end of the staff into the ground, he pulled a sphere out of his pocket, gripping it tightly in his left hand. A surge of magic flowed from the hand, across his chest, and then up the bō.

  “Let’s see if this works.”

  His spell flew across the open ground and into the demon. The Four trembled and then its wounds began to bleed once again.

  “Ha! It did work,” Chaffin said. “It can’t pull life force from anyone right now, but this spell won’t hold for long. You’re up, Exorcist! Make it count.”

  Simon stalked closer to the Mezmer and the battle began anew. True to the summoner’s words his next blow drew blood. Now it could be injured. Now it could be killed because Chaffin had bought him a little time.

  As if in reply, the earth beneath the fiend began to shift. Vines surged upward, ripping at it, distracting it, upsetting its balance. It clawed at them, furious, but they kept trying to ensnare its legs.

  The fae had entered the battle.

  The ring on the monster’s finger flared to life and Simon felt a punch to his chest. Blood streaked down his torn shirt, as if claws had been drawn across his body.

  “The ring! It’s making it stronger,” he said, rolling across the ground to avoid another strike.

  “Not for long.” Chaffin raised both his arms and began to chant. For a time nothing happened, and then the Four began to jump up and down, desperately trying to pull the ring off its finger. The stench of burned flesh filled the air. Finally, the circlet went flying and landed in the dirt at Chaffin’s feet.

  “Now!” the summoner shouted.

  As Simon took off at a run, trying to time his stroke, the vines retreated. The Four met his blade with its own, knocking it aside, still so extraordinarily strong. He whirled around, then began another series of strikes.

  Moving as if it had a will of its own, his blade lined up perfectly, piercing the fiend’s thick skin. It reared back, and then with a move that his instructor would have envied, he put all his weight behind it and sent the blade toward the Four’s thick neck. The slice was perfect, shearing through flesh and bones, fountaining black blood into the air. Some of it hit his face and he nearly gagged.

  His enemy’s head broke free and catapulted across the barren meadow, rolling over and over, gathering dirt and debris as it went. When it finally halted the Mezmer’s lifeless eyes stared at nothing.

  They had done it.

  “You owe us one, Lucifer,” Simon murmured.

  At first there was silence, then came a chorus of weak cheers. Then small bodies scampered out from hiding to stomp on the flames inching through the dry grass.

  “Damn, that was impressive,” Chaffin said, leaning heavily on the staff as his spell faded away. His face was colorless, and Simon could tell he’d used every bit of his strength to help even the odds. “They teach you that kind of thing at the Vatican?”

  “Not quite.”

  No, it’d been his instructor at the dojo who had taught him all that, and he’d had no clue his pupil would be using those skills quite so soon. Especially not on one of Hell’s own.

  From behind the savaged tree trunks small faces peered out at them. One of them, bigger than the rest, had pure white hair and brilliant blue tears on her cheeks. She made her way toward them now.

  “So that damned thing was a demon. I did not think that was possible. But then, I don’t know much about them.”

  “It was a Hypno-Fiend. It gets into your mind and can also steal your life force.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  Behind them Katia groaned. He hurried to her, laid the bloody sword aside, then knelt to pull her into his arms. Her lips were too pale, her breathing labored.

  “Katia? Can you walk?” There was a faint shake of her head. “Then I’ll carry you.” He looked up at Chaffin. “You staying or going?”

  “Staying, if they let me,” the necro said, leaning even more on the bō now. The Lady was next to him, holding onto his arm. The look of love in her eyes told Simon all he needed to know.

  Chaffin held out the ring. “Give this to his lordship. He’ll know what to do with it.”

  Simon slipped it into his pocket. Then despite his injuries he managed to lift Katia up into his arms. She was lighter than he expected, but it still took a bit to adjust to her weight. The trapping bag, his sword, and her staff would have to be left behind. At this point he didn’t care. Only her survival mattered.

  “May God go with you,” he said, then set off in a direction he hoped would lead them home, because right now he had no clue. In the end he need not have worried because he rated an escort of three small figures. They moved like their joints ached, bits of moss kept dropping off them, but still they led him through the forest. To his surprise one painstakingly dragged along Katia’s trapping bag though it probably weighed more than it did.

  They didn’t go back through the tunnel, but deeper into the forest. Apparently the stonework had been an illusion. The trio didn’t move fast enough for him, their strides short, but still he welcomed their assistance. Their job was to ensure he and Katia left this realm as quickly as possible. He was totally down with that.

  When they reached the barrier between the realms the wee men followed him across. Once in his home world, they set the trapping bag on the ground and then backed away. Each doffed their mossy hats.

  Simon opened his mouth to thank them, then realized that might not be wise.

  “May your world be green and full of life once more.”

  They seemed pleased by that, and all of them bowed. Then one by one they walked back into their world and vanished.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  When Simon heard Riley cry out, “They’re back!” he knew they were truly home. He carried Katia closer to the cars, then gently laid her down on the pavement. Then it was a matter of stepping away so the others could help her.

  “What happened?” Ayden asked, kneeling next to the trapper.

  “She grounded a spell. A strong one. The demon used the ring, and it made it even more powerful.”

  “Demon?” Riley said. “Really?” He nodded.

  “She needs a hospital, now,” Mort insisted after checking Katia’s pulse. “She’s going to crash if she’s moved all that magic.”

  “The trapper’s clinic is closer,” Riley said. “We can call them on the way, let them know what’s going on. They’ll take care of it.”

  “Then let’s go,” the summoner replied.

  “Her trapping bag is back there,” Simon said, pointing. To his relief the witch set off to collect it.

  “Where’s Chaffin?” Mort asked.

  “He’s staying in the other realm.” He dug out the ring and handed it over. “He said to give this to his lordship.”

  “Consider it done.”

  After Riley supplied the phone number, Mort called the clinic, pacing back and forth in rare agitation. Once he was connected, he related the situation to whichever doctor was on duty.

  Simon insisted on lifting Katia into the back of Riley’s car. He climbed in, laid her head on his lap, then covered her with a blanket.

  “She could have a seizure,” the master warned as she started the car. “You know what to do if she does?”

  He nodded, his hand resting on his partner’s neck, feeling her heart pound as it skipped beats.

  A few minutes later, the situation worsened.

  “She’s having more trouble breathing,” Simon warned. He gently turned Katia on her side, but that didn’t seem to help.

  “We’re almost there,” Riley replied, then cut in front of another car which earned her a sharp honk of a horn.

  As the streets rolled by, he kept a prayer on his lips. Katia had to survive. He could not face a day without her smile, her gentle ribbing, her strength.

  She shuddered, and for a second he thought she was beginning to seize, but the moment passed. Then finally they were there, screeching to a halt in front of the clinic. People in uniforms poured out the front door, two rolling a stretcher. He pulled himself out of the car, carefully laying Katia’s head back on the seat, then stepped away. He had done what he could. She was truly in God’s hands now.

  Dr. Carmela Wilson glanced over at him, grimaced at what she saw, then turned back to their patient. She usually had a smile for him, but tonight there was only grim determination. They moved Katia to the stretcher and whisked her inside the building.

  He followed, exhaustion and heart-breaking worry in each step. Once he was inside, a nurse led him to one of the curtained cubicles, which didn’t make much sense until she pointed at his chest and arms. The fiend had managed to cut him in multiple places. There were also deep burning scratches, which meant they were already infected.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” the nurse said, then pulled the curtain closed. Simon sank onto the gurney, though he was filthy, his clothes covered in that other realm’s dirt. He didn’t care because all he could hear was the doctor issuing orders in the cubicle next to his, the one where they were working on Katia. Something about an I.V. line, electrolytes, oxygen. More words he didn’t understand.

  The curtain pulled back as Riley joined him. She tugged it closed behind her, then moved nearer to him.

  “How bad is it?” he asked.

  Her eyes saddened. “Bad. Her heart is racing, she’s having trouble breathing, her blood pressure is too high. Everything Mort warned her about if she channeled magic without knowing how to do it.”

  “Dammit,” he said, shaking his head. “She did it to save me. She knew she shouldn’t, and she still did it.”