“You are not afraid,” he concluded—and then he smiled.

The air disappeared from my lungs. My limbs weakened, and something strange happened to my heart—it was lurching, or swelling, or … heating. I didn’t know. All I knew was that Zylas was smiling.

Not a wolfish smirk. Not a vicious grin. Not an aggressive baring of his teeth.

A smile of pleasure.

The soft expression only lasted a couple seconds, then he rolled onto his stomach and peeked toward the street again. “Tell the others to begin now, vayanin.”

“Right,” I whispered, the sound squeaking through my tight throat.

Remembering not to stand, I scooted across the rooftop to the open access door and climbed down the ladder. Lost in a stunned haze, I passed through the halls without seeing them.

Zylas had smiled at me. A happy, pleased smile. Sweet. Soft. Things I didn’t associate with him. And all because … because I wasn’t afraid of him anymore?

The quiet murmur of voices roused me from my thoughts, and I blinked in the bright fluorescent lights, surprised to find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring across the transformed museum basement.

Ezra stood at the edge of the circle, surrounded by Tori, Aaron, and Kai. They were all dressed in combat gear and armed with weapons—except for Ezra, who didn’t have any weapons aside from the long gloves he wore, the knuckles and elbows reinforced with steel.

Amalia was crouched beside my backpack. Rolls of paper stuck out the top, and the open case of Nazhivēr’s blood sat beside it. She had the cult grimoire open on her lap, her lips moving as she silently recited an incantation.

I cleared my throat. “Zylas doesn’t see any signs of trouble. He says we can begin.”

In almost perfect unison, Tori, Aaron, and Kai reached out, each of them touching Ezra—his hand, his shoulder, his arm. The demon mage drew in a deep breath, his shoulders pushing back.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

We took our positions: Ezra in the center of an inner circle; Amalia across from him, just outside the outer ring; Tori, Aaron, and Kai on the left side of the array; and me on the right, beside the case of demon blood.

Amalia balanced the grimoire on her outspread palm. “Ready?”

Ezra nodded.

“Once I begin, you can’t move or speak,” she warned, then added to the other three, “Same for you. I have to recite each line perfectly. Don’t distract me.”

Tori bobbed her head, her face white. As Amalia breathed deeply, centering herself before beginning, Tori clasped Aaron’s and Kai’s hands.

Raising her chin, Amalia began to chant. Her voice filled the large room, the Latin words flowing without hesitation. Admiration welled in me. I was the more obviously studious one between us, but the amount of dedication it took to reach that level of proficiency far outshone the time I put toward my fleeting passions.

She uttered incantations one after another, the ancient words calling upon and directing the deep, mysterious energies of the natural world. I tried to focus, but the memory of Zylas’s smile kept pushing out other thoughts and I squinted at Amalia, trying to follow along.

Sharp alarm hit my mind like a splash of cold water.

Zylas? I gasped silently.

His ebony presence roiled inside me—Not now—why is he here—too close—enough time?

Zylas, I mentally shouted. What’s wrong?

His focus shifted inward, toward me. Do not stop the vīsh.

My hands clenched. Tell me what’s happening!

A fizzle of his trepidation, then his thoughts went dim and fuzzy as though he’d spun the tuning dial on a radio. He was blocking me out.

Amalia’s voice rose, then cut off. She gestured at me.

Zylas had said to keep the ritual going, so that’s what I’d do. Kneeling, I flipped open the case of Nazhivēr’s blood and lifted out a vial. The others watched in terse silence as I walked to the edge of the array and stepped over the outer ring.

Magic vibrated into the sole of my foot. I moved to the center of the second, empty circle where a large rune waited. Tugging out the cork, I stared at the thick blood I’d stolen from my greatest enemy, which I would now use to save the life of a man he’d condemned to a horrific death.

I tipped the vial. The blood dribbled onto the rune, and as described in the grimoire, it clung to the silver lines, not a single drop touching the unmarked floor.

I glanced up at Ezra, who stared back at me—him and Eterran both—then returned to my spot outside the circle, stuck the empty vial in the case, and clasped my hands together. In the back of my head, Zylas’s muffled tension crackled like static, a building electric charge.

“Te tuo sanguine ligo, tu ut vocatus audias, Eterran of the Dh’irath House!”

With Amalia’s declaration, rippling crimson spread outward from the bloody rune, rushing across the silver array. The lines gleamed with iridescent magic as the power spread to the spot where Ezra stood.

He went rigid, his left eye glowing.

I held my breath. Had it worked? Had Nazhivēr’s blood linked to Eterran’s spirit?

Eyes alight with triumph, Amalia launched into the next phase of incantations, then pointed at the red-tinted line in front of her toes. “Terra te hoc circulo semper tenebit!”

The scarlet sheen whooshed upward, forming a brief outline of the dome barrier, over double the size of the barrier that had enclosed Zylas during his imprisonment in the library summoning circle. Ezra and Eterran were trapped now. No going back.

We were close. A few minutes more.

A sudden movement—Tori. She’d pulled out her phone. Aaron and Kai leaned toward her, and I caught a glimpse of the device’s lit-up screen. Was someone calling her? Now, after midnight? Why—

Not yet, not yet!

Zylas’s frustrated fury hit me. An image flashed through my head: a high view of the street in front of the museum. Zylas was on the rooftop, looking down at … people. Men in dark clothes—no, men in combat gear, slinking toward the building in small groups.

Tori was whispering quietly. She had her phone to her ear, horror stamped across her face. Amalia’s eyes darted around but she didn’t slow or falter, plowing through the next line of Latin.

Should I stop them?

Another vision hit me—Zylas was inside now. A dark hallway, so dark I shouldn’t have been able to make out anything, but every cabinet and door and framed picture was sharp and clear.

Dim lights flashed at the end. Men in the museum corridor, one of them pointing sharply while the others crept past him, moving deeper into the building.

With doubled vision, I saw Amalia point at the blood-drenched rune as she called out another incantation.

Too many. Zylas’s rapid assessment. Can’t stop them without vīsh.

A dark stairwell. Silent feet rushing downward.

The scarlet glow of the array darkened to blood red. The bittersweet tang of magic coated my tongue, and I felt it in my chest, power building toward its ultimate release.

Amalia drew herself up. “Tenebrarum auctoritatem da mihi, da super hunc imperium sine fine! Eterran of Dh’irath, bearer of the power of Ahlēa, wielder of the king’s command—”

Zylas streaked through the doorway.

“—by your blood and your oath, I summon—”

Springing toward Amalia’s back, he clapped his hand over her mouth, interrupting the final words. The power in the array swelled, electric and intense, then faded.