Ignoring the lamp, Nazhivēr called on his magic. Crimson power blazed as he surged toward Zylas.

A crackling orb flew past my head and smashed into the fridge door. I plastered myself to the carpet as the demons broke apart, holding handfuls of sizzling magic that they had no time to form into spells. They hurled their magic and the glass patio door shattered. Another spinning orb flew past me and hit the electric range, exploding against the stovetop.

I scrabbled across the floor, infernus shards jabbing my hands. As I snatched up my impello artifact, caught on the broken chain, I smelled it—smoke.

A roll of paper towel had toppled on the mangled stovetop where the element coil had torn halfway from its socket. Sparks jumped at the connection point, and flames licked at the top of the paper towel roll.

I shot a panicked glance over my shoulder at the battling demons, then flung open a kitchen cabinet and seized a bottle of olive oil. Leaping up, I threw it as hard as I could into the stovetop. It shattered, oil splashing across the burning paper towel. Flames whooshed up—but didn’t roar across the oil like I’d expected.

Cursing, I grabbed the bottom of the oil-soaked paper towel roll, spun around, and flung it. The fiery projectile arched over the breakfast bar and landed in the middle of the sofa. The smoke alarm went off with a high-pitched keening and both demons flinched.

As flames caught on the edge of the cotton blanket I’d left across the back of the sofa, I opened another cupboard and heaved out a half-full bag of flour. Ripping the top open, I flung the flour at the sofa in a wide arc. White powder poofed through the air, drifting down toward the open flame.

It exploded into a fireball.

I was already ducking behind the breakfast bar as the roaring flames rushed through the cloud of flour. Heat blasted my arms as I shielded my head, but the fire was short-lived.

I shot up again, a hand pressed to my stomach to ensure my notebook was still safely tucked in my shirt. Zylas and Nazhivēr had separated, diving to opposite ends of the room to avoid the explosion I’d unleashed. The sofa was engulfed in flames, black smoke roiling across the ceiling and hazing the air.

Bang.

The apartment door, three feet away from me, flew open.

I glimpsed an unfamiliar demon barging through and screamed, “Ori eruptum impello!”

A silvery dome burst off my artifact and hurled the demon back out into the hallway—and into the contractor behind him.

I rushed away from the door, panting—coughing. Shimmering fire crawled across the walls, spreading fast, the heat beating against me. The room was growing darker by the second.

Eyes and throat burning, I dropped to my hands and knees. Zylas!

But he couldn’t hear me that way.

“Zylas!” I screamed hoarsely.

A shadow in the smoke. Zylas skidded out of the haze and scooped me up with one arm, crimson magic blazing up his other arm. A five-foot-wide spell circle flared off his wrist, pulsing with power.

Across the apartment, Nazhivēr stood in front of the shattered patio door, smoke billowing around him as it rushed out the opening.

Zylas’s spell erupted—a howling beam that tore across the room. A booming crash pierced my ears and a rush of cold swept in through the obliterated wall.

The hungry flames devouring the sofa surged across the ceiling. Everything was fire and smoke, and I couldn’t breathe to tell Zylas my plan. I pointed at my bedroom.

Obediently, he shot into the room. He must’ve figured out my intent, because without direction, he ducked into my open closet, shoved a bundle of fabric into my arms, then rushed to the open window. His arm squeezed my middle as I clutched the clothing, my notebook pressing into my stomach beneath my jacket.

Blessedly cold air hit me as Zylas swung out the window and dropped. He caught the sill below to halt our fall, then let go. Dropped to the next window. Then dropped to the ground.

In the dark, narrow gap between buildings, he pressed me into the wall.

“Robin,” he whispered urgently.

I gasped over and over, fighting the need to cough so my lungs could absorb some oxygen. His hands slid into my hair and his magic flowed through me.

“You are not injured badly.”

Nodding, I sucked in more air. “Nazhivēr?”

“Nearby.”

I lifted my chin, listening for the sound I was desperate to hear—the reason I’d spread an inferno through my apartment.

The wail of sirens pierced the quiet night, growing louder, and I let out a relieved breath. Hands trembling from post-adrenaline weakness, I held out the bundle of fabric to him.

He lifted a pair of baggy sweatpants and stepped into them, tugging them up his metal greaves and dark shorts. Pulling the black sweater on, he drew the hood over his horns, then looped his tail around his waist, hiding it beneath the sweater’s hem.

I checked one more time that I still had my notebook, then grasped his hand and dragged him out of the shadows. Tenants streamed out of the apartment building, some in pajamas and housecoats, and we joined them as a line of firetrucks rolled down the street, lights flashing and horns blaring to clear the traffic.

Zylas walked beside me, eyes downcast to hide their telltale demonic glow. No one gave him a second glance as we followed the other tenants into the street. He wasn’t the only barefoot refugee of the fire.

The blare of firetrucks and alarms battered my ears. Flames boiled from the gaping hole in the building’s wall that marked our unit, smoke billowing toward the dark sky.

As firefighters poured out of the trucks, a few of them shouting at everyone to get back, I spotted a small group that stood out in all the wrong ways: four burly men in leather, two with round pendants glinting on their chests. They lurked near the alley, scanning the stragglers fleeing the apartment’s main entrance.

Tightening my grip on Zylas’s hand, I pulled him deeper into the growing crowd. Some people had their phones out, cameras pointed at the spreading fire. We squeezed into the mix of displaced tenants and spectators, and I rose onto my tiptoes to look for the Grand Grimoire bounty hunters again.

Zylas pulled me against his chest.

I gasped as he wound his arms around me. His glowing eyes met mine, then flicked to our left. A young couple stood nearby, the man holding his girlfriend close while she sniffled quietly.

Ah. He was mimicking them to help us blend in. Smart.

As I leaned into him, the chaos swelling and nameless people jostling us, I slid my hand into my pocket where I’d stuffed my impello artifact. My fingertips brushed against the infernus shard, and a tremor ran through me.

I buried my face in his chest, telling myself it was just an act—but it was harder to convince myself that the tears on my cheeks were for the benefit of the crowd around us.

Zylas and I stood at a bus stop.

An hour ago, taking public transit from our safe house to the apartment had been easy. Thoughtless. The natural decision.

Now, I had to concentrate on breathing so I didn’t hyperventilate and faint. The middle-aged man standing a few paces away, also waiting for a bus, kept glancing at Zylas’s half-bare feet. Had he noticed the unusual tone of the demon’s skin? Was he suspicious? Would he say something?

I’d jokingly promised to take Zylas for a bus ride once, hadn’t I? What a ridiculous, risky idea.

I stared down the dark, quiet street as though concentrating hard enough would make a bus appear. We were three blocks from the burning apartment building. No bounty hunters were likely to wander this far afield, and even if they did, why would they glance twice at a couple with their hoods drawn up against the cold?