Zh’rēil put his hands on her face, and she went rigid. He stroked her cheeks, touched her hair, pulled on her upper lip to see her teeth. Leaning close, he peered into her eyes, puzzling over their unusual appearance.

His weight on her arms shifted—and she snagged her string of artifacts. She whipped them toward him, shouting an incantation.

A flash of silvery scarlet threw Zh’rēil backward. Anthea rolled over, leaped to her feet, and sprinted away. The demon lunged up, unharmed, and sped after her in a slinking prowl.

The vision of Ahlēvīsh and sand blurred, then reformed. Same area, different spot—and this time, a new feature dominated the landscape.

A perfect circle sat upon a base of crystal. Shards of shattered quartz peppered the sand around the circle like shrapnel, as though the formation of the portal had obliterated the massive Ahlēvīsh.

Anthea knelt on one side of the circle. Zh’rēil knelt on the other.

Time must have passed, because Anthea’s outfit and hair were different. And an even clearer indicator that this was a different day: she appeared unafraid as she watched Zh’rēil.

The demon leaned over the smooth surface of the portal, head canted and tail snapping as he peered into a pale rose sky that probably would’ve been blue if not for the red cast of the vision. She extended her arm into the portal as though reaching into a pool of water.

Zh’rēil peered at her unscathed arm, then back at the circle. He stretched a hand out, hesitated, then dropped his fingers in and snatched them back out.

Laughing, Anthea leaned forward and stuck her entire head and shoulders into the portal. Zh’rēil observed for a moment, then inserted his arm. Clinging to the crystal base with his other hand, he stuck his head in too.

Had his head and shoulders appeared on the other side of the portal? Was he looking into the human world, the first demon to ever glimpse Earth?

The vision rippled, reforming once more. Same spot, still the portal, but Anthea’s clothing had changed again. Another day. She and Zh’rēil sat in the sand, five cautious feet between them, as she pantomimed different actions. With each gesture, Zh’rēil recited a Minoan word.

Another shimmer, a new scene. The Ahlēvīsh were gone, replaced by rough stone boulders protruding from the dunes. Zh’rēil walked across the shifting sand, Anthea following him.

The Vh’alyir Amulet had grown uncomfortably hot against my palm.

Dark shapes in the sand. Zh’rēil stopped, and Anthea joined him. They gazed across the barren expanse.

Dozens of bodies. Demons, their flesh rotting and bodies torn. Strange reptilian creatures darted among the corpses, scavenging for edible parts. Horns of varying lengths marked the skulls of the dead, their small stature revealing them to be Vh’alyir demons.

Zh’rēil spoke, rapid words of demonic rolling off his tongue, his voice low and growling.

Zylas’s mouth brushed my ear. “He is telling her … third rank Houses are hunting his House. Vh’alyir are killed for the fun of stronger demons … but when he told the Naventis, the other Dīnen did not care.”

The Naventis, where the most powerful demons gathered once a year, was supposed to address issues like the slaughter of one of the twelve Houses, wasn’t it?

Anthea listened to Zh’rēil’s snarling frustration, then murmured something in return. The demon grimaced, then began again in halting Minoan.

The vision blurred and reformed.

Gone was the desert. Anthea and Zh’rēil stood on a rocky bluff that was far more familiar than the visions of towering crystals and portals—but in the cove below was … destruction. What must’ve once been a thriving port town had crumbled, the stone buildings beaten into rubble. Where land met water, the shattered keels of wooden ships draped the wreckage like huge skeletons.

Anthea was speaking, gesturing, her motions full of anger. Odd notions flitted through my head—that she was talking about huge waves striking the shore over and over, destroying everything. Then, while her people were crippled by disaster, the invaders came—and kept coming.

Ripples of crimson as the vision changed again.

Abruptly, we were inside a room. It was dark, a crude oil lamp glowing on a table. Anthea and Zh’rēil stood across from each other, the table between them layered with sheets of thick papyrus paper.

Holding the demon’s stare, she spoke quietly, slowly, with emphasis. This time, the strange feeling of understanding within me was undeniable—something about the way she spoke, the intensity of each word, felt like she was whispering directly into my mind.

“Then our pact shall be thus: we will combine our skill and magic to bind the Kings of Demons. The elder demons who have allowed the slaughter of your House will become slaves in my world, stripped of their will. I and my people will use their power to defend our island.”

Zh’rēil’s eyes glowed in the dim room.

“We will bind our descendants as well as ourselves, for this pact will span one hundred years from this day—time for your House to recover its strength and time for my people to enforce peace. Then our children will end it.”

Zh’rēil murmured his agreement.

The scene dissolved. The heat of the Vh’alyir Amulet scorched my palm, pain tugging at my awareness.

A new vision formed.

Anthea and Zh’rēil stood side by side at the edge of a portal, surrounded by sand and towering Ahlēvīsh. Anthea wore a similar outfit, but creases and wrinkles had aged her face. White streaked her hair, and she didn’t stand as tall. A crude but familiar shape hung from a cord around her neck: an infernus.

I couldn’t tell if Zh’rēil had visibly aged, evening shadows clinging to his darker skin. He held a rope cord, the Vh’alyir Amulet swinging from it.

“It begins,” he said.

“Yes. And when the debts of our enemies are paid, my descendant will summon you to bring this to an end.” She touched the pendant. “Is the key ready?”

He grasped it. “Dūkāra Vh’alyir et Dīnen evashvā vīshissā.”

Crimson flared out from the crystal, complex spell circles spinning around him before fading.

She gazed up at him. “Then farewell, Zh’rēil.”

“Farewell, Anthea.”

Sinking into a crouch, she put her head and shoulders through the dark portal, then climbed awkwardly through. Her sandaled feet disappeared.

Zh’rēil stood at the portal’s edge, unmoving, holding the amulet in a tight fist. Minutes slipped past, then the circle began to shrink. It grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely. All that remained was the flat top of the shattered Ahlēvīsh where the portal had taken form.

Opening his hand, Zh’rēil lifted the amulet to gaze into its etched face. “Dakevh’il Ahlēa nā?”

He dropped the cord around his neck, and as the amulet settled against his chest, the vista of red sand and rose crystal blurred. The crimson glare faded, and the mundane living room reappeared.

Chapter Twenty-Four

With a pained gasp, I tore my palm away from the scorching hot amulet. It dropped from our hands and landed on the floor with a thud.

My palm throbbed as I panted, though less from pain and more from the disorienting switch from a magical vision of the past back to the present. The drab living room seemed dull and lifeless after the scarlet-imbued illusion.