If the sight of a running woman appearing out of nowhere startled the goons, it didn’t show. The nearer one pulled two blades from his thigh sheaths, and the other raised his hands.

But I already had my gun up, and my trigger finger was faster. I fired three paintballs into the upper chest of the nearer man, then dove. Goon Two shot a blast of ice shards over my head.

“Ori,” I gasped as I hit the ground and rolled. I jumped to my feet, whirling. “Deci—”

A flash of silver. I threw up my arm and the knife sliced through my leather jacket and into my arm. My lungs locked.

Despite the yellow potion splattered all over his chest and neck, Goon One hadn’t gone down. Grinning, he jerked the blade off my arm, tearing a hoarse sound from my throat.

Universal antidote. Varvara must’ve dosed her men to protect them.

So I fired my next shot into his eye.

He lurched back with a pained gasp, one dagger clattering from his hand.

“Ori decidas!” I cried as I slammed my hand into his potion-free shoulder, the fall spell under my palm. Magic flashed against my skin and the man pitched over backward. His head hit the pavement with a sickening crack.

I shoved up, the fall spell swinging from my wrist—and a barrage of ice shards slammed into me. I fell back into a covered boat on a trailer, agony lancing my torso. My leather jacket had deflected the smaller shards, but the larger ones had torn through the leather and embedded in my flesh. I slumped against the hull, muscles seizing with pain and shock.

Lips curled in a sneer, the kryomage held his hands up, the air around him sparkling with crystals. A shard coalesced between his palms, growing into a harpoon of ice. He drew it back.

I flung my hand up, blood dripping from my sleeve.

He hurled the ice harpoon.

“Ori repercutio!”

Air rippled out from the Queen, strapped to my wrist, and the harpoon hit the magical force. It shattered and hunks of ice whipped back at the mage. He winced from the onslaught.

Yanking a sphere from my belt, I threw it to the pavement. It shattered, releasing a thick cloud of peppery smoke. As the white haze expanded, I launched off the boat trailer toward the man—or where he’d last been standing. His shadow appeared in the fog, and I drew my fist back.

He spotted me and lifted an arm to block my obvious attack.

“Ori amplifico!”

My fist hit his forearm and force blasted out from the impact. The man flew backward and slammed down, barely keeping his head off the pavement. I pounced on his chest and slapped the fall spell, its magic still active, against his throat. He went limp with a furious snarl.

“Ori ostende tuum pectus,” I chanted.

The second crystal, hanging from my wrist and resting on his neck beside the ruby, flared with faint light. The mage’s eyes glazed over.

“Where is Ezra?” I hissed.

“I don’t know who—”

“Where is the demon mage Varvara took prisoner?”

The mage’s eyelids fluttered. “Inside with Varvara.”

“Is there anyone else with her?”

“Only the druid.”

I inhaled roughly—then smashed the butt of my pistol into his temple. It hit with a crunch and I hoped I hadn’t killed him. Standing on unsteady legs, I whimpered in pain. Bits of melting ice stuck out of my jacket. I didn’t think any had pierced too deep, but it still hurt like hell, and my arm throbbed mercilessly. My hand was covered in blood.

Fumbling at the back of my belt, I slid a handful of vials from a pouch—gifts from Sin. Each one was labeled with glow-in-the-dark ink. As I shuffled through them, two fell from my shaking hands and bounced away. I found the one with “STP BLD” on it and pulled the cork. Nudging my sleeve up, I poured the watery liquid over the deep slice in my forearm.

The spot went completely numb. The wound didn’t change, but blood stopped welling in the slice. Good enough. Tossing the vial away, I turned to the open doorway, filled with darkness.

Inside were Varvara, Ezra … and Zak.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Our agreement was very simple.”

In the middle of creeping behind a line of boats mounted on trailers, I froze in place.

“I deliver a demon mage for you to play with,” Zak continued, his rumbling voice as frigid as I’d ever heard it, “and you return my grimoire.”

“The spells you imbued into it are very clever,” Varvara murmured in her heavy accent. “Try as I might, I could not make a copy.”

“That’s the idea. Now hand it over.”

Moving in a half crouch, I continued past the boats. When I reached the last one, a thirty-foot cruiser suspended on a steel frame that held its keel a yard off the floor, I peeked around the bow.

The building’s wide interior, interrupted by evenly spaced pillars, looked exactly as Hoshi had shown me. A soft blue glow emanated from a crystal hanging around Zak’s neck as he leaned casually against a pillar, arms folded.

Varvara stood at the other end of the open space, her back to a line of large cardboard boxes on wooden pallets. She thoughtfully tapped one clawed finger against her painted lips as she studied the druid. Her other hand gripped Ezra’s hair.

He was on his knees, listing to the side. The black-magic muzzle and manacles around his face and wrists sizzled with dark power. Varvara yanked on his hair, forcing him upright before he crumpled sideways. His head jerked—and his left eye glowed crimson. Whatever that spell was doing to him, he was only half conscious.

Eterran, however, was probably a lot more conscious. And that was a very bad thing.

“Let us be frank with each other,” the sorceress crooned. “I am well aware that as soon as you can confirm I have your grimoire here, you’ll attack me. We need not play these silly games.”

I inched under the cruiser’s hull, ignoring the sick feeling in my gut as I measured the distance between me and Ezra—which was a lot—and tried to plot an angle of approach where I wouldn’t immediately die.

“If you know why I’m here,” Zak rumbled, “why did you meet me?”

“Because I would much rather kill you now than endure your pathetic attempts at revenge later.”

Zak pushed off the pillar, his arms falling to his sides. “Where is my grimoire, Varvara?”

“Right here, dearest druid.” She dipped a hand into her coat and pulled out a small leather-bound book. Opening her hand, she let it fall to the floor like a worthless piece of trash.

Zak’s face tightened. “Then we can proceed.”

With dark shimmers, his five vargs materialized around him, and Lallakai’s wings swept off his arms and unfurled to their full width.

Varvara snapped her fingers.

The cardboard boxes behind her tore apart. Four golems surged off the pallets, their feet clanging on the floor. They stomped forward to flank her, and I gritted my teeth. How was I supposed to reach Ezra now?

“Do you think those will help you?” Zak mocked, his scarlet saber swirling into existence in his hand.

“These are merely for defense.” She sighed like a satisfied lover. “Ah, druid, it was an excellent plan. Offer me something I can’t refuse to ensure I come ashore. Lie in wait for my return to my yacht. Kill me, free the demon mage, and reunite triumphantly with your pretty redhead friend.”

He tensed, a subtle shift of limbs and shoulders.

“Overconfidence has always been your shortcoming, hasn’t it, druid? You share that trait with your master. The Wolfsbane trained you well before you killed him.” She tapped a claw against her chin. “I have wondered, were you so determined to protect my sweet Nadine because you saw so much of yourself in her?”

Zak went very, very still.

“How old were you,” she whispered sweetly, “when he stole you from your parents? Have you ever tried to find them, or were you too young to remember their names?”

My gut twisted painfully.

“How very tragic.” She made a mockingly sympathetic sound. “I encountered the Wolfsbane several times before he fled overseas, and he did leave an impression. I would have been far kinder to Nadine than he ever was to you, I am sure.”

“What would you know of kindness?” Zak rasped, scarcely sounding human.

“Very little, I admit. Our sort cannot tolerate kindness. Your pretty redhead friend, though … she brimmed with it. I could see her simple, fragile heart breaking as I told her how you’d betrayed her.”

Zak’s scarlet saber twitched as though his hand had spasmed. “What?”

“Did it not occur to you that your pawns might deviate from your plan? You told me the demon mage would arrive alone, so imagine my surprise when your pretty friend walked in with him.”

“No. She wasn’t there.”

“She was weeping as I left her trapped in the spell you suggested I use.”

He hesitated. “You left her?”

“Yes.” Varvara smiled. “In the gentle company of my last golem.”

Zak jolted like she’d struck him—and so did Ezra. His shoulders hunched inward, a low sound growling in his throat, muffled by the spell over his face.

Black shadows swirled around Zak’s feet, spreading outward. “You’re a dead woman, Varvara. I’ll watch you die choking on your own blood.”

“Ah,” she purred, “but you haven’t yet realized your greatest oversight.”

His jaw flexed, then he spat, “What?”

“The demon mage.” She stroked her clawed fingers through Ezra’s hair. “You never should have let me take the demon mage first.”

She snapped her fingers a second time. The manacle spell around Ezra turned to black ink, which dropped to the floor with a splash. It was still falling from his face as he lunged for Varvara—but she was ready for his attack.

“Ori tuum da mihi pectus”—her hand slapped against his cheek—“tuum iam meum est!”

Ezra staggered backward, hands half raised and crimson magic sparking weakly over his fingers. He took another stumbling step away from her, and the light from Zak’s crystal washed over his face. I choked on a gasp.