Silence answered me. I hadn’t heard his telepathic voice since we’d defeated the darkfae Vasilii, and nothing I’d tried since had come close to reforging the mysterious connection between us.

The three golems turned on the demon, trying to surround him. They were too slow to pose much risk, but how was he supposed to—

“Knock it over!” Tori shouted. “Robin, use your demon to knock them on their sides! They have trouble getting up!”

What? She knew how to stop the golems?

Zylas didn’t need me to relay the instruction. He vaulted toward the same golem and, with a neat twist, skidded under it—a breathtaking feat of timing and acrobatics that no one would believe I had orchestrated. He pistoned his powerful legs into the golem’s underbelly. It lifted off its feet and crashed onto its side.

Beside me, Tori’s mouth hung open. “Whoa. How’d you do th—shit!”

She seized my arm again—her fingers closing over my injured elbow. Blinding pain cleaved my limb and I almost crumpled. She dragged me away, and it was all I could do to stay upright, tears blurring my vision. She yelled something. Silver light flashed and a gust of wind blasted across us, whipping dust into the air.

Shouts. Pounding footsteps. Men and women streamed past us—the mythics from Odin’s Eye. Armed and furious, they crashed into the other men. A dizzying racket of shouts, incantations, and clanging weapons erupted, but the loudest sound of all was a repeating bang.

The ground shook. The sound grew louder.

Pushing Tori’s hand off my arm, I swiped the tears from my eyes—and gasped in terror.

The twelve-foot, two-legged golem was almost on top of us, its fist swinging.

An arm like a steel band hit me in the back. Zylas grabbed me and Tori around our waists and leaped into the air. The golem’s fist flashed beneath us, and he landed lightly and sprang again, carrying us out of the golem’s reach.

That one is too big to knock over, I told him woozily, sick with pain.

He skidded to a stop and released Tori. As she stumbled away, he gripped a fistful of my jacket, steadying me as I swayed. My glasses had somehow stayed on my face, and I almost knocked them off in a clumsy attempt to straighten them.

The massive golem turned, its helmet with its empty eye sockets pointed in our direction. It stomped toward us, ignoring the battling mythics nearby. Of course. Kill the contractor first. That was standard practice.

Why did I have to be the contractor?

Tori pushed the hem of her jacket up and unbuckled her belt—a heavy-duty combat belt loaded with pouches, a holster, and potion balls. “Robin, can your demon get me up onto the golem’s head?”

Uh, what? Had I heard that right? “Its head? Why—”

“Can you?” she demanded, setting her belt on the ground. “Yes or no!”

I glanced at Zylas. “Yes, but—”

The golem’s steel foot landed a yard away, vibrating the ground. As its arm drew back, I realized there was no time for “buts.”

Zylas, let’s do this!

I sprang in front of him and Tori, clutching the artifact hanging from my infernus chain, tucked behind the pendant. His warm hand snapped tight around mine, the slight shift of my elbow triggering more stabbing pain.

“Ori eruptum impello!” I cried.

As the golem’s fist whipped toward us, pale light erupted from my artifact. It expanded in a silvery dome, blasting everything it touched away from me—except Zylas and Tori, who were connected to me through his grip on my hand, making them immune to the spell’s effect.

The steel fist hit the expanding dome and stopped dead. Its limb creaked from the impact, but the force of its swing had been so great that the spell hadn’t thrown its arm away from me.

With Tori held tight against his side, Zylas sprang onto the golem’s stationary fist and ran up its arm like a ramp. The golem straightened, almost throwing them off, and reached up to grab the pests on its shoulder.

Releasing Tori, Zylas grabbed the incoming steel fingers with both hands, letting them push him down into a tight coil.

He launched off its shoulder, forcing the hand away from its body. The golem tottered, off-balance. He hit the ground and leaped again, catching me around the middle. Leaving Tori, he sprinted away from the golem and the battle.

I was only vaguely aware of him coming to a stop. I couldn’t think through the agony radiating from my elbow. He lowered me to the ground, but my weak legs wouldn’t take my weight. His hands bit into my waist, holding me up.

An eardrum-shattering crash split the night.

Gasping, I looked past him. The massive golem was lying face-down on the ground, and the glowing runes that had powered it were dark and magic-less. Tori stood on its back, holding a swath of amethyst fabric that rippled and danced, exuding magic in swirls of blue and violet light.

I was really starting to doubt that Tori was a mere bartender.

Zylas touched my sleeve over my elbow. I gasped again, tears flooding my eyes and blurring Tori and her unearthly artifact. The parking lot had quieted, the sounds of battle replaced by the scraping of the smaller golems’ legs as they robotically attempted to stand. Calm voices called to each other; the Odin’s Eye mythics must’ve defeated the attacking group.

“Vayanin.”

“I’m not klutzy,” I whimpered pathetically. “I didn’t fall. Tori knocked me down. Why are you so mean, Zylas?”

He chuffed. “You are injur—”

“Not now,” I warned him, rubbing my good hand over my face and almost dislodging my glasses a second time. “People could be watching us. You have to act contracted.”

His jaw flexed. He let his hands fall to his sides, his limbs unnaturally stiff. I wished we were alone so he could hold me up. I didn’t want to pretend to be a strong, tough contractor with her mindless demon slave.

Sniffling, I reached for his wrist. His knuckles were split and thick blood dribbled down his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should’ve warned you sooner that hitting the golems wouldn’t work.”

How could he have guessed? Human sorcery was an unknown to him. He might be the warrior, but I was his information source—his guide in any fight against mythics. I’d failed him.

Leaning over his hand, I carefully pressed down on each bone below his bleeding knuckles, testing for weakness.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” I told him quietly. “The bones seem solid.”