“Can you see him? He’s straight ahead of you, moving west.”
“I see,” Zylas growled, either overhearing Amalia or picking up on my thoughts.
Eyes watering from the cold wind, I squinted across the labyrinthian stacks of industrial piping that filled the huge concrete lot. Fifty yards away was a faint glow—runes covering the surface of a huge bipedal golem.
Zylas sprang off the building, hit the ground, and shot into the steel maze. The golem, the same model as the twelve-foot-tall one Tori had knocked down with her mysterious artifact, strode among the stacks, its head and shoulders visible above the piles.
Was it Claude? Had he come here to prepare the golems for Varvara? Would I finally see my parents’ killer again?
If it was him, what would I do?
My throat closed, rage, panic, grief, and determination filling my lungs in place of air. As we closed in on the lumbering golem, Zylas vaulted onto a pile of steel pipes. He slid to a stop, the metal shifting under his feet with a soft clank.
The man walking a few paces in front of the golem paused. As the steel brute halted as well, he turned toward me and Zylas in plain view atop the stack.
Somewhere behind us, another fireball exploded skyward. The orange light washed across the man’s face, illuminating every detail.
“You?” I gasped.
The man wasn’t Claude, but I’d seen his face before. Pasty pale skin, hair more white than blond, hollow cheeks with sharp cheekbones, and pale eyes without visible eyelashes to frame them.
It was the man from Tori’s photo—the pale man young Claude had been speaking to. The exact same man, identical in coloring and features … and age.
But that photo was at least twenty years old. The man peering up at me and my demon with mild surprise was only a few years older than I was.
What the hell was going on?
Chapter Ten
“Do I know you?” the man asked.
“Who are you?” I demanded shrilly. “How do you know Claude?”
“Claude? I don’t know anyone by that name.” He stepped toward Zylas and me. “Who are you—and what is that unusual demon?”
Zylas squeezed my thigh and I slid off his back. My feet thumped against the foot-wide pipes we stood on as another burst of green magic lit the area.
Zylas, can you take him alive? We need to know who he is.
The man took another step closer, staring up at us. “I’ve never seen a demon like that before.”
Zylas’s tail twitched, then he launched off the stack of pipes. He hit the ground and lunged at the man. The golem turned, its arm swinging, the motion so slow compared to Zylas it was almost comical. He flashed for the unprepared mythic.
“Ori unum!”
The air shimmered blue and Zylas’s hand slammed into a faint barrier. He lurched back and darted away.
“My,” the man remarked, perfectly calm as though a demon hadn’t just attacked him. “You’re a fast one.”
As the golem took a thundering step toward its new adversary, the man placed a hand on its leg. He murmured something and the runes covering the golem dimmed to the faintest glow.
“We don’t need that thing getting in the way,” he said as he unzipped his leather coat and let it fall to the ground. His sleeveless shirt bared his muscular arms, covered from wrists to shoulders with half-inch-wide steel rings—dozens of them, perfectly fitted to the contours of his limbs.
Grinning, he sank into a half crouch, his intent stare on Zylas.
Trepidation sparked through me. No mythic, no matter how skilled, was a match for a demon. This man was either exceptionally dangerous or exceptionally stupid.
Be careful, Zylas.
My demon curled his fingers, claws unsheathing, but he didn’t summon his semi-transparent talons. He studied his opponent—then vaulted forward.
“Ori—”
Zylas dug a foot into the concrete and changed direction. He sprang again, coming at the man’s flank.
“Ori duo!”
The air shimmered and Zylas was flung backward without ever having touched the sorcerer. He landed on his feet and attacked again.
“Ori unum!”
Zylas’s kick hit a shimmering blue shield.
“Ori unum! Ori duo!”
His claws, slashing for the sorcerer’s lower back, bounced off another shield, then a shimmer of air hit the demon and he flew backward.
My fingers tightened into fists. So fast—the sorcerer’s incantations were incredibly short and he spat the syllables so swiftly Zylas couldn’t land a strike.
The demon’s lips peeled back from his teeth. Ten paces from the sorcerer, he raised his hand, fingers outstretched.
Zylas! I protested in alarm.
Crimson veins crawled up his wrist. As the glow spread over his hand, a spell formed in front of his palm, spiky runes coiling through a pentagram. A bright flare blasted toward the sorcerer.
The sorcerer flung his hand up. “Ori tres!”
A wave of sparkling green light erupted from his hand and met the incoming missile of power. The two magics collided a foot from the sorcerer’s fingers.
Zylas’s crimson power, the deadly demonic magic all mythics feared, evaporated like smoke the moment it touched that shimmering green magic.
The sorcerer raised his other hand toward the shocked demon. “Ori quattuor.”
A band around the sorcerer’s arm lit up with indigo light and he slashed his arm sideways.
Watch out! I cried helplessly in my head.
Zylas darted away as a wild barrage of six-inch-long spikes shot out from the artifact. They flew in a random spray, and Zylas couldn’t avoid them. He ducked, arms shielding his head. They bounced off his armor—but three speared his right shoulder, left thigh, and midriff. The glowing barbs stuck in him, pulsing strangely.
The sorcerer raised both hands. “Ori—”
Crimson magic rushed up Zylas’s arms. Snarling, he shot forward, spells forming over his arms.
“Ori tres! Ori unum! Ori duo!”
As fast as Zylas attacked, the sorcerer countered, the dozens of artifacts around his arms flashing with each rapid incantation.
Zylas jolted backward, recovered, and struck at the man’s throat.
“Ori unum!”
The demon’s fist bounced off the blue shield—and the sorcerer pitched over backward, Zylas’s tail hooked around his ankle below his shield. The man was still falling when the demon grabbed him by the throat, cutting off his air—and his ability to cast spells.