With another twist, he leaped away—and Tahēsh’s spell exploded. Red power ballooned outward, throwing all the humans off their feet and hurling the contracted demon to the ground.

With a furious bellow, Tahēsh pivoted, searching for his new opponent.

Zylas paused for the briefest instant, his stare meeting Tahēsh’s, then he streaked past his adversary. The winged demon whirled to follow, his movements markedly slower than they had been in the demons’ last fight.

With a slash of Zylas’s claws, blood spurted from the back of Tahēsh’s thigh. As Tahēsh roared in pain, Zylas leaped onto his back. The much smaller demon rammed his claws between his enemy’s ribs in swift strikes, then sprang away again.

Scarcely breathing, I clutched a tree as Zylas spun around the brutish demon, moving ceaselessly, darting in with tearing claws and jumping clear. Tahēsh turned clumsily, unable to keep up, unable to land a hit.

Dh’ērrenith. Zylas had been right.

Tahēsh’s movements grew more frantic. Roaring again, he swung at Zylas—and missed. Zylas ducked in low and tore out the back of Tahēsh’s knee, and I knew the fight was over.

It took three more gouging strikes for Tahēsh to realize it too. Screeching like a bobcat, he spread his wings and leaped into the air. Zylas looked up, tracking his enemy’s ascent.

No magic, I reminded him with a loud thought.

He coiled his legs, then sprang upward. He slammed into Tahēsh in midair—lithe, agile, deadly. In the darkness, the faintest spark of red magic flickered off Zylas’s hands. Then he and Tahēsh plunged back to the ground—and when they hit the grass, Tahēsh’s head rolled away from his body.

It was over. That fast, that easy.

I understood now what Zylas had meant when he’d said he never lost; he waited for the odds to shift in his favor. But what had shifted the odds so far? In our last encounter, Tahēsh had seemed invincible, but over the last two days, someone had dealt the demon debilitating wounds. Who had injured him? What mythic could have done what Zylas couldn’t?

Silence had fallen over the park. The combat team was staring at Zylas. So was the redheaded woman, who’d fallen to the ground a yard from Tahēsh’s body.

Zylas rose out of his crouch and ambled woodenly toward my hiding spot. Right. His contractor needed to make an appearance or those mythics might assume he was an unbound demon too. Which he sort of was … but we didn’t want anyone to know that.

Steeling myself, I walked out of the sheltering trees and into the glare of headlights.

Six pairs of eyes turned to me—the three mythics, the two maybe-human men, and the redhaired woman. Zylas walked to me and stopped. With his back to our witnesses, he flashed me a pointy-toothed grin full of victory and bloodlust, then turned to face the park, his expression blank.

Shivering, I turned my attention to the three mythics—a short older man, a super tall middle-aged guy, and an average-built young guy. I waited, but they did nothing but stare at me. Okay then.

I looked at the others. The redheaded woman was still sitting on the ground beside the car, her mouth hanging open. Behind her was another redhead—one of the two guys—and his pal stood beside an overturned motorcycle. Their unconscious friend must be in the car. I hoped he wasn’t hurt.

They, like the mythics, didn’t move or speak or … anything. Was no one going to react at all?

I glanced at Tahēsh’s corpse, summoned another dollop of courage, and pulled out my phone. My audience silently watched as I dialed the MPD’s emergency number.

It rang twice, then a cool female voice said, “MPD hotline, what is your emergency?”

“Um, hello,” I mumbled. “Yes, um … this is Robin Page from the Grand Grimoire. I’d like to report the unbound demon, please.”

“The unbound demon?” the woman repeated, startled. “Do you know its location?”

“Yes …” I tried to gather my thoughts, but the staring was getting under my skin. No wonder Zylas got angry whenever I gawked at him too long. “Um, it’s in Oppenheimer Park.”

“The demon is in the park?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What’s it doing?” she barked urgently. “Are you in danger?”

“Uh, no, the demon is dead.”

A long pause. I nudged my glasses up and glanced at Zylas. He stood motionless, looking bored.

“Are you sure the demon is dead?” the operator asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s definitely dead.”

The clatter of a keyboard sounded through the phone. “Robin, stay right where you are. I’m sending agents to your location immediately. Please wait for them—right where you are.”

Did she think I would wander off? “Okay, I’ll wait here. How long will MagiPol take to arrive?”

I almost missed her reply as the mythics in the park snapped to attention. The contractors’ demons lit with red magic, and as they dissolved back into their pendants, the mythics rushed toward the black van.

“Ten minutes or less,” the operator replied. “I’m also alerting all GMs and officers. Some of them may arrive first.”

The van’s engine rumbled to life, and the wheels spun as the driver gunned it. The vehicle tore away.

“Robin? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, my confusion growing as the two civilian men and the redhaired woman also launched into motion. Two of them jumped into the car, and the dark-haired guy picked up the bike and started it. “I’ll wait here.”

I ended the call as the red sports car reversed off the grass and onto the road. The motorcycle followed, their engines roared, and a moment later, Zylas and I were alone in the park.

While I pondered the bizarre behavior of the witnesses to Tahēsh’s defeat, Zylas relaxed out of his wooden stance—then let out a whoop that made me jump a foot in the air.

“Vh’renith!” he shouted, pumping his fist. “I killed the Dīnen et Lūsh’vēr! I killed Tahēsh of the First House!”

Eyes glowing and a broad grin stretching his lips, he spun on the spot like he couldn’t contain his exuberant energy.

“That was lalūdris, kirritavh’ dahgan rūs hh’istaran,” he spouted, slipping into his native language. “I will be …”

He trailed off, his victorious outburst fading into a scowl, then he groaned and flopped backward, landing on the grass.

“Zylas?” I yelped. “What’s wrong?”

Flat on his back, he glared at me. “No one will ever know.”

“Huh?”

“I am the first of my House to kill a Lūsh’vēr and no one will ever know!” Heaving a sigh, he sat up and glowered at Tahēsh’s body like it was all the winged demon’s fault. “No glory for me.”

“Glory? For killing another demon king?”

“It is the greatest victory for my kind—to kill a Dīnen.”

I crouched beside him. “Doesn’t that mean that other demons try to kill you all the time?”

“Ch. Of course.”

Hesitantly, I patted his shoulder. “Well, you know you defeated him, and that’s what’s important.”

He squinted at me like I’d said something utterly moronic, then gazed across the park. “Maybe the other witnessed my triumph.”

“The other what?”

“The other demon.”

Confusion fizzled through me. “You mean the two contracted ones?”

“No. There was another.” His nostrils flared. “I can smell his vīsh. Different from Tahēsh.”

Vīsh. Magic. Zylas could detect the magic of another demon? But contracted demons couldn’t use magic.

“I could smell him on Tahēsh,” Zylas added. “This other demon … he is the one who injured Tahēsh. The one Tahēsh was hunting. He is powerful. Second or Third House.”

A chill washed over me. Another powerful demon, one capable of using magic, had injured Tahēsh. Did that mean there had been a third unbound demon in the park?

“I did not see him.” Zylas pointed to the dark street where the red car had disappeared. “But his scent … it disappeared with them.”

I stared at the empty street. Two dark-haired men, one unconscious. A pair of redheads, one male and one female. They’d looked human to me, but Zylas didn’t lie.

Who were they?

Chapter Twenty-Four

I sat on the grass, bored and exhausted. More than a dozen MPD agents and high-ranking mythics—GMs and first officers from multiple guilds—swarmed the park.

Over the past couple of hours, I’d been questioned, questioned some more, then questioned again. The demon corpse had been bagged up and a nondescript van was parked beside it, back doors open to receive the body. Someone was pouring liquid from a large jug over the bloody grass, and silver vapor rose from it in unnatural corkscrews.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I had a dozen messages from Amalia and Tae-min—the former asking if I’d killed the demon, because rumors were flying, and the latter demanding, with growing urgency, that I return to the guild immediately to see the GM.