He stumbled, almost went down. Blood streamed into his eyes. He staggered backward, spewing flames in all directions. There followed a massive blow to his shoulder, and he screamed in pain, his left arm rendered almost useless.

He turned, mopping blood from his eyes to clear his vision.

A girl, with a mother of a big sword. Familiar, somehow. The girl, not the sword. Then he remembered. Ellen Stephenson, the warrior he'd encountered the first time he'd gone to Trinity in search of Seph McCauley.

If she'd wanted to kill him, she could have taken his head off with that blade. She'd hit him with the flat of it, so she was trying to take him alive. That was good to know.

He flung out a charm, but before he could finish he had to pitch himself backward as the blade slashed past his mid-section, slicing through his shirt and the top layer of skin. Damn, she was good. He didn't even know he'd been cut until the blood came.

Smoke boiled into the corridor, stinging his eyes. He drew a breath, coughing, spinning out flame like an out-of-control firework to keep Stephenson at a distance. She easily parried his scattered attack with her sword, then advanced toward him.

“Your friends are burning to death in there!” Warren gasped, nodding toward the main storeroom. “Make a choice!” He turned and zigzagged down the hallway. Bursting through the exit door, he stopped long enough to barricade it with another web.

Warren ran down the alley, then cut between several rows of warehouses and descended into the Flats along the river. He tried to support his injured arm, gritting his teeth when he jostled it. He threaded his way around the great concrete feet of a lift bridge, then slowed to a brisk walk, following the river, trying to blend in with the late nighters headed to the bars. Those that were still sober cut a wide circle around him, furtively checking out his blood-matted hair and clothing. It was all he could do to resist the urge to pitch them over the side into the water. He was several blocks from the warehouse before he heard sirens.

Good luck, he thought.

Warren was pissed. His arm hurt like hell. Apparently, everyone in Trinity knew he held the Covenant. Just a few more thousand people to jump into the hunt.

Worse, Leesha had been his go-between. Killing her might bring him some small satisfaction, but now he needed someone else to serve as his proxy. But who?

The only thing that cheered him was the notion that he'd left Jack Swift, Joseph McCauley, and Leesha Middleton in the burning building. With any luck, Stephenson would go down, too.

In the end, it wasn't a difficult choice, just a frustrating one. Ellen gave up on Barber and groped her way back through the smoke. The door into the other room was scorching hot. She stood to one side, extended Waymaker, and cut through the door, releasing a blast of heat and smoke.

The doorway was woven over with a labyrinth of translucent cords. Barber's work. The interior of the room was an inferno. Ellen's entire front was immediately roasted. The skin tightened on her face and hands. No, she thought. Oh, no.

“Seph! Jack!”

A faint answering call came from somewhere beyond the web.

Ellen swung her blade and slashed through the cords. It took four strong strokes to hack out an opening she could get through. She bulled her way forward, pushing through a wall of smoke and flame.

“Where are you?” she shouted, and flinched when the reply came almost from under her feet. She nearly stumbled over a pile of bleeding bodies. The razorweb had done its work. Jack, Seph, and Leesha were cut in dozens of places, coughing and choking as they breathed in smoke. Leesha flailed about, struggling to get free, which only increased the damage done by the web to all three prisoners.

“Lay still, Leesha, or I'll leave you here to fry,” Ellen said.

Leesh blinked up at her in surprise, and then, to Ellen's amazement, obeyed.

Ellen tried to ignore the heat and flames rushing toward them. She gripped Waymaker's hilt with both hands and slid the tip into the razorweb, delicately slicing through the strands without pulling on the net. She focused on freeing Jack, who practically reverberated with impatience.

Finally, Jack shook free of the last tendrils of razorwire and erupted to his feet. Seizing Shadowslayer, he helped Ellen cut Seph and Leesha loose. Seph pushed himself upright and extended his bleeding hands, pushing back the wall of flame that threatened to engulf them. It grew increasingly difficult to breathe. Leesha, especially, kept coughing and choking and ripping at her throat.

When Seph and Leesha were free, Jack hauled them to their feet. Leesha fell again when he released her, so he slid his arms under her and slung her over his shoulder.

That girl will do anything to get next to Jack, Ellen thought crossly.

Holding hands to keep from losing each other in the oily smoke, they groped their way to the back of the room, out the door, and into the fresh air.

Seph looked back at the burning warehouse. By now, flames had broken through the roof and were shooting into the air. Usually so calm in times of crisis, he seemed jumpy and agitated. “Go on,” Seph said, pulling his hood over his head. “Get as far away as you can. I'll be right behind you.”

“Seph! Wait!” Ellen made a grab for him, but he sidestepped her and disappeared into the burning building.

Shaking her head, Ellen drew in lungfuls of cool air, but Leesha was still choking. Jack carried her to the far side of the parking lot and laid her down on the asphalt. “Take it easy, will you?” he said. “Relax. We're out.”

Leesha gasped something that sounded like, “Barber!” and “Get it off!” She tore open her neckline to expose a gold collar biting into her flesh. The skin around it was mottled purple and red, covered with angry blisters.

“What the … ?” Jack tried to take hold of the collar with his hands, but yanked them back, swearing. “It's blazing hot!”

“Barber did this?” Ellen asked.

Leesha nodded. Tears ran down her face and her entire body shook with silent sobs. Ellen and Jack gripped her arms and pulled her upright, hoping to find a clasp, an opening, something, but no luck. It was solid and seamless all the way around.

Ellen pulled out her belt dagger and tried to slide the point under the collar, but it was already too tight.

Jack tried some countercharms from his repertoire, but they had no apparent effect.

“Remember when Leicester used a torc on Leander Hastings?” Ellen muttered. “The collar could only be removed by the wizard who placed it.”

And that would be Warren Barber.

By now Leesha's face was blue and her struggles were growing weaker, less organized. She's going to die, Ellen thought, feeling totally helpless.

“Hey! What do you kids think you're doing?” A burly firefighter confronted them in full regalia, his features scrunched down with suspicion. “Nobody's supposed to be back here.” Beyond him, a half dozen firefighters poured from the alley, dragging giant hoses and equipment into the lot.

Ellen slid Waymaker back into its baldric, smothering the flames that ran along the blade. Shadowslayer was slung over Jack's back, but the hilt stuck up over his shoulder. That'd be tough to explain if the firefighter noticed it. She moved in closer to Jack. He had some wizardry. Maybe he could…

“You can't stay back here,” the firefighter growled. “What with the onshore breeze and all these old warehouses, there's a good chance the fire will spread to the whole block.” He pointed them toward the cross street. “Get back behind the police line.”

Then he squinted at them suspiciously. “What happened to you? You're all cut up and covered in soot. Were you kids in the building?”

“We saw the smoke,” Ellen said. “And, um, we came to see the fire.” She was a terrible liar.

But the firefighter was distracted by Leesha. “What's wrong with her?”

Jack knelt next to her, furiously tearing off pieces of his shirt. He wrapped the cloth around his hands and tried again to get a grip on the collar. Leesha didn't seem to be breathing any more.

“Our friend got hurt,” Ellen said, not knowing what else to say. “She's not breathing.”

Jack drew his belt dagger and leaned over Leesha, eyes squinted, mouth tight with determination. Oh, God, Ellen thought. He's going to try to do a tracheotomy. Like on TV Two years ago this boy couldn't splint his own broken leg on the battlefield, and now he's doing surgery.

“Hey!” the fireman said when he saw the blade. “What are you doing?”

“What's up?” Seph materialized out of the smoke like a wraith, blood and sweat streaking through the soot on his face.

Jack looked up, a little wild-eyed. “Barber put a torc on Leesha. It's strangling her.”

Strangled, more like, Ellen thought. Past tense. It was weird that she had time to think all that. It was like events had slowed down to a crawl. The firefighter was yelling something in the background, calling for police backup, maybe.

Seph dropped to his knees next to Leesha, wrapped his hands around the torc as if oblivious to the heat, and shut his eyes. Jack stepped between Seph and Leesha and the firefighter to prevent interference.

It's no good, Seph, Ellen thought. Only the wizard who placed it can remove it.

Power rippled around Seph. He tilted his head back, concentrating, muttering charms. Sweat rolled down his face, though the night was growing chilly. He swallowed once, twice, the long column of his throat jumping. Then the metal dissolved from under his hands and Leesha was free.

A second passed. Leesha took a rasping breath.

“What the hell?” the firefighter said, leaning sideways to peer around Jack.

Seph remained on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, trembling like he'd caught a chill. Then he looked up at the firefighter. “She's breathing again, but maybe she should have some oxygen?”

Firefighters swarmed around Leesha, unpacking equipment.

The battalion leader stepped around Jack and clutched Seph's sweatshirt in his fist, dragging him to his feet. “I want to know what happened to her and what you just did.”