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The god of demons rose from the hole it had made on the Washington Mall, surveyed its new kingdom, and roared defiantly. The impact and the loss of one wing had cost it much precious mass, but it was growing again, and would continue to do so, until it devoured all who dared threaten it.

The sound coming from the demon wasn’t in any language they could comprehend, but Sullivan understood the meaning anyway. Run, mortals. Run, and hide, because I’m coming for you.

Jake Sullivan was being supported by Dan Garrett on one side and John Browning on the other. Sullivan was so weak he could barely stand. He’d fully expected to die when he’d activated the shield spell. It was only that last spell he’d managed to carve and bind to himself months ago, the one based on the geometry of the Gravity Spiker, that had given him the energy sufficient to fuel the demon shield. But the shield spell was wearing off. They were retreating along with the bedraggled crowd. Soldier, marcher, Active, it didn’t matter, now they were all just trying to get away, same as everyone else. The troops that had arrived to protect the Capitol had burned through their meager allotment of ammunition. The Grimnoir were beat, and he had no idea where the others had wound up.

Two familiar figures pushed their way through the mob. Lance Talon was covered in ash and limping worse than usual, while it looked like Iron Guard Toru had been set on fire at some point. His shirt was gone and the Imperium healing kanji were glowing bright on his skin. One advantage of his terrifying appearance was that the evacuees gave him a wide berth. Toru asked, “Status?”

“We lost,” Sullivan muttered.

“We gave the city time to begin an evacuation,” Browning said. “That is worth something.”

Sullivan didn’t care for losing. “We have to think of something else.”

“Anybody seen what Faye’s up to?” Lance asked.

“Why? Do you need her to help you escape?” Toru asked coldly.

“Your Chairman underestimated her once, too. Look where that got him.”

Toru’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“Faye’s the strongest Active we’ve got left,” Sullivan said. “If I draw that spell again, and she uses her Power on it, maybe we can trap the demon inside for a while.” It was a desperate idea, but it was all that he could come up with besides running away, and he didn’t like running away any more than he liked losing.

The roaring and crashing of the demon had been so continuous that its sudden silence froze them all in their tracks. They all turned to look at the now quiet beast. It had stopped mid-rampage, through another of the great marble buildings. Struggling human figures were clutched in its hands, and it had been interrupted before it could shove them into its mouths. The four cavernous eyes narrowed. If something so hideously ugly could be said to have an expression, Sullivan would’ve had to guess that it seemed puzzled.

Then it exploded.

The demon seemed to stretch, bulging like an overinflated tire, and then it simply erupted into a million pieces. Animated flesh was sprayed in every direction, much of it dissipating before it hit the ground. Thousands of gallons of demon ink spilled, like a dam had burst, and it rushed across the ruined Mall, washing the stragglers away, collecting in the craters, and pouring down the cracks.

“I think we found Faye.” Lance said. “Told you.”

The body was destroyed, its spirit banished. The Mall had been transformed into a scene from Hell. Everything was black, either from ash or ink. A pile of dissolving meat was spread over acres. Burning trees and spotlights from the Lexington provided just enough light to see the carnage. The air was choked with a stinking toxic haze. A thick plume of smoke stretched upward until it disappeared into the night sky.

The mob had stopped, staring in shocked disbelief at the destruction. Then there arose a ragged cheer. It was the sound of thousands, thankful to live another day. Sullivan knew from experience that after the elation passed, then there would be the anger and grief over the ones that hadn’t been so lucky.

Dan studied the ragged crowd. He was thinking the same thing. “Let’s get out of here before they recall what brought them here in the first place…”

Chapter 23

Dearest Devika. Much time has passed since I have written. I have been consumed by my work. I write this letter in a brief moment of lucidity. I do not know how many more I will have, as they are becoming fewer by the day. Do not let my sons listen to the rumors of what I have become. The rumors are true but they must never know of the evil created by my hand. I was blinded by pride. One does not steal from the Power without paying a price. It is more intelligent than I suspected and it is learning. Though I thought I was using it, I was truly the one being used. Human emotions are not sufficient to describe the Power, but it was not upset when it discovered my theft. My resourcefulness gave it hope. The Power tried to prepare me for a task, but I was unworthy of its gifts. I have failed the test. Now all that remains is the hunger.

— Anand Sivaram, Personal correspondence, never posted, discovered in Paris, France, 1918

Arlington, Virginia

Francis woke up groggy. He was in a small, plain room, completely empty of furnishings except for a wool blanket somebody had wrapped him in. There was no window covering, and from the fuzzy light, he guessed it was just before sunrise. The house was quiet as he took in the humble surroundings. It was a hell of a lot better than a prison cell.

The last thing he remembered was getting shot several times while trying to reach the OCI truck. Everything after that was a blur. Since he was alive, and it didn’t feel like there were any extra holes in him, he could safely assume that he’d gotten to a Healer somehow. Sitting up took some effort. Being Mended would keep you alive, but the soreness had a way of lingering.

“Francis?”

It hurt to turn his head. “Faye?” She had appeared in the middle of the room. Her sudden arrivals no longer startled him like they used to. He started to ask her what had happened, but then he saw the terrible state she was in. Clothing tattered, splattered in dried blood and ink, with scratches on her face, and a hand that was blistered and red, Faye just stood there, wobbling like she was about to collapse. “Faye!” Francis heaved himself to his feet, tossed aside the blanket, and went to her. He caught her as she fell into his arms and gently lowered her to the floor. He brushed the matted hair away from her face. “What’s wrong?”

She pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. The intensity surprised him. When she finally let go, Faye gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen on her face. “Nothing’s wrong now.”

When Francis woke up again, strong daylight was beaming through the windows. Hours had passed. The air smelled like smoke and he didn’t know why. Voices could be heard outside. Browning was giving orders. It sounded like it was time to clear out.

He rolled over and reached out, but the blanket was empty. Faye was gone. Not surprising, considering her seemingly boundless energy, she had probably Traveled away to go do something useful or heroic. That was simply how she was, and he loved her for it. Her absence made him sad, but it was good in one way, because things had just become a lot more complicated between the two of them and it would be nice to at least have a chance to think things over before she popped back in.

What was there to think about though? This was Faye… She was a force of nature. Francis knew that he was a handsome, talented, sought-after bachelor-not to mention incredibly rich-but here he was.. wondering what she saw in him. Funny how things work out sometimes.

His fingers brushed against a piece of paper so he dragged it over. Still flat on his back, he unfolded the note. Faye’s handwriting was horrible, but reading and writing had never been very important in her life before the Grimnoir, so it was to be expected.