The rhythm of the Aos Sí drums rose in tempo until it was not only in my dreams and in my thoughts, but under my skin and in my chest. The music became something else, more rapid and more discordant, accompanied by shouts and the familiar pinging of broken stone raining upon the earth.

Not a dream. Not music. Those were explosions—and they were very much real. 

I jerked myself awake in the balmy dark of my coven bedroom, attempting to suck essence into my lungs, trying to find my equilibrium as I jumped, but the essence didn't come. The imbalance of air struck my chest in an unblocked punch. Stumbling, I landed on a knee and shook my head to clear sleep's delirium. 

Human, I told myself, grinding my teeth. You're human. Not a Sin. No essence to be found. 

The door swung open and struck the wall with a tremendous bang. The Baba Yaga witch stood silhouetted at the threshold, a ragged book clasped in one hand, the other planted on the door's blank face. She was trembling with fear or anxiety, neither of which were my concern, though her knees seemed close to giving below her slight weight. The dog was behind her, growling, his hackles raised.

"We have to leave!" Saule yelled, her voice like broken claws cleaving through slate. Around her rose the sounds of chaos, of women half-asleep and confused rising from their beds to face a sudden threat. Red light bathed the hall, and somewhere an alarm was blaring without end.

"Obviously!" I snarled as I leapt to my feet, thrusting the woman aside as I came into the hall proper. A thin miasma of smoke crawled across the unfinished ceiling, and as I breathed it in, I could taste metal tingling on my tongue.

Mages. Of course. 

I knew the syndicates wouldn't overlook the La Voisin coven simply because it was remote and recalcitrant, but I hadn't thought they'd arrive so soon when there were plenty of easier targets to apprehend in the cities and towns. We should have been safe for a night at the very least—and yet they were here, the harshness of their arcane magic like a mouthful of razorblades I couldn't bring myself to swallow. 

"King's breath," I swore into the ensuing commotion, breathing in the smoke and heat of an unquenched fire. Somewhere ahead of us came the raucous popping of a firearm being discharged, followed by a feminine shriek of indignation.

I'd only seen one entrance into the bunker. It wasn't as if the witches had given either of us a tour, so if there was an alternative exit, I didn't know of it. Logically, I'd seen the building and its layout from the outside while driving in the desert. I knew its walls sloped toward the hill it was built against.

No egress from the back, then. Escape would only be found from the bunker's front.

I set out with the Baba Yaga witch and her mutt at my heels, her fear a palpable force at my back. We were rushing straight toward the heart of the conflict, centered as it was at the building's entrance. The La Voisin women were smart to understand the necessity of breaking free of the mage blockade and getting outside, where they could spread out and scatter if needed. My dislike for witchkind ran thick in my veins, but I could respect their fortitude when faced with a mage attack. 

My hatred for the syndicates was far greater than my dislike of witches. 

One of the men had slipped through the witches' ranks and was sneaking along my hall, his shifty eyes peeking into the abandoned rooms in search of anyone who was too weak to defend herself and had remained behind. I sucked air through my bared teeth and marched up to the mage, startling the fool as he blinked, puzzled, clearly trying to decide who and what I was.

I threw my fist into his face and ground my teeth against the answering pain in my knuckles. Taken unawares, the mage dropped without protest and sagged against the wall. 

"Holy mother," Saule breathed again and again until the words became nothing more than a series of uncoordinated syllables. She held that ragged tome against her chest with a white-knuckled grip and didn't seem to notice the rank odor of rotten flesh coming off the thing. "Holy mother!" 

Bram sniffed his mistress, whining.

"Calm down," I ordered as I patted the mage's sides, searching the inner pockets of his gray coat. I found nothing but a blank pad of paper, his wallet, and the nub a pencil. I'd hoped to steal some prepped spells from the man, but he was most likely a materialistic mage who used words to direct his magic.

Somewhere in the compound a spell with seismic capabilities was used, and it brought me to my knees, dust shaking loose through the veil of smoke and ash. Saule was scrambling upright, stumbling on the downed mage as she struggled with her wild hair.

What to do? I couldn't very well walk through the front door. Even a Sin would find traversing a magic-fueled battlefield a daunting task. Had I been able to steal some prepped spells from the mage, I could've forced the issue, but he didn't have anything on him, and the Baba Yaga witch was nothing but a bloody priestess. I wasn't fully familiar with the scope of their abilities, but I knew it didn't range toward offensive.

Another blast hit the building, closer now, and fine hair-line cracks formed within the concrete walls. This was a ridiculous display. An Absolian's attention could be attracted from vast distances, so the paltry four hundred or so miles we'd laid between us was not a large enough buffer to avoid his hunting eyes. If this continued, Aurelius would come to investigate.

I needed to be as far from this place as possible if my brother chose to come this way. The mages and witches were obviously on their own. 

My gaze fell upon the unconscious mage. An idea occurred to me, and I reacted, rolling the man onto his front as I dug my fingers into the collar of his coat and yanked it off of him, not caring what I dislocated in the process.

"What are you...?"

The witch stopped speaking when I jammed my arms through the coat's sleeves, loosening my shoulders so my larger biceps and broader chest wouldn't rip the smaller man's attire. I could feel the tiny script written with thread inside the coat's lining brush against my skin, prickling in warning as if they knew I was no mage.

The man on the floor had blood dribbling from his busted nose, and I swiped my fingers through it, turning to the witch to paint nonsense symbols on her brow.

"What the hell—!"

I snatched hold of the woman's arm, the dog nipping my leg in protest. "Pretend to be meek and pacified, you mewling coward."

Whatever reply the witch was compiling was caught in her throat when I yanked her forward, hurrying toward the sound of the skirmish. "Y-you look like a mage!" she squawked, her heels screeching across the floor.

"How perceptive."

"T-there are witches out there too, you know!"

I did know. "They won't attack when I have one of their own."

"I'm not one of their own! I'm an outsider!"

A door to our right was jerked open—revealing a set of stairs and our guide from earlier that day, dressed in a hurry with her belt of capped vials thrown over one shoulder. Startled, she looked at me, then at Saule, her dark eyes honing in on that rank book the witch refused to drop, her mouth opening with an audible gasp.

"You little bitch!" she seethed. "You stole from us?!"

I hooked two fingers through the vial belt. "Are these already activated?"

Her brows came together, distracted. "Of course they're activa—!"

"Good." I planted a foot in her middle and shoved. The witch fell backward down the stairs—but not before I swiped the belt from her shoulder and swung the door shut.

Saule continued her high-pitched swearing as we ran on, my eyes watering against the thickening smoke as I examined the potions. I had three larger, bulbous red flasks, two slender blue vials with wax seals, a set of four green ampoules, and a myriad of teal mana pots labeled with initials and grubby with fingertips.

Frustrated, I shoved the belt into the witch's face. "What do these do?"

"How should I know?!"

We came into a connecting corridor and found ourselves faced with yet another La Voisin witch, this one covered in a layer of dirt with several lacerations on her upper arm. She was holding the injury, tossing nervous glances the way she came, as if certain her attacker was following her or that her sisters would be furious at her for deserting the battlefield.

The injured woman caught sight of my disguise, my tight grip on Saule's arm, and yelled. Her hand—coated in blood—rose as she began chanting a curse in the Esoterica, but the sorceress was expecting me to retaliate with my own magic, not my fist. She crumpled just as swiftly as the mage had.

Hopping over the woman, we came at last into the main hall—and into the outskirts of the melee.

I yanked one of the red flask from beneath the strap pinning it in place. I waved it before the petrified Baba Yaga witch hanging like a limp fish in my grasp. "What does it do?!"

She shook her head again, too terrified or dumbstruck to speak.

Worthless.

I sank my teeth into the cork, pulled, then threw the vial into the thick of things.

It shattered under the feet of a wizard trying to rope together an alchemist and an enchantress. The fire leapt up his trousers and began to burn the rest of his clothes—everything aside from his coat woven with spells. The man screamed and the witches screamed as well when he toppled onto them, kicking and struggling to put out the fire. Two of his fellow mages ran to assist, trailed by angry witches.

The distraction was enough for us to slip unnoticed through the roving smoke and come to the complex's front foyer. It was difficult to breathe or to see, bodies appearing and disappearing in snatches of clear air, all illuminated by the orange haze of an inferno burning near the entrance. Sorceresses chanted in their tongue-twisting language and the mage's responded in kind, their voices twisted in disjointed harmony under the wail of the alarm.

We came at last to the door, blasted off its hinges, crowded with mages and witches losing the fight against the more tactically prepared force. I threw Saule before me, pretending she was my captive—and the blasted dog sank his teeth into my calf as if to tug me from her. Bracing against the pain, I ripped the creature free and threw him forth as well. I followed them from the building.

Fresh air streamed into my lungs and I coughed, unable to escape the cloying, rough sensation ripping through my chest once free of the smoke. There were mages—more than a quick glance could count—swarming the building, a few dead upon the cracked earth, others injured or just furious.

Two of the syndicate men spotted us. The first—bespectacled and sporting a nasty gash on his chin, only shouted for me to move on, perhaps to take the prisoner to where they'd gathered the others. The second, an older man with ranks pinned to his chest, narrowed his eyes and grabbed my collar before I could slip free.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, thick fingers curling into the fabric of my stolen coat, securing his grip. "You're not a mage!"

I sneered. "Thank the High King for that."

Swinging the belt of vials, I ducked from the mage's hold, tearing the Blue Fire coat as two of the green ampoules splintered against the man's hard skull. He began to shriek as a rank, bubbling gas pooled on his bloodied flesh and started crawling across his skin.

His fist came down, magic sparking in his dexterous fingers, and the mage struck my wrist before I could escape. The hand with which I held the belt went numb as pain shot through my bones and sung in my nerves. What minute electrical responses powered the limb were short-circuited, my arm going limp at my side, my breath stolen as the numbing affliction rose to my chest.

The belt fell to the earth between us, and what potions remained shattered.

A nebula of fire and poisonous gas exploded, propelled by the chilling wind stored in the blue vials I hadn't yet touched, and I covered my face against the shower of glass. Mages and witches alike shouted in alarm as a veritable tornado rose above the compound, spiraling with flame and ice and acidic poison.

Droplets splattered across my face and burned. I bellowed into the maelstrom I was caught in, eyes shut against the stinging moisture as I fought to drag myself away from the plumes of witch fire. My left arm was gripped in another spasm, twisted against my chest with the fingers curled in upon themselves. The flames were nearing, licking closer as they gorged themselves on the scorched desert air.

Pain alighted through me and torment awaited in the fiery maw of the magic I'd inadvertently unleashed. Whatever potions had been stored in that belt were not supposed to be mixed.

"I won't die like this," I choked, my feet kicking at the solid ground as my heels cut ruts in its surface. I rolled to my side—narrowly avoiding a wayward rune hurled by one of the blinded mages. "This is just pathetic."

From my left, through the rising dust, I could hear the witch's dog barking, and the piercing screech of...car alarms. Using my good hand, I dug my nails into the dirt and threw my body forward through the snapping embers and thin puddles of flammable acid. The mage coat took the brunt of the assault and held firm, only fraying and smoking where the scripts were weak.

I found the Baba Yaga witch squatting next to the wheel well of Amoroth's car, her eyes wide and frantic as they darted toward the swollen tornado while her beastly animal barked and howled without pause. The book was still against her chest and her lips moved with either spell or prayer, I didn't know.

"Get in the car or get left behind!"

The keys were yet in my jeans' pocket, and I was able to get the doors unlocked. Saule flopped into the passenger's seat, trailing sparks and soot, and I managed to slam my own door despite my arm's lack of movement. Bram wriggled past his witch, landing out of sight in the car's backseat. The chaos remained unmuted, thanks to the broken window.

"How are we going to get out?" the witch demanded, spitting curls of frazzled, singed hair from her mouth. Either fear or soot had stained her face as gray as stone. "The flash-bangs are swarming the gate—and you probably killed that La Voisin sister when you threw her down the stairs—!"

"Are you quite done?" I shifted the car into gear, my brow quirked.

Saule only nodded, her reddened eyes glassy with unshed tears.

How insufferable.

"Good."

The car revved to life once I thrust my foot onto the gas pedal. The witch screamed when I swerved to the right, scraping the bumper against the wall's unforgiving front. Somebody—be they witch or mage—leapt aside to avoid being crushed, and I sped up, crossing the tornado's trajectory as I felt the heat of the wind scald my bare neck and face.

"You're going to kill us both!" Saule screamed as the blaze neared. "Stop, stop!"

"I might just kill you before all is said and done!"

The fire fell upon the windshield and rolled across its front in a molten blanket of unyielding strength, cracking the glass and scaring my witch passenger nearly senseless. Then—we were past the wheeling blaze and the closed gate was in sight. The fingers of my viable hand tightened as I increased our speed and set my jaw.

My journey doesn't end here, mage scum.

The car slammed into the gate and brought it crashing down, bricks and mortar flying in all directions, striking mages meant to hold the entrance secure. Jarred by the impact, I nonetheless kept our course and didn't blink when new spells were slung toward the speeding vehicle. Saule slouched in the seat, her head below the window with her eyes screwed shut.

Behind us, the La Voisin compound was crumbling under the tempest I'd unleashed. The witches who'd escaped capture were scattering in the desert, disappearing like unbound shadows fleeing into the native dark. Mages were fleeing, too, as the inferno rose and the heat became unbearable.

The bedlam dwindled, and the night beckoned. A typical mortal would have felt distressed or regretful over those he had abandoned, but I didn't. I didn't care who lay dead in the wreckage. I didn't care if the witches had prevailed, or the mages. All I cared about was Itheria, the criminal incarcerated beneath its wayward streets, and the woman he'd promised to return to me.

To that end, I leaned my weight forward, and locked my eyes on the black horizon. I would not be stopped.