I peeked over the top of the block I hid behind and really wished I hadn't.

The bodies of the two gunmen were scattered in pieces like torn paper puppets and everything was...well, frankly, red. However, when I fought my initial urge to vomit all over the demon and myself, I realized there were only two dead men in the warehouse with us.

The magi was gone.

"Oh, no...." I muttered as I levered myself upright. "No, no, no! Why are there only two?!"

He must have run for it. Had he seen too much of my nature? Was he on his way to Ishcer? Did he know what Maligaphrius was? And, if he did, who was he going to tell about my involvement with the demon?!

Mal frowned, slouching his shoulders as he observed his handiwork and picked his way through the mess. He found a dripping wallet and scavenged it clean, stuffing stray bills into his pockets along with a watch and a class ring.

Great. The demon also robbed the dead. Great.

"It's not all fun and mayhem on this side," Mal commented as he noted my clear distaste. "Sometimes a poor demon just wants to buy himself dinner." 

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. This isn't happening. "Does one of them have a phone?" I asked before I could catch myself. "Preferably one that isn't...gross." 

Mal found what I asked for and presented me with a mostly clean smartphone. I took it from him and held it against my chest, glaring. "You can leave now."

He laughed, unperturbed by the sticky crimson splotches on his hands and face. "But we have a debt to discuss and for you to pay, my fair mistress. Oh, and you will pay." 

I scoffed, feigning bravery I didn't have as the demon's voice dipped into a menacing baritone. "I don't owe you anything." 

He paused. "How do you suppose?"

"There were three Fae outside the diner who tried to kill you. I saved your life from all three of them. As I see it, you only killed two men for me. You still owe me a life, buddy."

Mal's face took on a sincerer—and severer—expression. His body was young, but there were markers of exhaustion about his person, especially in the slight, dark depressions under his strange eyes. When he blinked it was slow, contemplative.

"How did you know there were three?" 

"What?"

"How did you know there were three Fae?"

Crap. I floundered for an answer as the demon loomed and refused to let myself be cowed. "B-because!" I retorted as I squared my shoulders and clutched the phone until my hands trembled. I was suddenly reminded of Xerex Darhan, who was—as impossible as it seemed—more unnerving than the creature before me. Mal was honest with his thoughts, while I never knew what Xerex was thinking. That aloofness gave the Fae power I'd never have, and I tried to channel his trickiness. "Because that information costs! D-do you want to owe me more, Mal?!"

He leaned on the block of machinery separating us, tongue lingering on a bloody nail. "You almost sound Fae," he chuckled—then suddenly snarled. "I hate Fae."

I was so lightheaded with fear and blood loss, it was a wonder I didn't faint. A burdensome silence stretched between us, and in that silence I heard the distant wail of encroaching sirens. The magi's fire must have ignited enough material to attract human attention.

Mal could hear the sirens, too. "We must discuss my rendered services later, it appears. Maybe when you are not so...vulnerable." 

He reached out to point one finger between my brows, hovering close to my skin. I couldn't taste any emotion coming off the creature, as if he felt nothing, as if this whole scene were just another day in the office for a demon. Mal flicked me and I flinched.

"Until then, mistress! I have ruin to write and less creative masters to serve." Mal affected a deep bow, his loafers sliding in the crimson painting the floor. "I do hope our next meeting proves to be as...entertaining."

The demon vanished. 

I sagged and groaned, allowing my eyes to close for one blessed second to savor this reprieve. He'd be back. I should've fought to absolve our debt, but implying Mal owed me gave the creature pause and afforded me more time to think—because I couldn't think right now. Not in this place. Not with my arm in such agony.

Not with the cops swarming the area.

Refusing to look at what I had to wade through, I dialed a memorized number and held the phone to my ear. I stumbled out into the first hour of the night. 

The line rang thrice before I was greeted with two frigid words. "Havik speaking." 

I meant to be polite, if curt, but I was so frustrated, angry, and exhausted, that what came out was—"Fang-faced monster blood-sucker," in snarled slur as I panted into the receiver. In the cloudy alley, the flash of amber police lights emanated from the next lane over. Standing was difficult, but I knew I had to flee before the police cordoned off the scene and I was caught.

It didn't matter that I hadn't been the aggressor in this attack. I was an unregistered supernatural, and I'd most likely be killed, if not incarcerated for the rest of my life. 

There was a protracted pause on the other end of the line as I hurried down another alley, using my good shoulder to slide along the brick wall. "Grae? Why are you calling from this number?"

"That doesn't matter—." The words stuck in my throat as I considered the vampire's phrasing. It was...peculiar. "Wait. You make it sound as if you know this number. Do you know that piece of shit who shot me?"

"Yes. His name is Erik. He's on retainer with one of the masters in Ishcer's cadre."

Of course. If the thug work for Emial, it was only natural Havik had seen or heard of him before. Even so, their association did nothing to alleviate my irritation. "Oh, of course. That just figures—!"

"What has happened?" Havik demanded, cutting my harangue short. I heard movement behind him and a soft murmur of words.

I sucked down another breath despite the fire in my chest. "Ishcer's men had Theda. They took her somewhere else, though."

"Where?" Havik all but yelled, voice exploding in my ear like another pop of gunfire. The vampire typically kept his emotions mellowed, but even I could taste the desperation in his voice. "Where did they take her?!"

"If I knew, do you think we'd be having this pleasant conversation?" 

"Stop being insolent and follow her trail!" 

"They took her in a van, you absolute ass!" I heard movement nearby, so I lowered my voice, scurrying away. "I can't follow her essence if she's been taken by a car! At least not right now!"

"Then what bloody use are you?" A pang of hopelessness resonated in his tone, and it made him angry. Belligerent. 

"Oh gee, Grae, are you alright?" I mocked without restraining the sarcasm bolstered by my pain. "It's not like you didn't just have a warehouse collapse on top of you or get shot or have someone try to burn you alive—!" 

"Warehouse. You said warehouse. Where?"

I slipped on an oily puddle and very nearly dropped the phone. I fumbled with it for a moment as Aurel's tinny voice continue to shout and snarl at me. I wasn't sure where I was going, but without a fireball-throwing magi and armed thugs chasing me, I was able to angle myself in the same general direction of the lounge. It knew it was on the corner of an intersection, meaning if I headed there, I would return to the main thoroughfare and my car.

I finally pressed the phone back to my ear. "Winters? Answer me—Grae!"

"She was in an abandoned warehouse about three blocks down from the lounge on Eighth and Primavera." I licked my lips, tasted blood, and quickly spat on the ground. "She wasn't alone, Aurel. I think...I think Ishcer's trying to turn her into a revenant."

Silence.

"It doesn't make sense, I know. But I found one there, and he didn't...feel the same as a true revenant. I've run into one before with Sib—a real one—and it wasn't this. This was...artificial."

Again, Havik said nothing as I continued walking. The adrenaline that had partially numbed my injuries was fading, my left arm useless with blood dripping from my fingertips.

"I...don't understand. A revenant? Jure syndrome doesn't present itself for three decades, at the least."

"I know. I'm just telling you what I saw. There was another vampire there, strapped down to a table, surrounded by medical equipment and stuff. Something about him was...twisted. Wrong. Like his magic had been taken out and replaced with something utterly different—and I don't think he's the only one. I think Ishcer's made more of these things, or has attempted to make more. Those dead vamps littering Roccia Nera are his rejects."

Havik was moving, talking to someone other than me. I distinctly heard him snap at Telavar, commanding him to "Summon Wyrd."

"Oh no, don't summon him—!"

"Where are you now?"

"Uhhh—oh!" Just as the vampire asked, I stepped out onto an open street—Eighth, I believed. I was roughly a block away from Bob's Bowl-a-rama and just ahead of the police line. I needed to get to my car and get away from here before I was caught in the falling net. "The bowling alley by the lounge."

"Leave. Return to your apartment immediately."

"Don't think you can order me around, vampire." A cruiser zipped by with its sirens wailing and its lights burning. I stepped into the alcove of an abandoned shop's doorway, avoiding detection.

I didn't have long to reach the car undiscovered, so I pushed myself into a haphazard, agonizing jog. "I'm not going to my apartment, I'm going to the hospital. As I mentioned, I was shot looking for your daughter."

"I sent Telavar to retrieve your doctor acquaintance. I assume your injuries aren't life-threatening or you wouldn't be so blithe on the phone." 

The nerve of him! "You can't just summon Dr. Cabel like a dog. She hates me!" 

"Don't be naïve. Return to your apartment. I will be there when the night settles properly."

I glanced skyward. The sun had fallen, but vestiges of its influence hung yet upon the western horizon. It seemed as if I had parked at Bob's days ago—not just hours. The sky had shifted from its summery blue to a fiery afternoon orange and was now waxing into the deeper, colder colors of night.

Smoke littered the expanse like inked fingerprints.

Havik took my silence as confirmation and hung up without another word. I grunted a few well-earned names under my breath before chucking the phone as far as I could with only one working arm. It hit the pavement with a satisfying crunch and broke apart on impact. The phone could've been useful, could've possibly had some information on it that could pin all this violence on Ishcer—but it belonged to one of the Baron's men, and there were many nasty, illegal curses someone could activate if they realized their lackey's phone was stolen.

My own phone may have met an unfortunate fate, but my keys miraculously remained in my pocket and I thanked the universe for that single mercy. I finally reached my vehicle and sunk into the lumpy driver's seat with a grateful sigh. The familiar scents in my car eased the twisted knot of anxiety attempting to braid my lungs together.

I bounced my head on the seat's back, eyelids fluttering. My broken bone throbbed and the bullet wound stung without end, but at least the burning of my scars had lessened to a dull roar. I'd survived, and that was the most important thing of all.

I considered the street and parking lot, spying the gathering cruisers farther along Primavera. A wispy fissure of smoke rose from the warehouse the revenant was stored in, and I wondered if the cops had found that monster yet. If the warehouse belonged to Ishcer, he had some very difficult questions to answer in his future.

The Baron would be furious.

Some of the bowling alley's patrons were lingering outside the garish doors as they stared toward the commotion with mixed expressions of curiosity and fear. The humans who remained in Roccia Nera hadn't survived this long without a healthy dose of anxiety to keep them alert and aware of possible supernatural dangers. Whatever ward that had dissuaded casual observation of the lounge and the warehouses had been dispelled by all the officers and vehicles zipping around. Flashing lights and sirens could break even the strongest of witch wards.

I pushed my key into the car's ignition, more than ready to escape this place—but a sudden tremor tugged my gaze back to the street. Again I felt it, the slight rumble that shook the earth and rose through the tires of my car.

What was that?

Being in southern California meant Roccia Nera was no stranger to common earthquakes, but this hadn't felt the same. No, the sensation had ended almost as soon as it had begun, unlike the protracted swaying and jerking caused by an earthquake.

Again it happened, and again.

"What in the hell is that?" I muttered, eyes narrowed. I reached up with my right arm and readjusted the mirror, looking for anything suspicious. Was someone kicking my bumper? Or was it really just a quake? Was I imagining things? Bob's looked the same as ever, aside from the people gathered by the front doors to watch the scene across the street. No one stood anywhere by my car.

My eyes flicked in the direction of the invisible aqueduct and the west bank—then grew round.

The west bank was on fire.

Several of the waterfront properties blossomed in flickering orange smudges in my mirror, the horizon was slashed with dark plumes of smoke trickling farther into the valley. A wave of flame suddenly fell over another building, and a moment later I felt the tremor reach across the aqueduct.

Explosions. Holy shit, the west bank is being bombed! I stared, transfixed and unsure of what I should do.

Another tremor—this one close enough to rattle the car's windows and set off someone's alarm. Light bloomed somewhere farther south, somewhere on the east bank. The mushroom cloud rose upward to touch the bruised sky as I continued to watch, dumbfounded, and the tops of the flames speared through the broiling clouds.

My mouth was dry, tasting of copper and ash. What the hell is going on?

I don't know why, but intuition jerked my gaze to the lounge. My car, idling on the far edges of Bob's parking lot, had a perfect view of the decrepit place. I blinked, and suddenly the explosion appeared, the fire expanding outward as if the building was inhaling, breaking itself apart at the seams.

The resounding bang struck me like a physical blow and I gasped, instinctually throwing both my arms over my head despite my broken bone. A cloud of debris exploded from the lounge's bottom, charging like a stampede of wild horses as chunks of concrete and structural wood struck my car, cracking the windshield, the impact of the explosion ripping through the car's frame to make it jump almost a foot off the ground.

The wave of wreckage blinded me to anything else but the gray of dust, and I felt the ground tremble again when the lounge's roof collapsed and more rock pinged against my car's roof.

People outside the bowling alley were screaming, struck by the falling rubble of concrete and timber—but the screams were lost to a second explosion farther down the way. I couldn't actually see it, but I again felt the earth violently shake and more stones rained through the air, beating the windshield until it was little more than a myriad of spider-webbed cracks. Through the dust, I discerned a smear of gold and orange expanding along Primavera.

I hardly dared to believe it—but the second explosion had to have been the warehouse where the revenant was being stored.

A cold fist formed in my gut, the unforgiving fingers clenching themselves tight.

This was Ishcer's doing. He must've found out the police were infiltrating his illegal experimentation lab, and he'd destroyed the evidence, despite the insurmountable cost. It was too coincidental for both the lounge and the warehouse to go up at the same time.

And what of the other buildings? Were they Ishcer's too? Had he burnt down half the city just to hide his dirty little secret?

She's dead, I thought, pressing my lips together to stop their trembling. My bloody hands were shaking so hard I couldn't start the car to get out of there. She's dead. If Ishcer is destroying evidence, that means...that means destroying...everything....

Theda had undoubtedly met her fate in one of those flaming buildings. As I finally managed to start my car and more tremors continued to lash out against Roccia Nera, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and despair.