house was in the middle of nowhere, but someone would have called 911 by now. Probably the tree farmer up the road. Pretty soon, a fire crew would arrive, and Dain had no intention of hanging around until they did.
"Dain!" Ciarran called, loping toward him, his expression grim as he assessed the inferno engulfing Vivien's home.
Dain shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the acid burn of the charred demon bone seep through his skin. He knew that if the dark aura of the bone wasn't clouding his perceptions, he would be able to sense the part of Ciarran that was demon. Once, Ciarran had used warding spells and an alloy glove to hide his left hand, to deny the part of himself that was infested by a demon parasite.
Now he accepted it, embraced it. Dark, demonic magic blended with Ciarran's light-fed power, making him a formidable and unpredictable force within the Compact of Sorcerers.
Dain still wasn't certain how he felt about trusting that.
But weeks past, when the Ancient had betrayed their cause, Ciarran—a sorcerer who was part demon—had chosen to hold true. That choice had to count for something.
It was always about choices.
And for Dain, it was about trust. He had a little problem with that commodity, kind of like looking for sunshine in the arctic in the dead of winter.
Skidding to a stop, Ciarran studied the burning house, then turned to look quizzically at Dain.
"Exterminate something?" he asked, his voice mild.
"Yeah. A full-blooded demon and its keeper," Dain replied, wondering what the hell the demon had been doing in Vivien's basement. "You?"
Ciarran flexed his leather-gloved left hand. "Smoked three hybrids in the cornfield."
"I got four at the tree farm." Darqun jogged up, pulling leaves from his hair. He grinned. "And one tree."
"What the hell is going on? What were they doing here?" Ciarran asked, his voice low, his body eerily still.
Narrowing his eyes, Dain glared at the burning house, slid his gaze to the tree farm. "Whatever it is, it isn't good."
Dain felt the shift of the continuum as Ciarran called up his strange blend of demon-tinged magic to cordon off the blaze. The smoke and flames twisted and writhed and coalesced in a single column that held close to the house.
"Did they follow us here to Dr. Cairn's house, or did we all just happen to show up for the same party?" Darqun asked.
The question brought a harsh stab of guilt. Dain had no liking for the answer he conjured. "Best I can figure, they must have followed us. We led them right to Viv"—he cleared his throat—"Dr. Cairn's doorstep."
"Probably," Ciarran agreed, his tone laced with disgust. "I can think of no other explanation for their presence here. But why the hell didn't we sense them?"
"The garlic-on-a-date effect," Darqun muttered, and Dain almost laughed at Ciarran's expression. "You know… when you go out on a date, don't eat garlic unless your date does, too. You won't smell it if you both eat it."
Ciarran swung his gaze to Dain, looking both pained and baffled. "There's a point he's making, right? Tell me there's a point."
"Yeah. There's a point." Dain hauled the charred demon bone from his pocket long enough for Ciarran to catch a glimpse, then shoved it back out of sight. "The equivalent of demon garlic. As long as me and the bone hang tight, I can't sense anything in the haze of darkness. And if you're sitting next to me, neither can you."
He had no idea how Ciarran could sense anything in the first place, given that his light magic was woven with dark, but he wasn't about to ask. Some things crossed even the line of friendship.
" You We carrying the bone around with you ." It wasn't a question.
"I'm sure as hell not going to leave any of them—not the charred bone or these fun little bags of bones—lying around unguarded. Besides, I wanted Dr. Cairn's take on them." Dain crossed his arms, implacable. The movement made his mangled forearm throb, and he glanced at it, surprised by the extent of the
"Dain!" Ciarran called, loping toward him, his expression grim as he assessed the inferno engulfing Vivien's home.
Dain shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the acid burn of the charred demon bone seep through his skin. He knew that if the dark aura of the bone wasn't clouding his perceptions, he would be able to sense the part of Ciarran that was demon. Once, Ciarran had used warding spells and an alloy glove to hide his left hand, to deny the part of himself that was infested by a demon parasite.
Now he accepted it, embraced it. Dark, demonic magic blended with Ciarran's light-fed power, making him a formidable and unpredictable force within the Compact of Sorcerers.
Dain still wasn't certain how he felt about trusting that.
But weeks past, when the Ancient had betrayed their cause, Ciarran—a sorcerer who was part demon—had chosen to hold true. That choice had to count for something.
It was always about choices.
And for Dain, it was about trust. He had a little problem with that commodity, kind of like looking for sunshine in the arctic in the dead of winter.
Skidding to a stop, Ciarran studied the burning house, then turned to look quizzically at Dain.
"Exterminate something?" he asked, his voice mild.
"Yeah. A full-blooded demon and its keeper," Dain replied, wondering what the hell the demon had been doing in Vivien's basement. "You?"
Ciarran flexed his leather-gloved left hand. "Smoked three hybrids in the cornfield."
"I got four at the tree farm." Darqun jogged up, pulling leaves from his hair. He grinned. "And one tree."
"What the hell is going on? What were they doing here?" Ciarran asked, his voice low, his body eerily still.
Narrowing his eyes, Dain glared at the burning house, slid his gaze to the tree farm. "Whatever it is, it isn't good."
Dain felt the shift of the continuum as Ciarran called up his strange blend of demon-tinged magic to cordon off the blaze. The smoke and flames twisted and writhed and coalesced in a single column that held close to the house.
"Did they follow us here to Dr. Cairn's house, or did we all just happen to show up for the same party?" Darqun asked.
The question brought a harsh stab of guilt. Dain had no liking for the answer he conjured. "Best I can figure, they must have followed us. We led them right to Viv"—he cleared his throat—"Dr. Cairn's doorstep."
"Probably," Ciarran agreed, his tone laced with disgust. "I can think of no other explanation for their presence here. But why the hell didn't we sense them?"
"The garlic-on-a-date effect," Darqun muttered, and Dain almost laughed at Ciarran's expression. "You know… when you go out on a date, don't eat garlic unless your date does, too. You won't smell it if you both eat it."
Ciarran swung his gaze to Dain, looking both pained and baffled. "There's a point he's making, right? Tell me there's a point."
"Yeah. There's a point." Dain hauled the charred demon bone from his pocket long enough for Ciarran to catch a glimpse, then shoved it back out of sight. "The equivalent of demon garlic. As long as me and the bone hang tight, I can't sense anything in the haze of darkness. And if you're sitting next to me, neither can you."
He had no idea how Ciarran could sense anything in the first place, given that his light magic was woven with dark, but he wasn't about to ask. Some things crossed even the line of friendship.
" You We carrying the bone around with you ." It wasn't a question.
"I'm sure as hell not going to leave any of them—not the charred bone or these fun little bags of bones—lying around unguarded. Besides, I wanted Dr. Cairn's take on them." Dain crossed his arms, implacable. The movement made his mangled forearm throb, and he glanced at it, surprised by the extent of the
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