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  While she was distracted, the witch summoned more of them, this time from her wand, and snaked them around her other wrist. She put all her strength into a pull to yank the wand from the witch’s hand but stumbled back as the shadow ropes simply grew longer. Okay, let’s see how long they can grow. Diana stepped forward to get a little slack and pointed her palms downward. She reached within for force and blasted upward, trailing the tendrils beneath her. At ten feet, they simply moved with her but at about fifteen, they yanked at her hands and dragged her downward. Sure, let’s do that. She added her own push to the pull and rocketed at the witch with her fists leading. When she was a dozen feet away Sarah realized her plight and stopped, and the agent pulled up and launched ten fire spikes at her, followed by two more identical volleys.

  The witch dodged with her own snarl, and Diana landed as Rath vaulted onto the wizard. His double-footed kick felled the man, and the troll applied a prodigious beating from his batons until his opponent lay curled up and immobile. As a final gesture, he snatched the wizard’s wand and snapped it in two. Without any indication of what he was about to do, he dropped the batons and spun to hurl two daggers at Sarah. One missed, but the other struck and drew a line of blood along the left side of her scalp. It was only then that her lack of hair registered with Diana. Hah. So my fire did do some lasting damage.

  The witch’s gaze shifted to the troll, and Diana saw death in them. She shouted, “Rath, help Nylotte,” and cast a wall of flame between him and Sarah. Almost instantly, she felt the price of the action in her diminishing strength. I still have enough for you, witch. He sprinted past her and hurdled through the broken window into the blazing building without a word. She turned to the other woman, her voice dark and fierce. “Targeting my friends is never a good idea. And I’ll teach you why.”

  The quartet of enemies barreled into Hank and rained kicks and punches while they swung their weapons at him. He couldn’t make out who had what but focused on blocking the things they held and weathering the other blows. Their greater numbers became a disadvantage as he spun and dodged and put them in one another’s way as he retreated. A counterattack opportunity opened, and he hammered his fist into the nearest hostile’s face, dropping him instantly.

  He’d failed to use his magic, though, and he stumbled awkwardly as the scumbag caught hold of his legs. A baseball bat struck him in the shoulder with enough force to bruise but not enough to break, and he grunted at the pain before he shoved it away. I have no time for you right now. Come back later. The one on his left held a machete and circled slowly to try to obtain a window for a clean blow. Hank sidestepped and lashed out with a fist to punch him in the solar plexus. The magic he put behind the blow—about half of what he had remaining—fast-tracked the man into those who hadn’t joined the struggle yet and all toppled in one ungainly heap. Sloan pulled his boss out of the way in time to avoid damage to either of them. I’m not sure how you’re staying out of the fight, my friend, but keep it up.

  Now, there were two plus the one on the ground, and a quick stamp broke the arm wrapped around his calf and took the third out of the battle. Hank smiled at the others, who had taken a step back. “If you boys are smart, you’ll decide that this is a great time for a walkabout and find your way out of Stonesreach—and out of Pittsburgh.” They looked at each other, and for a moment, he thought he had them, but they turned in unison and attacked. Oh, well. I tried. He gave them credit for arranging themselves effectively, as their attacks didn’t hinder each other. The one on his right was left-handed, apparently, and the one on his left the opposite. Their weapons whipped from the outside, and he backed away from the first swing to see how they’d respond.

  Their discipline was good, and they didn’t break formation. Okay, then. He darted at the one on the right and arced out far enough to avoid the blow from the other. The machete flashed, and he raised his arm in a simple high block and caught the blade on the armor plate that protected his forearm. His adversary realized he was screwed the instant before Hank’s forehead smashed into his nose and obliterated his will to continue fighting. The man crumpled, senseless.

  He turned to the final opponent with a grin. “Run along, now.” The man dropped his weapon and hightailed it down the street. Hank paid him only a second of attention before he turned to check on his partner.

  Nylotte didn’t like the odds. Four to one was doable, but less so when one of them was as accomplished as Dreven. She spun to obscure her movements and popped the lids on both of the non-healing flasks. She threw the ball bearings into the air with a shout and emptied the sand onto the floor surreptitiously with her other hand. A burst of force propelled the tiny metal spheres at her foes, and if those ranged against were the below-average practitioners the Remembrance had shown in the city so far, she might have hoped they would connect. But Dreven tilted the scales in their favor.

  As expected, the balls suddenly veered away pepper the far wall as one or more of the invaders directed their own force blasts at them. She made a show of waving her arms to summon a big spell as she circled to her right, and snuck a small breeze into the magic, only enough to lift the grains of sand from the floor and send them across the room. She scythed a line of flame that stretched to include them all, and each reacted to block it, but while they were distracted, her secret weapon floated toward them.

  The nearest advanced, extended a shadow knife from the tip of his wand, and swung it in a vicious arc aimed at her eyes. Nylotte raised the bracer, and its armor halted the force of the blow. The clever wizard transformed the blade to tendrils, but they evaporated as the chips on the vambrace did their work. She noticed her plan was working as the three who weren’t Dreven started to blink and expressions of pain dawned on their faces.

  She activated one of the charms on her necklace, and mirror images of her appeared and launched attacks. During the distraction, she used another charm to melt into the shadows and circled behind the wizards and witches. Dreven didn’t fall for it, however. He turned and shouted but his warning wasn’t quick enough to keep her from hurling force blasts into the back of each of the other three’s heads. His cohorts collapsed, face down, and left the two old enemies to face one another alone.

  The Drow launched a stream of wickedly pointed icicles at him and dragged the attack from his feet to his head. He stepped aside, and when she adjusted it to follow, applied his magic to flip them and fire them back at her. She summoned a wall of flame and used the steam as a distraction to shift position while she built balls of ice in each of her hands. When she was satisfied with the size, she threw them up and thrust them forward with force magic as soon as he was visible. He batted the one aimed at his face out of the way and took the blow on his armored groin without apparent effect. She laughed. “So, still nothing notable enough to do damage to, ey, Dreven?”

  He snarled a curse and stretched his wand arm out. A cage of lightning reared up around her. With another twitch of the wand, it began to collapse inward and the sparks threatened to reach her at any moment. She rolled her eyes. “Please, give me a little credit.” A wave of her vambrace in a circle cleared a section momentarily, and she stepped free to drive two force punches at him.

  The wizard slashed contemptuously and they veered past him and into the wall where her staircase had been prior to its unfortunate destruction. “Death is all you deserve.” He sketched a strange figure in front of him and shadow tendrils appeared from below her to wind around her limbs. With a deft movement, he yanked them tight as others ensnared her body. The first ones fell victim to the deflectors in her bracers and on her necklace, but there were so many that she couldn’t destroy them all.

  She fought against them to ensure that she’d have room to relax and use the slack to escape in the instant before the tentacles sensed it. An unexpected but welcome sight at the top of the stairs had changed the situation and now, it was about words rather than power. Although perhaps words are the greatest power of all when it comes down to it. She su
mmoned a sweet smile. “Aww, are you still heartbroken, Dreven dear?”

  He snarled, and the tendrils squeezed, legitimately pressuring her breathing. She wouldn’t have too long to taunt him before matters became urgent. She gathered enough air to speak. “Sure would…be lousy if you came all this way…and lost because…you underestimated your foe.” He stared at her and broke into laughter as he stepped toward her bound form. That’s it, only a couple more steps.

  Three things happened in rapid succession. First, he put his face next to hers and was livid as he spoke in a growling tone. “It is you who underestimate me, Drow.” He made the word sound like the worst name he could possibly have called her. “You always have.”

  Second, she choked out. “No…you did…exactly…what I thought…you would.” At the same time, she saw the flicker in the corner of her vision. That led directly to the third, and she relaxed her muscles to free up enough space to summon force swords in her hands. She yanked them upward and sliced the tendrils on the top half of her body into two parts, then cut down to do the same to the lower half as he began to react. But the troll’s blades struck true—an amazing throw from the first floor opening under the circumstances—and dug deep into the space between his shoulder armor and the base of his helmet. His eyes flew wide as both thrown knives penetrated into the back of his neck. His mouth gaped, unable to form useful words.

  Nylotte stepped forward and drew her daggers, spinning them once as she raised them to the right level. She stared her opponent in the eye and shook her head. “You always were an idiot. And I was a bigger idiot to believe your lies. But now, the scales are well and truly balanced. You destroyed my former life. For that, it is my privilege to end yours.”

  She thrust the blades forward with as much righteousness as she had felt toward any action in her existence and stumbled sideways as a rift opened under his feet and sucked him away from her. A scream of defiance tore its way out of her lungs, but there wasn’t enough rage in the universe to propel her into the unknown darkness after him. She looked at the head of the stairs, the only place that someone could have seen the goings-on to cast the portal that perfectly, and saw the troll face down on the floor.

  She launched herself to his side with a blast of force and cradled his crumpled form in her arms. With a level of concern she would deny to her deathbed if called on it, she brushed the purple hair out of his eyes and felt his head and neck for wounds. None were present, but he still refused to breathe. She put her hand on his chest and sent her own magic into him, a last-ditch healing effort that risked severe damage to the caster. Part of her mind rationalized it while she worked. If her troll dies, Diana will be inconsolable and be unable to achieve her full potential. Thus, I must save him. An observer, though, would have seen the caring look on her face and realized that the blustery Drow had a soft spot for this troll, and maybe even—possibly—other small and vulnerable creatures.

  Rath coughed as her magic found the blockage and cleared it and he began to breathe again. The Dark Elf kept her magic in him until he was stable, then withdrew it slowly. She set him down carefully and bolted to her feet, anger at Dreven’s vanishing act driving her again. First, I’ll find a healing portion for the troll. Then, I’ll kill each and every one of Dreven’s people until someone tells me where to find him.

  Marcus raised his arm instinctively to block the fire darts she’d launched at him and seemed surprised when they scorched and deformed the metal. The emotion turned to fury, and he drove toward her, swinging his left fist in a wicked hook. She put the information together as she ducked under the punch and dodged aside from the kick that followed. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Your arms don’t work right down here, do they?”

  He growled and drew the daggers from his belt. “Everyone has challenges. You’re not good enough to beat me one-on-one.”

  She realized she’d never have a better chance than this to kill him. Above, his mechanical arms gave him an advantage. He’d obviously internalized the confidence he drew from them, perhaps never realizing that they wouldn’t provide such a large advantage in the kemana. Maybe I can’t cut your arms, but that’s not the only place you can bleed. Cara darted in, licked at his face with Angel, then thrust Demon at his stomach when he blocked the first strike. He took the tiniest required step to avoid the thrust and countered with a slash that sliced her cheek from immediately under her eye to her chin. She resisted the urge to touch it and circled to attack again.

  He stepped forward to intercept her. The two exchanged a flurry of blows, slashes, and thrusts barely blocked in time or cleverly dodged, and broke apart with neither having scored. Her face was throbbing, but she pushed the feeling away and focused on her enemy. Everything in her wanted to make him bleed and suffer. She started to move again but felt a weight in her stomach she attributed to the Daggers. While their combat suggestions came through in perfect clarity without requiring her to retreat to their shared mental space, their other communications were sensed rather than understood.

  Demon and Angel urged caution. Cara sighed and whined in her mind. But I want to stab him! The image of a child version of herself stomping her foot made her laugh, and instead of advancing, she retreated, holding her weapons in a guard position. “Marcus. Last chance. Surely prison is better than bleeding out on this street.”

  He shook his head. “Clearly, you’ve never been to prison. And I’ll never go there again.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I can’t argue with that.” She sheathed her blades and summoned her fire to release a cone from each hand that merged on his chest. He thrust his metal limbs in the way and pushed forward against the power of it in an effort to reach her. She dug deep and threw more of herself into the attack, willing it to penetrate his defenses. After a moment, it did and burned through his arms and into the body behind them. He wore a startled look as he fell to his knees and toppled slowly onto his side as the light in his eyes faded.

  Cara raised her gaze to his remaining followers, who numbered Sloan plus two. She shook her head. “We’ve done enough to each other tonight. Get out of here. If I see you again, you’re dead. Exactly like him.”

  They ran. As Cara watched them go, Hank stepped up beside her. He sounded full of all the energy she wasn’t. “How does it feel, having beaten him?”

  She shrugged. “I thought it would matter more, like a weight would lift or something.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Maybe it’ll come with time.”

  “Maybe. But for now, there’s still work to do. Let’s go clean up the streets.”

  He grinned and slapped his fist into the opposite palm. “Now that’s an idea I can get behind.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Diana strode directly toward the enemy witch, determined to make her pay for attacking Rath. Where her rage had been a fiery thing before, it was now cold. The outcome was already determined. It was merely a matter of calling it into being. The woman threw fire at her, and she countered with her flame buckler, drawing power into her. She tried ice, and Diana’s mind, entirely focused on her rival, was no longer a hindrance and instead, summoned a proper ice shield to drain more energy from her adversary’s attack.

  Sarah retreated, her expression suggesting that the look on the agent’s face alarmed her. As it should, witch. The expected blast of darkness spilled from her wand, and she cast a force shield to intercept it. The tendrils came again and she smiled. She looped her force rope over them, drew it tight, and yanked it back to force the witch to choose between being hauled off balance or releasing the tentacles. She chose the latter, and Diana flicked the line at her face. Sarah brought her wand around to block, abandoned the shadow attack, and gave her the opening she had waited for.

  With a yell to startle her, she attacked the witch, the distance now short enough that she could cross it before more than one counterattack could be thrown. She accepted the blast of shadow that struck her, ignored the emotions she associated with it, and pushed through the
actual pain it caused. When she reached Sarah, she gathered all her momentum and channeled it into a leaping head butt and drove her forehead into the top of her enemy’s nose.

  The witch staggered, dazed, and Diana used the opportunity to raise her left leg, pivot, and drive it down into her knee. It shattered under the impact of the blow, and the witch screamed as she fell. Part of her registered that her target mumbled “stop” repeatedly but she had no interest in anything the woman might have to say. She powered the steel toe of her combat boot into the witch’s hand to shatter the bones and knock her wand free. Diana knelt before her and summoned a force blade, shorter than her sword, and added a flaming outline to the edges. She grinned at her opponent, who seemed to have difficulty holding her head up. “So, the tentacles…they come out of your arm, right? Do you want to tell me which one, or should I simply dig until I find it?”

  Her danger sense saved her again. She threw herself to the side as she felt a threat from above. The giant purple crystal that fell from the ceiling high above must have been nudged by magic somewhere along its path to trigger her power and provide the warning. She rolled once she saw it, but quickly stopped when she realized it was too big to evade. Instead, she created an outer shell of ice, a layer of force under it, one of fire beneath that, and a second layer of force that rested an inch above her skin. There was barely enough time to wonder if it would be sufficient before the mammoth stalactite struck.

  The sound and pressure of the rock as it pounded into her shields was all-encompassing, and as it faded, it felt like she was alone on a barren planet. When the sounds ceased, she slowly pushed the single layer that remained intact outward. Voices became distantly audible, and she felt the weight vanish from above her. Finally, the rubble was cleared away, and the others—all the others, she was relieved to discover—stood above her. Hank offered her a hand, and she used it to climb to her feet. She searched for Sarah’s body and groaned when she failed to see it.