CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A SOUL INSPIRED

Reed had anticipated an attack, and he’d been prepared for it. Maybe by using the individual magic the sorcerer had worked on Kyle Farr, Reed had collected the supernaturals who came out to meet us. There were dozens of them. Shifters, vampires, River trolls, the similar-looking mercenary fairies who’d once guarded our door, River nymphs, and a very tall, willowy creature I’d never seen before.

A dryad, Ethan said silently, as if sensing my confusion. That was a kind of tree nymph, if I remembered my Canon. She had the look—skin that was nearly gray beneath her pale green, Grecian-style dress, hair that was silvery green, and long arms that ended in reedy, pointed fingers.

As if the opening of the doors had unleashed power as well as creatures, magic seemed to pour out of the building. It was intrusive magic, biting and terrible magic that felt like alien fingers pinching, grasping, looking for literal and metaphorical access into our psyches. The bracelet kept the magic out of my head—and I was ridiculously grateful for that—but it didn’t mute the disturbing sensation of it.

The dryad reached me first, swinging her long arms as fluidly as waving branches but as sharp as whips. I dropped and rolled to avoid being snapped by one, came up on the other side, and swept my katana back. I’d slicked a cut across her arm. It seeped green and put the scent of crushed leaves into the air. She made a horrible, windy sound of pain, lashed her arm out again. I’d prepared to drop again, but she adjusted her trajectory at the last minute and caught my ankle.

I hit the ground on my back but shifted my weight and hopped back to my feet just as she moved closer, tried to swipe again. This time, I grabbed her arm; her skin was rough, but it moved in my hand like an eel, which was weirdly disconcerting. I grabbed the dispenser from my belt, pressed it to her arm.

With a scream, she ripped her arm away, leaving ropelike burns on my palm. She stumbled back once, and then her silvery green eyes rolled up and she fell to the ground like a felled tree.

That tranq was damn effective. The fact that the CPD had made it just for sups was probably worth some thought, but not tonight. Tonight was for magic.

“One down,” I said, glancing over the plaza. “A dozen to go.”

Ethan was a few yards away, battling two vampires with slashing katana moves that had him nearly blurring with movement. His opponents were fast, too, at least Strong Phys in the scale of vampire power rankings. But being controlled made them clumsier than they would have been if they’d been fighting on their own.

I don’t see why you get to have all the fun, I said silently, and ran toward him, stepping to one of his opponents as he executed a gorgeous butterfly kick that had the vampire flipping backward.

They fought in silence, I realized. No cursing, no groans of pain, not even grunts of effort—like the ones tennis players made when returning hard plays. There were still sounds—the sharp ping of metal against metal, the shush of fabric, the crunch of glass underfoot. But they didn’t speak at all.

The second vampire lunged for me. I used a side kick to shift his weight. He stumbled to the side but regained his balance and came back at me with silvered eyes and descended fangs. He thrust the katana downward; I used the spine of my sword to deflect, push it away.

Got him, Ethan said, moving forward and slapping the plunger onto the vampire’s back. A pause, and then he crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Spoilsport, I said, but my cheeky smile was interrupted by an avalanche of screams.

“Everybody take cover!”

I instinctively looked back at the sound of Catcher’s voice, found him running toward us, eyes on the balustrade that separated the plaza from the canal that contained Chicago River.

I followed his gaze. One of the River nymphs stood in front of the wall, her hands lifted toward the river—and the wall of water she’d raised over the river, and apparently planned to drop over the plaza.

“Oh, shit.” Ethan’s voice was a horrible whisper.

“I got it!” Catcher said, and moved toward it, raising two hands, palms out, to face the wall of water that was still growing, towering over the petite nymph who’d lifted it dozens of feet over her head. The wind blew fiercely, sending a mist across the plaza, which glittered with glass, and threatening to drown us all with the surge.

Power crackled around Catcher as he gathered up magic, building a transparent wall that sparked with energy. Slowly, as sweat crossed his brow, he began to push it forward, a sea wall against the tsunami the nymph was threatening.

Their gazes locked on each other, their expressions fierce with determination. They moved toward each other, the wall of water shivering above the nymph as if with anticipation of falling, of covering the earth again. But she was so focused on Catcher that she didn’t see Morgan move around behind her. He watched her and Catcher, gauged the right moment, and moved forward, tagging her with the tranq.

She dropped, and the water—now forty feet high—hovered above the plaza.

Sweat popping across his brow, Catcher took one step forward, then another, blue sparks flying around his hands as the water shivered, lifted. He sucked in a breath, as if gathering up his resources, then gave the water a final shove.

Loud as a train, the water flew back toward the river, but unevenly, rushing across the Michigan Avenue Bridge—pushing CPD cruisers into one another with another mighty crash—before falling back to the river again.

Catcher fell to his knees, body limp with exhaustion. That was the downside of being a sorcerer; you had to recharge.

“Hey,” I said, running toward him and crouching in front of him. “You all right?”

“Took a lot out of me.”

“Yeah, saving a few thousand people can do that. That was a pretty good Moses routine—you know, parting the waters and all.”

He looked up at me, a half smile on his face. “Are you making a joke at a time like this?”

“Catcher Bell,” I said, offering a hand and helping him climb to his feet, “if you can’t make a joke at a time like this, what’s the point of living?”

“I guess.”

“Are you going to be able to help Mallory? I could call Paige, get her out here.”

“I can manage it,” he said, testy as ever. “Paige has to stay on the House ward.”

“In that case,” I said, and pulled the slightly squashed PowerBar from my pocket, handed it to him, “you’ll need this more than me.”

Catcher accepted it, looked at me with a warm smile. “Did you bring a battle snack?”

Since he’d already ripped open the package and bit in, I decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to respond.

Ethan ran toward us as a different magical pas de deux occurred behind him—the QE and the countermagic battled for control, the green tendrils in the sky waving erratically as power fought power.

“We’ve got a path toward the building,” Ethan said.

“Then use it,” Catcher said with a nod, stuffing the wrapper in his jeans as he ran back toward Mallory. “And thanks for the battle snack!”

“Which are a brilliant idea!” I yelled back as Ethan rounded up the troops to head inside.

“Get to the elevators!” he called out, waiting until the rest of the team had acknowledged the order. Stairs would have been cooler, but that was the tricky part about having to battle on the top floor of a would-be high-rise.

We made it into the building—Gabriel bringing up the rear in his wolf form—just as another bolt of magic flashed outside the building. It hit the pavement like Thor’s hammer, putting a crater in the plaza as big as a car, and sending shrapnel into the air.

Down! Ethan said, covering me as shards of granite crashed against the glass, burst through to litter the lobby floor.

As if sensing us, the supernaturals who remained outside began to run toward the lobby. Magic flashed again as Gabriel shifted from gray wolf to naked and sun-kissed human. Eli tossed him a backpack, probably filled with clothes.

“Get to the elevators!” Gabriel said, pointing to the bank of them. “Reed’s sorcerer is fighting the countermagic. You don’t do this now, he’ll take down the goddamn building and everyone in it!”

“We got this,” Eli said, a curl falling over a gash on his forehead.

“Let’s go while we can,” Morgan said, and with a nod from Ethan, we ran for the construction elevators and slipped into a car.

•   •   •

We’d decided to take the elevator to the floor beneath Reed and the others.

There was only red steel mesh between us and the sky as the crude digital display ticked off one floor after another. The wind blew ferociously through the car, which made the ride bumpy and my knees a little shaky.

Ethan pushed a hand through hair dampened by exertion and magic. He glanced at me. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said as I stood in an elevator between two Master vampires who’d both been affected negatively by Adrien Reed.

As we rose into the air, anticipation began to build again. Logan Hill would be on the roof; he had to be. He was part of the alchemy, part of the magic, part of the Circle.

I would have my time with Logan Hill. I would have my reckoning.

I also would have to keep a better check on my emotions, because both men turned their heads to look at me. I kept my gaze on the elevator doors.

“Sentinel?” Ethan asked.

“I’m fine,” I said again. And I was; I had my game face on.

The elevator slowed, then came to a gentle stop as it reached our destination. We took battle positions once again, just in case they were waiting for us.

“Ready,” Ethan murmured as the elevator buzzed its warning and the mesh door slid open.

The floor was empty—an expanse of concrete bounded by steel pillars—except for the broken body on the floor. I went cold as ice and rushed forward, fell to my knees beside my brother.

“Robert! Oh, damn, Robert!” It took all the bravery I had to reach out and touch him, to gauge whether the man who’d chased me as a child was still alive. His skin was cold and clammy, and vibrated with power. Something magical, maybe. Something the sorcerer had done to him.

Morgan moved beside me, checked Robert’s pupils. They were tiny black pinpricks.

“Magic,” he diagnosed. “Probably to drop him, keep him out of the way. But not kill him,” he added, checking Robert’s pulse, “because he’s a tool, too, just like the rest of us.”

Magic cracked again, flashing brilliantly across the hallway and sending a green sheen across the tall bank of windows opposite the elevator. The concrete beneath our feet shook as if a hurricane raged outside, then stilled just as silently. It hadn’t broken, but the sound of glass tinkling to the stone plaza below filled the air like music.

“I can get him out of here,” Morgan said. “But you’ll have to go forward alone.”

I looked back at Ethan, found his gaze on mine, green and intent. Neither of us was masochistic enough to want war, but we wanted the men who stood on the other side of that door, and we wanted them badly. And when push came to shove, there was no one else I’d rather go through the door with.

“Take care of him,” I said to Morgan, then pressed a kiss to my brother’s cheek and climbed to my feet again, looked at the ladder beside the construction elevator that led to the building’s top floor.

“Ready?” Ethan asked.

“Always.” Anticipation began to drain away, replaced by pure adrenaline and luminous anger. I felt as if I glowed with it—although that could have been the magical battle taking place around us.

I took the ladder first, climbed silently upward, one rung at a time, until I was high enough to just peek through the hole. The action was taking place on the other side of the floor. There was a man watching on the elevator—he’d have heard it moving upward—but he hadn’t realized we’d stopped on the floor below.

There was an enormous utility box to my left. Probably some kind of HVAC unit.

Silently, I climbed forward into powerfully swirling winds and the scent of bitter magic and slipped behind the unit.

Come up and to the left, I told Ethan. Behind the utility box.

This isn’t the time for a romantic tryst, Sentinel.

You’re hilarious. And there’s a man to your right, so be quiet.

Ethan’s head popped up. He watched the man for a moment, and when he was certain of the man’s inattention, he joined me in a crouch.

You’re ready? he asked, and I nodded. In that case, we go out on three. One—two—three!

We jumped forward and were greeted by a shifter, a man in a Cubs jersey who looked exhausted and unkempt, and who came at us with raised fists and blank eyes.

“Kyle Farr!” I guessed, and drew his attention to me.

He growled, leaped forward. But he was obviously tired, had probably been under Reed’s control since he’d disappeared. He missed me, and when I threw out a foot to trip him, he hit the roof on his knees. Ethan took his chance, moved forward, and depressed the tranq to Farr’s arm. His eyes closed, and he drooped.

I climbed over his body, moved to stand next to Ethan. Ready? he said.

Ready, I agreed, and we moved cautiously forward.

There, in the middle of the roof, was an enormous metal sculpture. It was probably ten feet across, at least as tall. It was built like a tree—if the tree had been built from metal scraped from the bowels of the earth and blackened by fire, every branch sharpened and honed to a point. It was hollow in the middle, and green smoke and magic poured out of what I guessed was a crucible. That smoke rose and twisted and seemed to take form above us.

And there in front of the crucible stood Sorcha and Adrien Reed.

He wore a black suit that would have befit a presidential candidate.

Sorcha stood beside him in her signature color, an emerald green sleeveless jumpsuit with a formed and fitted bodice in bias-cut emerald silk, with an enormous, structural ruffle over one shoulder. On her left biceps was a four-inch-long gold scarab atop a gold cuff. And atop her head was a cannily perched fedora in matching green, a satin ribbon around the brim. Magic swirled around her in pale green tendrils that matched those in the sky. Three of them danced together in her cupped palm.

“Son of a bitch,” Ethan and I muttered simultaneously.

Our sorcerer was a sorceress. And a damn stylish one.

Sorcha Reed had been the “man” at La Douleur, the “man” Annabelle had seen at the cemetery. The sup we’d seen at La Douleur—the one I believed had ratted us out—had been relatively small of stature. But because of the suit, the fedora, I’d assumed the sup had been a man. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she—or any other woman—had been Reed’s sorcerer. And in retrospect, I couldn’t have been more stupid. Who else would Reed have trusted so completely with his master plan, with the magic he figured would give him control of the city? Who else would he have allowed into the inner circle?

This wasn’t the vacuous Sorcha I’d seen at Reed’s side. This was the woman I’d seen peeking through—working busily on her phone, surprised that we’d shown up at the Botanic Garden but seemingly excited by the fact that we’d been arrested.

Tonight, she showed poise and power, and her eyes shone as coldly as Reed’s.

“Oh, look,” she said blandly, with an eyebrow arch that nearly rivaled Ethan’s. “They’ve made their way up.”

If her tone was any indication, she didn’t think we posed much of a threat.

“And they’re staring,” she said to Reed. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. You’re surprised. Most are, but then, that’s the point.

“I was born into a family not unlike yours,” Sorcha continued, apparently eager to offer up a soliloquy. “Older, and more genteel, of course. From Salem, originally,” she said with a widening grin. “But when I discovered my magic, they made me shut it down, made me reject my true nature. And then I became a debutante, like I was a horse to be shown off.” Her gaze slipped to her husband. “And then I met Adrien. He has his games, his pleasures, and I have mine.” Her eyes shone with purpose. “I’ve turned the system on its head.”

“You’re biding your time,” I said. “You play the perfect wife, help Reed establish his legit connections. And when he’s powerful enough, has control of enough, you can both rule the kingdom.”

She clapped her hands together, condescension in her expression and her movements. “Bravo, Caroline Evelyn Merit.” Her gaze skipped to Ethan. “I see you’ve adopted a similar plan.”

Anger pierced me, the fact that she believed I’d used Ethan in some kind of rebellion against my family. The recognition that she probably knew better—that she was baiting me just as Reed liked to do—kept me in my place.

“We have a countermagic,” Ethan said, getting us back to the point. “Your alchemy is being unraveled as we speak, and the CPD is waiting for you below. Your bluff has been called, Reed. It’s time to step away from the table.”

“You misunderstand,” Reed said. “Your magic’s failing.” He gestured to the airspace above us, where the QE still hung in the sky. It did look more stable than it had seemed before we came up here, but I refused to believe Mallory and Catcher weren’t beating it back, reversing the magic they’d created. I believed in her as much as I believed in anyone. And good had to win sometimes.

“It’s your sorcerer against mine,” Reed said, “and mine wins every time. She’s exquisitely powerful.” He slid his hands into his pockets, just casually enough to rankle. “I assume the magic’s effect on you has been dampened by those trinkets you’re wearing. A clever, if unsophisticated, measure. Not that it will matter. We appreciate a good game, but our magic is winning. When we have Chicagoland’s vampires—and everyone else—under our control, you’ll become nothing more than rounding errors in our empire.”

He doesn’t know about the House, I told Ethan. About the ward.

And let’s keep it that way, he said.

“And, of course,” Reed continued, because the man loved to hear himself talk, “we have a vampire.” He looked back at me, and his gaze crept over my body like a spider. “I understand you’re acquainted.”

I would have lunged for him, if Ethan hadn’t held me back.

Reed’s smile widened. “As I expected. That had been a bit of luck. I hadn’t known Logan when he was in Celina’s employ. And wasn’t it fortuitous that we met again, and he told me of his exploits?”

It was too late for fear. I’d already done that. “He’s failed to kill me three times. I’d say I have the upper hand there.”

“And speaking of the upper hand . . . ,” she said. Her gaze slipped to my left just as I heard Ethan’s warning in my head.

He came out of nowhere, slamming me to the floor and covering me with his weight. And then his hands were around my neck, squeezing.

“Fourth time’s a charm,” he said.

I tried to suck in air, kicked to dislodge him, but he kept his seat, kept his weight forward, his big fingers pressing, pushing. His eyes stayed flat and brown, a man for whom killing had become routine, just another task to check off the list.

My eyes sought Ethan, looked for hope and help, and found him frozen in front of Sorcha, a hand outstretched as if he’d moved toward me. His cheeks looked faintly blue, and his body shivered. It was the same magic she’d used on Robert, some cheat not reached by the bracelet Mallory had provided. It wouldn’t have, I thought. Those were geared to the alchemy, to the magic. Sorcha had used old-fashioned magic, probably of the dark variety. I had no respect for a woman who cheated her way out of a fight.

And worse, if Logan killed me, she’d kill Ethan. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. She’d probably let him suffer first. Let him mourn before taking his life.

I was our best hope. Which meant I had to get out of Logan’s grasp. I stopped struggling, went momentarily still, and felt his grip loosen in what he believed was victory. Chest heaving, he sat back.

I took my chance. I grabbed his neck with my hand, pushed fingers into the tender skin just beneath his jaw. He sputtered, tried to move away. I scissored my legs to push him off me, jumped to my feet, and snatched up the sword I’d dropped when he slammed me to the ground.

Logan coughed, rose to his feet, pulled a dagger from his waistband. “I’ve always wanted to fight you with a katana.”

I didn’t let myself think about Ethan, and kept the smile on my face. “Same here, my friend. Let’s make it happen.”

I struck first, slicing to the left with a double-handled strike. He blocked the strike with his dagger, but the blow unbalanced him. He hadn’t been prepared for my being aggressive. Good. That was a strategy I enjoyed.

I didn’t give him time to think twice. I kicked back, nailing him in the kidney. He stayed on his feet, caught the tip of his dagger on the back of my calf. But adrenaline had numbed me to pain. I stepped into the kick and pivoted, aiming a punch from the left at his unguarded head. He dodged, the shot glancing off his chin. But his head still popped back, and when I kicked him in the stomach, he hit the roof.

And then I was on his chest, one foot propped at his side, my knee in his abdomen, my katana across his neck.

And as he looked up at me, surprise in his gaze, I pulled out the aspen stake I’d slipped into my waistband before leaving the House.

It was one of the stakes Jeff had given me for protection shortly after we met—and if stabbed through the heart, it was one of the surefire ways to kill a vampire.

Logan lifted his eyebrows. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? I gave you immortality, and you want to send me to hell?”

My voice was hard. “You gave me nothing. You took, or tried to. Turns out, you weren’t very good at it.”

I held my katana in one hand, the stake in the other, poised above his heart. My hand shook with need, with hatred, with the fear of having this man, this monster, haunt me for the rest of my life.

He did this. Caused all of it. He was the prime mover, the reason I was a vampire, and the reason my family had been endangered as a result. He’d hurt my brother, injured my friends, and apparently had no qualms about using his magic to make us puppets, to turn us into minions in the sociopathic kingdom he probably believed he’d rule with Reed.

I wanted him dead. I wanted Logan Hill—his name, his magic, his essence, his existence—erased from the earth by my hand. I wanted to plunge the stake into his heart, and see him turn to ash. Because this was his fault.

But even so . . . nothing I could do would change any of that. Nothing I could do with the stake in my hand, nothing that his death would accomplish. I would still be alive, a vampire. Caleb Franklin would still be dead, as would the other girls Logan had killed at Celina’s command.

I understood justice, but if he died by my hand, if he died like this, it would haunt me forever. I didn’t deserve that. And neither did he.

Gabriel had acknowledged that I had a claim on Logan Hill’s life. I wasn’t the only one now, and probably wouldn’t be the last. But I got to decide how to play my chit.

“Logan Hill,” I said, staring into those malicious eyes. “You aren’t worth any more of my goddamn time.”

I reared back and plunged the stake into his thigh. Blood spilled, hit the roof, and spread in a pool beneath him. I stood up as he howled in pain, screaming as he wrenched himself up, gripped the stake, tried to pull it from his leg.

Yeah, that had been small of me. But damn, did it feel good. “Now we’re even, you raging asshole.”

“You bitch!” he said, spittle at the corner of his mouth as pain racked him. “You fucking bitch.”

I leaned down, smiled at him. “Bitch or not, I just kicked your ass.”

And then, because we had bigger battles to fight, I tranq’d him.

I stood up and turned back to look at Sorcha and Adrien. She stood proudly in front of her creation, an amused smile on her face.

“That was entertaining,” she said, “if less entertaining than it might have been if you’d actually killed him. And why didn’t you?” She cocked her head to the side like she honestly couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t have killed him.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Her grin widened. “Doubtful,” she said as magic crackled above us. She glanced at the sky, eyes narrowed like she was reading portents there. And she didn’t seem to like what she saw.

She looked at Reed. “Can we get them out of the way?”

“As you wish,” Reed said, his gaze on the sky. At one time, he’d relished the idea that he was playing a game with us. But not now; we weren’t important anymore. The magic, the QE, and the control it would give him—those were the important things. He wanted control, was waiting for the magic to snap into place. That hadn’t happened yet . . . but whatever Mallory and Catcher were doing, it also hadn’t erased the green smears of magic from the sky. Was it going to work?

Sorcha looked back at me and grinned, and then threw out a hand. Magic—a bright green sphere of it—launched toward me.

I didn’t want any part of that.

I lifted my katana, turning the blade flat, and aimed. The mirrored surface deflected the shot, sent it spinning toward the building, bursting out a chunk of the concrete wall. I was glad that hadn’t been me.

She made a frustrated noise, tossed another ball, then another. I spun the sword, the blade catching the light of her alchemical machine before deflecting both shots. One spun off the roof and burst into sparks in midair. The other skidded across the roof, leaving a ten-foot-long char line as it burned out.

“Dull, dull, dull,” she said, and turned her malicious gaze to Ethan. She lifted her hands, fingers canted to aim, and let magic fly.

I raced toward him, using every ounce of speed I could muster, dove in front of him, and braced myself for impact.

But the shot burst into crystalline sparks of magic.

On the floor, and not missing any chunks, I looked back.

Mallory stepped off the elevator, her blue hair blowing around her head. Catcher must have been minding the magic downstairs, which was fine by me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so glad to see her.

She walked forward, surveyed the roof, the machine. And her gaze momentarily widened with surprise as she took in Sorcha before spreading into a smile.

“Should have figured it was you,” she said, looking over Sorcha’s outfit. “The magic’s as overdone as the fashion.”

The shot struck home. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re a worthless little hack.” She pointed to the sky with a delicate and manicured finger. “You’ve already lost.”

Mallory walked forward. Petite and blue-haired, in a stained shirt and jeans, she faced down Sorcha, tall and lithe and wearing a jumpsuit that probably cost more than Mallory had ever made in a month. They were an unlikely pair, which I guessed was part of the point.

“Actually,” Mallory said, “that’s not true. Our countermagic has stunted yours. Unfortunately, because your raggedy-ass alchemy was ten times more complicated than it needed to be, the entire situation has locked up.”

Sorcha looked absolutely confounded by the possibility.

“Long story short,” Mallory said, “we blue-screened your magic, bitch. And in order to break this little tie”—she turned her gaze to the metal tree—“I’m going to need to go to the source.”

Sorcha’s expression didn’t change, but she moved to stand in front of her creation. “If you’d like to test your mettle, let’s do it.”

Mallory dipped her chin, her eyes fierce. “Bring it.”

Now magic filled not just the sky, but the air, as Mallory and Sorcha launched volleys against each other. I shifted to stand in front of Ethan, katana in front of me in case I needed to shield him from the shots of magic, or in case Reed became suddenly interested in what was happening around him.

But they’d all but forgotten we were there. While Reed watched the city and the sky, Sorcha fought back with one flaming ball after another, and the grin on her face never wavered.

She underestimated Mallory, who’d mixed up the direction of her volleys, but each had moved Sorcha a few inches away from the machine, until she was completely clear of it.

“No!” Sorcha screamed as Mallory gathered up her reserves until a flaming blue ball of magic floated above her hand. And, with a windup as good as any major league pitcher’s, threw it toward the tree.

For a split second, nothing happened—no sound, no movement, as if the tree had absorbed the magic and hadn’t been affected by it.

Sorcha grinned, but she’d celebrated too early.

Because then there was a deafening groan of metal on metal, and the tree burst down the middle. Light and magic poured upward like a volcano, spreading a thousand feet into the sky and casting blue-green light across the city. We could hear the screams of humans below, afraid the apocalypse had finally befallen their city. The magic that rushed from the machine grew louder, faster, until the tree was vibrating with it.

“Down!” Mallory said, an order the Bells were getting good at delivering tonight. I wrapped an arm around Ethan’s head, squeezed my eyes closed.

The explosion felt as if the sun had settled onto the roof, and shook the building so hard I nearly lost my footing and was afraid it would crumble to the ground beneath us.

Shrapnel flew across the roof, stabbing into the walls and showering over the sides of the roof. As rock and metal shards rained down around us, I looked up. The sky was clear and dark, the lines of the QE gone.

Freed from the magic Sorcha had wrought, Ethan stumbled forward. I caught him, waited until he’d blinked confusion from his eyes.

“You’re all right?” I asked, helping him find his footing again.

“I’m fine.” He lifted a hand to my face. “You’re all right?”

I thought of Logan, of the decision I’d made. “I will be.”

We were interrupted by screams of frustration.

“No!” Reed shrieked, staring at the remains of the machine that his money had built, and which had ultimately failed him.

He walked to Sorcha, cracked a hand across her face. “What have you done? What have you done? You’ve ruined everything!”

Ethan growled and, before I could stop him, moved toward Reed with the gaze of a very pissed-off alpha male.

Mallory pulled Sorcha away from the fray, her cheek flaming red from Reed’s violence, and kept her still with the threat of magic that percolated in her hand.

As Ethan approached him, Reed looked gratifyingly unsure of his steps. I decided Ethan needed to handle him, and it didn’t take him long. Adrien Reed was a man who’d gained power through others’ work: others’ misery, others’ criminality, others’ fights. When push came to shove, and he had no minions to protect him or magic to back him up, the facade crumbled.

He offered Ethan a couple of testing jabs, but those seemed to be for form. And when Ethan used a right cross—one of his favorite moves—Reed hit the deck.

“And that,” Mallory said, “is how we do it in Chicago.”

•   •   •

My grandfather found me standing over Logan, Ethan standing over Reed, and Mallory standing over Sorcha Reed. We probably all looked happier than we should have been. Well, Mallory and I. Ethan still looked disappointed that Reed hadn’t put up more of a fight, had proven to be the coward we’d suspected.

We walked out of what remained of Towerline’s lobby to screams and applause. In the madness and chaos, humans had encroached on the CPD’s barricades. They’d been kept off the plaza, but they filled Michigan Avenue and celebrated as if the Cubs had won another pennant.

I could understand the enthusiasm.

They probably didn’t understand what they’d seen, or what we’d done. That we’d been protecting ourselves as much as them. But they understood victory, and that we’d been victorious against the magic that had threatened to tear their city apart.

The plaza looked miserable, scattered with steel and glass and broken granite. Reed and Sorcha screamed obscenities as officers escorted them from the building to the car. Logan’s tranq must have worn off, as he shot me nasty looks, so I waved back pleasantly. I wouldn’t be afraid of him anymore.

“You know,” my grandfather said as he joined us, “I don’t think the Reeds are going to enjoy prison. I don’t think they’ll find it up to their standards.”

“No,” Ethan said with a grin, “I suspect you’re right.”

“Robert?” I asked.

“Hospital,” my grandfather said. “He stabilized when the Reeds went down.”

Relief rushed me. “Thank God.”

My grandfather nodded. “Morgan saw him out, fought back a few monsters to keep him safe.”

“He’s got good instincts,” Ethan said. “Only gets into trouble when he ignores them.”

My grandfather looked around at the destruction. “And isn’t that true of all of us?”

Then he shifted his gaze back to us, smiled. “You did good tonight, kids. Good by Chicago, good by your family, good by your House. I’m proud of both of you.”

The weight of disappointing him dissipated, replaced by the warm glow of approval. “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said, and, when he pointed to his cheek, leaned forward to press a kiss there.

“I’m going to get the paperwork started,” he said, then glanced back at the building and whistled. “And attempt to mollify your father.”

“Actually, Chuck, you might want to wait for a moment.”

I looked back at Ethan, surprised at the comment, and found him staring at me, his gaze utterly serious.

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” he said. “More right than I’ve been in many, many years.” He put his hands on my face. “You are the bravest person I have ever known.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” I said with a grin, but Ethan’s expression stayed serious.

“What?” I asked, afraid for a moment that he’d been hurt or someone else had. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, his thumb tracing a line across my cheek as he stared down at me. “I am precisely where I should be.”

And there, in the middle of the broken plaza, Ethan Sullivan went down on one knee. He stared up at me with eyes wide with love and pride and masculine satisfaction. He held out a hand, and I put my fingers in his palm.

The crowd of humans—thousands strong—who realized what he was doing roared with excitement. Cameras and cell phones began to flash around us.

“Holy shit!” I heard Mallory cry out somewhere behind us, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away from the warrior in front of me.

I put my free hand against my chest as if that would stop my throbbing heart from bursting through it. That didn’t stop the shaking of my fingers.

“You’re all right?” Ethan asked, glancing up at me with obvious amusement at my reaction. “I can stop if you’d like.”

I grinned at him. “No, you go ahead. I mean, you’re already down there.”

“Very well,” he said, and the crowd went silent as they strained to hear him.

“Caroline Evelyn Merit, you have changed my life completely. You’ve made it large and happier, and you have given me love and laughter. Perhaps most of all, you have reminded me what it means to be human. I’ve looked for four centuries to find you. I cannot fathom a world without you in it. Without your heart, and without your honor. Merit, my Sentinel and my love, will you marry me?”

He was stubborn and arrogant, domineering and imperious. He was brave and honorable, and he was mine. There was no one else. Had never really been anyone else, even before I knew he’d been waiting for me. And if I said yes, there would never be.

“Of course I will.”

The crowd erupted again with screams and hoots and applause as Ethan Sullivan, my former enemy, jumped to his feet and kissed me deeply, winding his hands into my hair.

“I love you,” he said, pulling back to gaze down at me. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I cleared my throat. “At the risk of asking an ungracious question . . . ,” I began, when he smiled down at me, and I smiled back.

“Don’t worry, Sentinel. There’s a ring. I just hadn’t anticipated there’d be a moment quite this perfect.” He let his gaze slip across the crowd that watched and cheered around us. “Or a location.”

Forever, he said silently, just for me. And for an eternity after that.

Forever, I agreed.