Lyre’s head burst out of the water and he gasped in a lungful of air. Clio surfaced beside him, and a few feet away, Ash shook the water from his eyes.

“You two okay?” Lyre asked. They’d escaped the shadow weave—but how many other daemons hadn’t been as lucky? No one in the embassy would have been spared—and if Bastian proceeded to slaughter the helpless griffins and a Ra royal, the consequences for Irida could be catastrophic.

As they swam for shore, the roar of the helicopters grew louder. Spotlights pointed downward and rotor blades a blur, they descended toward the embassy again and vanished from Lyre’s line of sight—meaning they had landed on the building.

Water poured off his clothes as he scrambled onto the gravel bank with Clio and Ash right behind him.

“We need to get to the embassy and stop Bastian before he can do any more damage,” Lyre said urgently. “And we take the KLOC back for good this time.”

Ash scanned the horizon where the embassy lights glowed. “I’m going ahead. I’ll start from the rooftop and head down. You two go in at ground level. We’ll trap him in the middle.”

He didn’t wait for agreement before shimmers rippled over him. His wings reappeared and he took a few running steps before launching into the air. Wings thundering, he swept upward. Shadows coalesced around him and he faded from sight.

Fighting the terror the draconian had triggered, Lyre grabbed Clio’s hand. Together, they sprinted up the riverbank and into the streets toward the embassy.

A high wall surrounded the grounds, the thick stone topped with sharp wrought-iron spikes. Lyre blasted the gates open and they dashed between statues carved into the shapes of the griffins’ mythical namesakes—a pair of winged, eagle-headed lions. At least he and Clio didn’t have to worry about the magical traps or defenses that the shadow weave had no doubt consumed.

Lyre gave the double doors the same treatment as the gates and they rushed inside. An elegant foyer greeted them, with shiny marble floors, leather furniture, and a two-story water feature behind the curved reception desk. The entire building was hollow, and the atrium rose fifteen stories to a glass ceiling. Balconies circled the cavity at each floor, lit by rows of soft yellow pot lights.

Their footsteps echoed as they slowed to a wary halt. After peering at the glass ceiling over two hundred feet above, Clio trotted to the reception desk and leaned over it.

“There’s an unconscious griffin here,” she told Lyre, straightening. “Her aura is so faint it’s almost invisible, so it’ll be difficult for me to spot—”

She suddenly ducked behind the desk. Lyre jumped to her side and crouched, no idea what she’d seen but knowing better than to just stand there like an idiot.

A moment later, rumbling voices broke the silence, their words distorted by the echo. Clio silently pointed and Lyre glimpsed at least two daemons walking near the balcony on the sixth floor. They moved away from the glass railing, disappearing from sight, but their voices continued in a low, rapid conversation.

“Two chimeras and a nymph,” Clio whispered.

“Let’s go.” He raced across the foyer and into a plain stairwell. On the sixth floor, he pushed the door open. As Clio went ahead of him, he paused to drop glamour and pull his bow and quiver off. Slipping back into glamour, he buckled his quiver on again.

Bow in hand, he followed Clio down a tiled corridor with the steel-and-glass railing that bordered the atrium on one side. They passed a few doorways, some open to reveal dark offices or cubicle banks—boring office spaces at odds with the imposing foyer and griffin statues outside. At least they were empty.

Lyre drew two arrows and nocked one, squinting around. “Do you see their auras?”

“No,” Clio whispered back. “I’m not sure where—”

The air crackled in warning.

An orange band of magic blasted out from an open door and slammed into Lyre and Clio. He flew into the balcony railing, crunching against the metal post—and Clio hit the center of a glass panel. It shattered and her scream rang out as she pitched backward, falling out of sight.

His heart lurched into his throat. He shot his arrow through the doorway and the spell exploded in a starburst of golden spears that launched in every direction. Ignoring the strangled cries erupting from the room, he spun around, expecting to find Clio crumpled on the marble floor six stories down.

When he leaned over the edge, his heart started beating again. One floor down, she clung haphazardly to the bottom of a steel post, her face white and jaw clenched.

“Clio,” he gasped.

She dragged herself up and rolled over the handrail. As she disappeared, he ducked into the room where he’d fired his arrow, but their three attackers were already dead. The chimeras with their reddish skin, goat-like horns, and scaled tails looked like brutes next to the petite blond nymph.

Lyre returned to the railing and Clio leaned out to look up at him.

She pointed. “Ninth floor. I just saw five or six auras run by. Go ahead, and I’ll catch up with you.”

His heart rate hadn’t slowed since she’d fallen. “I can wait.”

“I, uh, need a minute. I’m bleeding a bit.”

“Do you need healing?” he asked in alarm, his attention torn between her and the atrium balconies where enemies could appear at any moment. They were too exposed.

“I’ll be right behind you. Go!” Her head disappeared, then popped out again. “Be careful.”

He gritted his teeth, debating whether to go get her, but maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible thing if she stayed out of the fight for a few minutes. “I’ll head for the ninth floor. If you can’t keep going, get out. Ash and I can hunt down the KLOC.”

“I’ll catch up to you soon.”

Pulling two more arrows to make a trio of weavings, he raced back along the balcony to the stairs. Three stories up, he came out on the ninth floor.

This level didn’t have the look of an office building. He sped past a stylish sitting area, his feet silent on the carpet. Scanning the atrium, he couldn’t see anyone on the balconies. Where had the troop of daemons gone? Had they left this floor?

He paused, holding his breath so he could listen.

The floor vibrated, then a muffled boom. Lyre’s head snapped up and he darted down a wide corridor, following the crackling energy—almost like battle magic. But who would the daemons need to fight when the shadow weave had devoured the griffins’ magic?

Another sizzling hiss as a spell went off. Ahead, double doors hung open and Lyre skidded to a stop to peek inside. His gaze skipped across the luxury suite—floor-to-ceiling windows and a grand fireplace framed by plush leather sofas—to the far corner where five chimeras and a nymph had formed a loose half circle.

Trapped in the corner was a griffin—and somehow, he was on his feet. Barely. He held a long-handled halberd, using it half as defense and half as a support to lean on. His eagle-like wings with rich golden-brown feathers swept wide.

Something about the way the griffin stood made Lyre look again. Behind him, crumpled in the corner and feathered wings folded tight, was another griffin. A much smaller one.

A child.

Oh, shit. Even Bastian’s men should have balked at slaughtering a child—unless it wasn’t just any child. Was this the Ra royal Bastian intended to capture or kill?

Apparently, the chimeras thought so, because two of them were advancing on the half-collapsed griffin. Judging by the blood drenching his side, this wasn’t the first attack he’d warded off while protecting the child.

Lyre dropped two arrows back in his quiver and selected a different pair. Working fast, he pressed his fingers to the doorframe and wove a spell across the opening. He triggered the defensive weaves embedded in his spell chain, then he set the first arrow on his bow and activated its shield-piercing weave.

Inside the room, weapons met in a deafening clang. Lyre stepped into the threshold as the griffin, despite his obvious exhaustion, whirled his halberd in a deadly spin that forced the chimeras away.

Lyre pulled the string back and loosed his arrow.

The nymph didn’t even know he was in danger until the bolt struck the base of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground. Although most nymphs weren’t as dangerous as the rare mimics like Clio and Bastian, Lyre still needed to neutralize the daemon’s astral perception before anything else.

The chimeras retreated from the griffin and turned to find the new threat. The griffin braced the butt of his pike on the floor, breathing hard.

Lyre fired his other two arrows in quick succession. The first missed when a chimera ducked, but the second struck his comrade in the eye. The daemon collapsed with a whimper. Wheeling around the corner out of sight, Lyre slung his bow over his shoulder and pulled two short daggers. Activating the spells embedded in the cross guards, he waited.

The two chimeras leading the attack ran right into his weaving across the threshold. Golden light sizzled over them and they froze where they stood, paralyzed.

Lyre sprang out and his daggers flashed. Blood spilled down their fronts. The paralysis spell faded as its power was expended and the two daemons dropped to the floor.

Lyre leaped over the bodies and into the room. The last two chimeras lunged to meet him, swords in hand. His defensive shields saved his life yet again against the experienced warriors—faster and stronger than him, but unable to get their weapons through his barrier. His daggers found openings in their guards, and nothing could stop his weave-coated blades from sinking into their flesh.

When the last one fell, he let out a long, tired breath. Six against one were not odds he liked in close quarters. He was lucky they hadn’t been able to attack him together.

Sheathing his daggers, he turned to the griffin and his ward. The guy looked ready to keel over, but neither his fatigue nor his injuries could take away from his magnificence. Those huge wings arched gracefully off his back, and his long lion-like tail ended in a fan of matching feathers. His waist-length hair, woven into a thick plait, was a rich yellow that gleamed in the light, and his eyes, even dulled by weariness, were a vibrant yellow-green.

Wary stare unblinking, the daemon didn’t relax as Lyre cautiously approached. Lyre glanced over him, unsure how to read his clothing—fine garments, to be sure, but with a military cut that suggested a soldier. A bodyguard for the child?

Said child hadn’t moved, slumped in the corner. Having no experience with kids, Lyre wasn’t sure how old she was—not teeny tiny, but not close to adult-sized either. Fine blond hair spilled around her like curtains of silk, and her clothes—a ruby-red skirt and top decorated with gold chains and jewels—were rumpled and splattered with blood. Her bodyguard’s blood, it looked like.

“Um,” Lyre said. “So, this is kind of awkward, but the girl is in danger.”

“I noticed,” the griffin said, not shifting from his defensive stance. “Who are you?”

To Lyre’s surprise, the griffin’s voice was deep and beautifully melodic. Almost as pleasing to the ear as an incubus’s harmonic tones.

“I’m … well, an ally. Temporarily. The princess—she is a princess, right?—is their target.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And there are more of them coming.”

The griffin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and he opened his mouth to speak—then his legs gave out. He hit the floor on his knees and Lyre jumped to his side, ignoring the deadly halberd. That the daemon had fought at all was a shock.

Lyre could only assume the griffin had been carrying lodestones under his glamour. The shadow weave consumed all magic as it spread outward like a breaking wave, but glamour twisted the laws of nature. Magic carried beneath glamour didn’t fully exist until the daemon shifted forms, and as Lyre had experienced, the moment of delay between the shadow weave hitting him and his loss of glamour was enough to spare whatever power he carried in his other form.

This griffin got lucky—he must have been in glamour when the KLOC struck, while at the same time carrying fully charged lodestones under his glamour that he could draw on to fight after the rest of his magic was consumed.

“Is there somewhere we can hide the girl?” Lyre asked.

The daemon squinted, his stamina near its end. “Do you intend her any harm?”

“No, not at all. Is there somewhere for—”

“Say it,” the griffin ordered breathlessly, his green eyes darkening. “Say you intend her no harm.”

“What?” Lyre shook his head but did as asked. “I swear I intend her no harm.”

Something flickered in the daemon’s eyes, then he nodded as though accepting Lyre’s promise. “There’s a hidden panic room in there, but the protective spells are gone.”

Leaving the griffin, Lyre swept into the bedroom and found a wall panel already open to reveal a small, windowless room with thick steel walls. The spells protecting it had probably been the best the Ra family could make or commission, but the shadow weave devoured weavings indiscriminately—powerful or weak, they were all consumed.

He returned to the sitting room and picked up the girl. The griffin’s face tightened but he seemed unable to stand. Careful of the girl’s drooping wings, Lyre carried her to the panic room, then went back and pulled the griffin’s arm over his shoulders. He helped the daemon across the suite and lowered him to the floor beside the girl.

“Are you going to bleed out or anything?” Lyre asked.

“Probably not,” the griffin replied breathlessly, slumping against the wall.

Lyre put his hand on the door. “I’m going to seal you in. I’ll either come back and let you out, or the spells will deactivate on their own in six hours. Don’t try to get through them yourself.”

He pushed the door shut and it blended almost seamlessly into the paneled wall. Laying his fingertips against the wood, he sent magic spinning into the steel on the other side. He wove swiftly, layering the wards—one to hide the presence of people within, one to seal the door shut, one to kill anyone who touched it, one to deflect magic attacks, one to explode upon impact if someone tried to use brute force to break in.

Not perfect, but it would have to be enough. A nymph would be able to see the wards—and a mimic would be able to disarm them—but the spells would stop any other daemon.

Giving his work a final glance, he closed the bedroom door and hastened out of the suite, stepping over bodies on his way. With the girl safe, he could focus on his main objective: getting his damn clock back from Bastian.

As he jogged down the corridor toward the atrium, he wondered if Clio had retreated outside. Otherwise, she would have caught up with him by now. He hoped—

An earsplitting detonation rocked the building. As the floor shook and something crashed loudly, Lyre grabbed a wall for balance. How much did he want to bet that Clio was somehow involved in that explosion?

Swearing, he sprinted toward the magic’s source.