In the basement—the regular basement—Clio stopped in front of a door. With a quick glance at the familiar sign above it that read OF – AA Explosive 1-5 Surplus, she broke the lock spell, pushed the door open, and hit the light switch. Fluorescent bulbs flickered to life overhead, illuminating rows of shelving laden with small crates.

Each crate held hundreds of steel balls. And each steel ball held an explosive spell waiting to be triggered.

She shook open the cloth bag she’d taken from Lyre’s workroom and loaded it with a few handfuls of the lowest-level spells and a scoop of medium-level ones. Then she selected three high-level weavings that would do major damage.

Smiling grimly, she exited the room, crossed the hall, and opened the door to the workroom where she’d accidentally startled a weaver into blowing himself up. Plucking out a low-level orb, she activated the timed trigger to its maximum delay—what she hoped was at least a few minutes—and tossed it into the room.

Then she ran. Every hall or two, she broke into a room and threw in an activated spell. Through the corridors and up the stairs to the second level, she tossed around another dozen steel marbles. Then she raced back down to the lobby and activated the three high-level explosives. She threw two in the farthest corners and the last one toward the double doors leading outside.

She sprinted into the hall with the entrance to the forbidden underground level where she’d first encountered Dulcet. Shooting right past the door, she fled around the corner and cast a shield over herself. She was reasonably sure she hadn’t set any explosives on the floor directly overhead, but the building was a maze.

She crouched, grimacing as she tore off a third strip of her skirt and tied it around her arm. Adrenaline kept her alert, but wooziness gathered in the corners of her mind. She wished she could heal herself, but that magic couldn’t be used reliably on a daemon’s own body. As long as she didn’t pass out from blood loss, that’s all that mattered. Daemons were much tougher than humans.

The seconds dragged past and panic chattered in her head. Why was nothing happening? Had she set the delay for too long? Or had the spells failed to—

The first detonation boomed from the other wing. Then the next blast. Then the next. One after the other, some only seconds apart, the spells exploded throughout the building. The walls shook and the floor bucked until the entire structure was rocking. She clamped her hands over her ears, back braced against the wall, and hoped desperately she hadn’t overdone it.

Then the spells in the lobby went off, and she knew she’d definitely overdone it.

Explosions screamed through the reception area and debris blasted down the hall past her hiding spot. The racket of snapping and tearing metal that followed had the building shaking even worse, and it sounded like part of the upper level had collapsed into the lobby—or had the lobby collapsed into the basement?

She winced at another earsplitting crash. Maybe both.

All the lights blinked out, and as the sounds quieted, a door slammed. Holding her breath, she peeked around the corner. An incubus flew out of the door to the underground level—Lyceus, the Rysalis family’s patriarch. He headed toward the reception area. Another incubus followed—Andante, the oldest sibling—and then another brother—Ariose, the one she’d met during her tour.

The three of them disappeared into the clouds of dust filling the lobby. Clio rose to her feet but found herself clutching the wall, her legs weak and her head spinning. She leaned forward to check one more time that the coast was clear.

The door to the underground level swung open, and Dulcet walked out.

Clio gasped and lurched back, grateful her weakness had kept her in place for those extra seconds. She peeked around again. Dulcet stood outside the door, peering in the direction his brothers had disappeared—then he looked the opposite way.

She lunged back around the corner and pressed against the wall, trying not to hyperventilate. Had he seen her?

Knees shaking, she waited as the seconds dragged into a full minute. When he didn’t appear, smiling that crazy, sadistic smile, she braved another peek. The hall was empty, the door closed, and she could just make out his back vanishing into the haze after his brothers.

Holy crap. She pushed away from the wall and jogged to the door. Swinging it open, she squinted down the dark stairwell. A weaving on the third step glowed in her asper: a tripwire spell to alert the caster when someone passed.

She allowed herself a moment of smugness as she stepped over the glowing “wire” that a careless daemon would have walked right through, then hurried down the stairs to the landing at the bottom. The lethal ward on the heavy steel door was unchanged, and she disarmed it the same way she had before.

Another tripwire was set in the hall on the other side, but she stepped over that one too. The door at the end was unlocked, and she cracked it open and peered into the room on the other side. The desk was exactly as she remembered, the lamp dark. The ward on the wall behind it revolved menacingly.

She slipped into the room, her gaze darting across the signs above the three halls, almost invisible in the darkness. Examination Rooms or Subject Occupancy. Which—

The murmur of a voice had her ducking for cover behind the desk. When no one appeared, she hitched the bow and quiver higher on her shoulder and crept toward the Examination Rooms corridor.

“… unfortunate for you that Dulcet recovered from his healing so quickly,” an incubus was saying with mocking sympathy. “He’s eager to persuade you to tell us all about your secret weaving.”

She was reasonably certain the speaker was Madrigal, though all the brothers sounded alike. The only incubi she could unfailingly identify by voice alone was Lyre. She slunk down the hall toward an open door.

“You know he can break you,” Madrigal continued. “That’s Dulcet’s specialty. And our father won’t spare you this time. He wants to know what you created. What did you do to bind that taste of shadow into the weave?”

She snuck a look around the corner. Whatever the room’s purpose, it had been cleared out. Now all it contained was a chain hanging from the ceiling—and the end of that chain was bound around Lyre’s wrists. He was on his knees, a metal collar glinting around his neck, his arms pulled above his head.

Madrigal stood in front of him, his back to the door. “Tell me, Lyre, and I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Dried blood streaked Lyre’s face, and a bruise was rising in his left cheek. His eyes, though, showed no sign of fear. That black stare was brutally emotionless.

“So generous, brother,” he said hoarsely. “Keep talking like that and I might think you actually care.”

Madrigal made an irritated sound. “No one cares, Lyre. No one outside our family will so much as notice when you’re nothing but a rotting corpse. Not even Reed could be bothered to stand up for you.”

Clio’s hands clenched. Madrigal was wrong. Reed did care—he’d cared enough to help Clio. And considering the punishment he’d face if his family caught him helping her or Lyre, his small gesture meant a lot.

She focused her asper on Madrigal. Two robust weaves shielded him—one to deflect magical attacks, one to deflect physical attacks. She had no weapons that could harm him without harming Lyre, who was unprotected. Squinting, she analyzed the constructs, searching … searching …

There. The weakest point in the weave. If she could damage that one spot, she would destroy the whole thing.

“You’re nobody, Lyre,” Madrigal taunted. “Absolutely nobody. We’re the only ones who know you exist, and—”

As he spoke, Clio dashed across the open doorway to the other side. Madrigal didn’t see her, but Lyre did. His jaw fell open.

“—we’ll be more than happy to forget about you the moment you’re dead,” Madrigal finished triumphantly, misinterpreting Lyre’s shock.

Pressed against the wall, she slid the quiver and bow off her shoulder and set them on the floor, then pulled out a spare explosive steel marble. She used a dash of magic to shred the weave—she did not want any explosions down here—then she drew her arm back and hurled the ball down the corridor. It bounced off the side of the desk with a loud thunk and clattered noisily across the floor.

Madrigal broke off in mid-taunt and strode to the doorway. Clio pressed closer to the wall as he stepped out, facing the desk.

She lunged at his back and slapped her palm against his lower spine. All it took was one cutting dart of magic to shred the weak point in his weave, and the entire thing dissolved, leaving only one shield protecting him.

As he jerked around to face her, she flung her hand out and cast a raw blast of power right into his chest.

The force rolled right off him, barely pushing him back a step.

Her eyes popped wide, and in that horrifying instant, she realized she’d destroyed the wrong weave. He’d layered his magical- and physical-defense shields atop one another, and she’d identified a weakness in the wrong one. He was vulnerable to physical hits now—but not magic.

He casually flicked his fingers. The return blast sent her flying and she slammed onto her back ten feet from where she’d been standing. Winded, her lungs seizing from the impact, she couldn’t make her limbs so much as twitch as he stalked over, grabbed the front of her shirt, and spun a binding around her arms and legs.

“Well, fancy seeing you again, princess,” he crooned. “Should I be thanking you for all those explosions? You’ve caused more damage than one little girl should be capable of. My brothers will be very annoyed when they get back and find out it was you.”

He dragged her into the room where Lyre was chained.

“Clio!” he half gasped, half snarled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Escaping,” she wheezed.

“You—”

“Shut up, Lyre,” Madrigal snapped. He dropped Clio and slapped his hand over Lyre’s lower face. Light flashed under his palm, and when he turned back to Clio, she could see the weave over Lyre’s mouth and jaw, sealing his voice so he couldn’t speak.

Madrigal smiled down at her and she writhed, struggling to free her arms and legs. Craning her neck, she examined the binding to figure out how to break it.

“Isn’t this fortuitous,” Madrigal purred. “Clio is here to tell us what she knows. And this time, you can’t stop me.”

He glanced at his brother and his smile sharpened with cruelty. Wisps of golden light unraveled around him, spreading through the room, and heat tingled through Clio’s center.

“I’ll tell you what, brother,” Madrigal whispered. His tongue slid across his upper lip as he stared at Clio with black eyes. “Just for you, I’ll fuck her first. Then, after I take her body, I’ll take her will and make her tell me everything. And you can watch.”

Aphrodesia clouded the room and Clio panted as the hot yearning inside her built into pain. Her skin ached for stimulation and she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. He stepped closer, towering over her, and watched her chest heave.

Lyre jerked his chained arms and the sharp crack jarred through her. She tore her attention away from Madrigal to Lyre. Their eyes met, his as black as his brother’s, but with fear and rage instead of lust.

She struggled to think through the panic rapidly fading into crazed yearning. Her mouth was dry and she realized she was writhing with discomfort, her body throbbing from head to toe, needing him to touch her. Needing relief from the ever-building desire.

He crouched beside her, gaze drifting over her body as he enjoyed the effect his magic was having on her. Her nails dug into her palms, and she used the pain to clear her head. She had to stop him. But how? That damn magic-deflecting shield still protected him. If only she knew a kind of magic that could go right through shields, something like—

—like aphrodesia.

She didn’t stop to think if it was a good idea. She didn’t think at all. She focused on his shimmering gold aura, the essence of his power, and mimicked it.

Her aura flashed to gold, and a sensation both warm and sharp slid through her—a new power waiting to be unleashed. Gritting her teeth, she pushed her energy outward, letting it flood the room the way Madrigal’s aphrodesia had.

He paused, hand stretched toward her. Confusion scrunched his forehead as his eyes glazed. And suddenly she could feel him there—feel his very presence. It was faint but growing stronger. A strange pull, like she was a magnet drawing him toward her, even though he hadn’t physically moved.

Her new aphrodesia, infecting him. That’s what she was sensing.

She could feel a second presence too, almost as strong. Turning her head, she met Lyre’s black stare, blazing with hunger. She hadn’t meant to catch him too, but she didn’t know how to target the seduction magic—or if that was even possible—so she kept flooding the room with her energy as fast as she could.

A ravenous growl ripped from Madrigal’s throat and he reached for her.

“Stop!” she cried.

He stopped, his eyes blank and empty—empty of his own will.

“Stop using your aphrodesia,” she commanded.

The haze of gold around him lightened.

“Take this binding off me.”

He touched her stomach and the weaving dissolved. Then his fingers curled around her shirt and he lunged at her.

“Stop! Back up!”

Fighting the movements, he jerked back on his knees, teeth bared. She was losing control of him. Pushing herself up, she examined his remaining shield, found its weakness, and used a sharp snap of magic to break it apart. Then, before he could assault her again, she cast a sleep spell over him. His eyes dulled and he keeled over, unconscious.

She let out a relieved breath, then turned to her second problem.

Lyre stared at her, lust burning in his black eyes.

Madrigal had almost taken her will multiple times, but she had taken control of his will in only a few moments. Lyre, too, had been helpless to resist her mimicked aphrodesia. It seemed the virile incubi were more susceptible to their own breed of magic than anyone else.

She dispelled the mimicked aura, letting her natural green energy return. The haze in the room disappeared, but Lyre’s expression didn’t change. Crap. How long until the effects wore off? She cautiously approached him, and his gaze followed her every movement with the watchful intensity of a hunter. A shimmer of aphrodesia unraveled around him, though he had recovered only a little magic in the hours they’d been apart.

Problem was, weak or not, his aphrodesia was enough to make her heart rate pick up again. Tantalizing heat whispered through her.

Not knowing what else to do, she placed her fingertips on his forehead and sent the same sleep spell rushing into him. He slumped forward, the chains snapping taut as his weight pulled on his arms. She quickly broke the lock spell on the cuffs and he fell into her. She laid him back, removed the silencing spell on his mouth, then broke the magic-dampening weave on the collar. Once the weave was gone, she wrestled the collar off him.

Knowing the rest of the Rysalis family could return any second, she touched Lyre’s forehead again and lifted the spell. His eyes flicked open, still black as pitch, but they focused on her face without that predatory intensity.

“Clio,” he croaked. “What the hell did you do?”

“I’ll explain later. We have to get out of here.” She grabbed his arm and started to heave him up. To her surprise, she ended up sprawled on his chest instead, her arms trembling.

He pushed up, lifting her with him, and helped her straighten. “How much blood have you lost?”

She glanced at the wet bandage. Streaks of drying blood marked the entire length of her arm. “A bit? But I’m only a little dizzy.” So far.

He swore and heaved himself to his feet, then pulled her up. With fumbling fingers, she lifted his spare chains from around her neck and dropped them over his head.

“Your bow and arrows are just outside the door.”

He hauled her across the room and into the hall, holding her good elbow to keep her steady. Were her knees so weak and shaky from the blood loss or from the adrenaline?

“Hang in there, Clio,” he muttered as he slung the quiver over his shoulder. “We’ll be gone soon.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice fluttered breathlessly. “How will we get out of Asphodel? Do you know where the ley line in the valley is?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down the corridor. “We aren’t going to that ley line.”

“But Eryx said the other one is heavily guarded.”

“We aren’t going to that one either. Let me handle this part, Clio. You’ve done more than enough.”

Gently leaning her against the desk, he turned not toward the staircase leading upward or the door to the underground tunnel where he’d shown her the Underworld’s sun for the first time, but to the wall behind the desk—the one with the deadly blood-magic ward.

“Lyre?” she whispered. “What are—”

“Shh. I need to concentrate.” He traced part of the weave, not quite touching the wall. Almost absently, he reached over his shoulder, pulled out an arrow, and used it to nick the fleshy side of his thumb. Blood ran down his wrist.

She brought her asper into focus, but the room got fuzzy around the edges and she couldn’t make it work. Lyre touched the wall. A five-foot-wide circle of glowing lines appeared, filled with runes and geometric shapes that revolved around the center point. He wiped his fingers through the fresh blood on his hand, then tapped a rune.

All the runes stopped spinning, then turned in the opposite direction. He rewet his fingers and touched another rune. Everything stopped again. He touched a third rune, and the circle vanished. A whoosh of stale air blew across them, and cracks appeared in the wall, forming the shape of a broad door.

Lyre pushed on it and the panel slid backward, then glided to the side, vanishing from sight. A dark corridor yawned in front of them, beckoning them onward.

“Lyre,” she began, “where—”

A soft scuff—a footstep—had both Clio and Lyre whirling around.

Dulcet stood in the doorway leading from the upper level, and a gemstone resting on his upturned palm sparkled ominously. Smiling with eerie serenity, he turned his hand, letting the gem fall. It hit the stone floor with a quiet clink.

Lines of golden light flashed across the concrete, shooting straight for her and Lyre. She didn’t have a chance to shield before they reached her. Glowing bands snaked up her legs, binding her to the floor. Then the wires crackled—and horrific pain flooded her lower body.

A scream tore out of her throat. Lyre cried out at the same time. Her legs buckled but the binding held her in place as more agony raged through her limbs. With tears streaming down her face, she squinted at the spell, forcing her asper into focus. The weave was climbing her thighs, the pain increasing with each second.

Lyre plucked an arrow from his quiver. He nocked it on the bowstring as the wires snaked up his thighs and wound around his waist. Pulling the string back to his cheek, he let the arrow fly.

It whipped across the room and hit the floor at Dulcet’s feet. The arrow shattered on impact and debris flew in every direction.

The spell vanished. Clio’s knees hit the floor, her lower body aching with phantom pain. She stared, confused. Hadn’t Lyre missed? Why had the spell disappeared?

She blinked at the spot on the floor in front of Dulcet and realized with a shock of disbelief that Lyre hadn’t missed at all. He’d hit the gemstone—the marble-sized gemstone—shattering it with his arrow. How? How was that kind of accuracy possible?

He pulled out another arrow and nocked it, the motion so smooth and graceful it would have been utterly mesmerizing under different circumstances. The moment the string reached his cheek, he loosed the arrow.

Dulcet cast a shield and the bolt struck it in an explosion of sparks.

“Clio,” Lyre said, strangely calm. “Go through the doorway. At the bottom is a ward—a dangerous one. Can you disable it?”

At the bottom? The bottom of what?

“Lyre,” she whispered, “we need to get out of the building and—”

“Trust me. Disable the ward and I’ll be right behind you.”

Dulcet ran his hand down the chain of spells around his neck and selected a new one.

“Go!” Lyre barked.

With a final agonized glance at him as he drew a third arrow, she dove into the dark corridor. She cast a faint light, illuminating rusted metal walls, and sprinted deeper into the blackness.

She came upon the stairs so unexpectedly she couldn’t stop her momentum. She jumped and flew down half a dozen steps before landing. Catching her balance and pushing away her growing dizziness, she continued. The stairs turned and kept going. Down, down, down. She lost track of the steps, but they went on forever.

Somewhere above, something exploded and dust rained from the ceiling.

She ran until the stairs leveled out. How far below Asphodel was she? Why were they fleeing underground? There’d better be a super-secret escape tunnel down here.

The small landing ended with another massive security door. As soon as her feet touched the floor, the ward lit up—an enormous circle filled with complex runes and constructs that began to spin.

The real problem, though, was the way the room was spinning too.

She staggered into the wall, catching herself before she pitched face-first into the floor. Everything spun around and around in her head, and her vision blurred. Breathing fast, she touched her bandaged arm and found it wet with blood. Her wound had reopened—if it had ever stopped bleeding.

The ward on the door shifted from green to yellow. With painful effort, she brought her asper into focus. The complexity of the runes, combined with the multi-directional rotations, almost had her on her knees. She swallowed down her stomach and stumbled closer.

The weaves were pulsing, and she saw that it was counting down. As the color shifted from yellow to orange, the spell prepared to strike. It had to be disarmed within a set time, or it would kill whoever had approached it.

Knowing her time was running out, she scanned the constructs, searching for the key, for the trigger to turn it off. She just needed her head to stop swimming for one damn minute so she could concentrate!

The glowing lines deepened from orange to the color of fire.

She leaped forward and slapped her hand on a rune. A shot of her magic cut through the lines, and the entire ward went dark. Gasping in relief, she leaned against the wall. She was so dizzy. And thirsty. Why was she so thirsty?

A boom rattled the ceiling and she looked up, knowing she should go back to help Lyre defeat Dulcet—and knowing by the time she climbed back up all those stairs, she’d be useless. She needed to rest for a minute and regain her strength.

She closed her hand over her wounded arm and squeezed hard despite the pain.

“Hurry, Lyre,” she whispered. “Please hurry.”