magic returning to him. Like the body, the mind can be too strong for its own materials.” Ezqel tapped an

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uneven rhythm on his cup with his ivory fingernails. “I cannot heal the paths of his magic while his magic

runs in them.”

“You’ll kill him if you take it out of him,” Dane warned. It would be like Ezqel to forget that killing

Lindsay made the entire exercise a moot point. “If that magic didn’t work on him, why will yours?”

“His magic found a failing in the artifacts. The world has changed since they were made. Nothing

escapes the passage of time. Old knowledge is dangerous for that very reason. Clinging to the past will only wound the future.” Ezqel waited until Dane looked at him before taking a drink of tea. “I will bypass his

magic. Have you forgotten your lessons?”

“If you put him in a soul jar, I will eat your liver.” That thought cheered Dane up immensely. The

opportunity only needed to arise.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a heksiphage.” Ezqel leaned back in his chair, still tapping his fingers. Dane had threatened to break them once, to get some quiet. “They’re becoming more

and more common in urban centers.” He put his cup down and pointed at a map of the world hanging on

the far wall. “Go get that. Mind, you’ll have to kill the thing and bring me its heart.”

Dane was halfway across the room before he could think to be irritated at being ordered around. He

didn’t care enough anymore. He wanted this over with. “I’m fine with killing things.”

“The most likely form we’ll find on short notice is a guul. They’re bigger than you are.”

“Never stopped me before.” Dane lifted the map off of its brackets to bring it to the center of the

room. It was heavy with precious metals and gems, and it was different than the last time he’d seen it. Then again, the world had changed over that many years.

“This isn’t the time for debating your testicular fortitude.” Ezqel met Dane in the center of the room,

inside the ring of white marble set in the floor. “Put it down.” Dane set the map on air and it hovered at

waist height. “Go to the artifact room and bring out one of the jarthalfyr boxes, the black and silver one.

And get the ring case while you’re in there.”

“I don’t need your help,” Dane said, trudging to the wall behind Ezqel’s desk. He found a place that

felt right and shoved at it, putting his will behind the push, and a door that hadn’t been there before opened up.

Beyond the door that wasn’t, there was a museum of sorts. Dane knew that finding the jarthalfyr

artifacts wouldn’t be difficult. They were used for guuls and trolls and minor demons—they stank. The ring

case was probably shoved somewhere random and he’d have to hunt it down. He tried not to scratch at his

scalp and skin. The magic in here pricked his senses and caught on the broken places in him, making him

burn and itch.

The black and silver jarthalfyr box was on a shelf with several others of different colors. This one had

a rune-chased silver dagger set in the lid. Dane liked it immediately for the way it sang like a tooth thirsty

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for blood. For convenience, Dane found the null bags—shielded against magic and mundane drips and

spills like blood—and took a likely looking black velvet one.

The ring case was, surprisingly, at the back with the other jewelry cases. Dane slipped between a pair

of tall, thin alabaster urns with jackal heads, swallowing hard against the way their aura made his instincts scream at him to flee, and pulled the ring case from its place. The power surging from the wall of

adornments was so intense it made his head swim. By the time he stepped back out, his shirt was damp

with sweat under his hair and his pace was hurried in spite of his pride.

Ezqel didn’t move as the door disappeared behind Dane. He was bent over the map, squinting at the

detailed jade continent of North America. Dane forced himself to breathe slowly as he put the things he’d

brought out on Ezqel’s desk and came over to see what was so damn interesting. He could smell blood.

Tiny ruby spheres—Ezqel’s blood—were rolling about the world, every one rambling on about its

business without leaving a stain behind. Dane watched from the other side of the map as each of them

found its way to a different spot in the world and settled. Ezqel murmured and gestured with his right hand and they began to glow.

“That one, I think.” Ezqel pointed at a droplet shining brightly in what Dane figured must be Mexico.

Ezqel brought his finger to it and it clung to his skin a moment before being absorbed. “There is a guul in Cholula, young and strong and foolish, like the mages it hunts.” He passed his hand over the rest of the map and his blood came flying toward him like iron filings to a magnet, to be drawn into his skin. “It should be hungry by the time you get there—I can feel it. Take the boy and find it. It will likely think him as

toothsome as you do.”

Dane growled at that, low and warning, and Ezqel laughed.

“What?” Ezqel pointed at the map. “Put that back. It’s not as if it isn’t so. I’d think he had some spell

over you if he weren’t so crippled.”

In a way, it was a relief to hear that, and Dane was ashamed. He picked up the map and returned it to

its place. He was a suspicious old beast, wary of the world because he knew his own evil. “And when we

kill the thing?” Killing was something he could do well enough, better than keeping something like Lindsay

alive.

“Bring back its heart, nothing more. You know how to butcher an animal.” Ezqel was inspecting the

jarthalfyr box, making it bright with his magic as he tested for flaws. “I can use the heart to hold his magic while I heal the broken parts of him.”

“Fair enough.” Dane put the world where it belonged and collected the box and bag.

“Take this.” Ezqel opened the ring box and pulled out the one he wanted, almost without looking.

Dane didn’t need to see it to know what it was, either. Yzumrud. A heavy, gold thing with a green stone in it, green with hints of blood, like it lived. It fit his finger.

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“I don’t want it. These will do.” Dane folded up the bag and tucked it in the box. He knew how much

demonic things stank and didn’t want the smell clinging to him more than necessary. “I’ll get the thing and bring it back.”

“You’re not immortal.” Ezqel turned on him with the ring held out in a clenched fist. “Did you not

illustrate that only a day past?”

“I’ll make sure to get the heart before I die, so as not to inconvenience anyone.” Dane crossed his

arms over his chest, the box in one hand. “Have I let Cyrus down yet?”

“The same illustration applies,” Ezqel ground out. Color came to his pale face, staining his lips red

and his cheeks rosy. “Let no one accuse you of being wasteful.”

“I owe you for keeping my service intact.” Dane wanted to hit Ezqel—not that it was a rare feeling,

nor would it have been satisfying—and held himself back from doing it so as not to fail Cyrus further. “He

said I would fail him, I did, and I won’t do it again.” He turned on his heel and walked away. Ezqel’s fury was like a small sun at his back.

“Not for some days.” Ezqel’s voice struck off the arches and the high ceiling and bounced around the

room, echoing over and over again. “Not for some days, Dane. Are you still counting them as men do?