Immortal Hecate, I’m alive. But how?

Her gaze flew to Bram. He lay upon the ground, his eyes open and sightless. Blood pooled upon the floor. His face was waxen and pale.

Across the room sprawled the body of the geminus. She barely glanced at it. All her attention was fixed on Bram.

Reaching out with a trembling hand, Livia placed her palm upon his chest. She gasped at the touch, but the gasp broke apart and turned jagged when she felt his stillness. He had brought her back—at the cost of his own life.

She could not marvel at her corporality, not when he lay dead on the floor of this crumbling building. She could only feel the renewal of sorrow. It was like the world being made then suddenly destroyed a moment later, the ember of life crushed out by an indifferent creator. She stood on a barren plain of loss, a howling nothingness on every side.

Something moved beneath her palm.

She snatched her hand back, then, tentatively, lay it down on his chest once more. There. Another pulse. Stronger this time.

Her breath caught as she felt his heart. Beating.

He suddenly arched up, gasping.

Livia stumbled back, falling onto her behind, as she stared at him.

He sat upright. His eyes widened as he saw the blood all around, his hands moving over his chest. He pulled at his shirt to uncover his skin. No wound pierced his heart. As color returned to his cheeks, he looked at her.

“You’re . . .” His voice was hoarse. “. . . Here.”

“As are you.” Words, real words, came from her mouth. Everything was astounding, from the feel of her heartbeat to Bram, alive, gazing at her.

Slowly, they reached toward each other. Their hands paused as bright orbs of light streamed from the partially-open chamber door. Power permeated the chamber, imbuing it with tangible life and potential.

“Souls,” Bram said, wondering. “From the vault. They must have fled with us.”

She saw herself, in a vast stone-walled room, and the gleaming souls within. Including Bram’s soul.

Other souls swirled around the room, yet her gaze went to Bram’s immediately. It shined brighter than the others—not a pristine light, not pure, but replete with strength, and edged. It and the other souls spun through the chamber, borne upon the wave of magic she must have created within the realm of the dead.

The other souls veered out of the room, flying through the shattered windows and beyond, into freedom. They streaked away, seeking their owners. Watching the souls wing free, the space within herself became expansive, weightless. Some of the Dark One’s wickedness had been undone, her own misdeeds set right.

Bram’s soul remained. It circled the chamber as though wary.

Movements stiff, Bram got to his feet. She did the same, dimly aware that she stood for the first time in over a thousand years on solid legs, her own strength keeping her upright.

Both she and Bram watched, unspeaking, as his soul neared. He eyed it guardedly.

“It doesn’t want me,” he said, bleak.

“You belong together,” she answered.

He raised his chin, the line of his jaw hard as he stared at it. Belligerent, challenging. “Stay or go,” he said. “Make your choice.”

Livia held her breath as the soul hovered at a distance, as if deliberating. Aware of time at last, she felt another thousand years pass as both she and Bram waited for the soul to make a decision.

Her breath left her as the soul began to drift forward. She chanced a look at Bram—his eyes briefly closed, his only admission of relief, then opened again.

Only a few feet separated Bram from his soul. In a moment, they would be united after so long apart.

She staggered as the house suddenly quaked, and Bram braced his legs wide to absorb the shock waves. They both glanced around, alarmed, looking for the source of the tremor.

A man appeared in the chamber. The Dark One.

Before she or Bram could move, the Devil reached out. He snatched Bram’s soul from the air. As if he were stealing an apple.

His long white fingers gripped the soul, and he brought it against his chest, cradling his prize. He drawled, “This is mine.”

Nausea rolled through her to see the Dark One touching Bram’s soul.

“Return it,” Livia spat.

Bram raised his sword, his face dark with fury. “Thieving bastard.”

The Dark One lifted his brows. “To the contrary, we made a fair exchange. It is you who undermines the terms of our agreement.” He made a sound of disapproval. “And look,” he continued, glancing toward the body of the geminus, “you’ve gone and cost me one of my best servants. Quite ungentlemanly.”

Indeed, he looked a gentleman. He wore a suit of embroidered silver satin, expertly tailored to his lean form, and in his hand he carried an ivory-tipped ebony walking stick. He was ageless, his skin unlined, yet his pulled back hair shone a pure white that did not come from powder. His eyes were as glass, the pupils vivid black dots in the middle of colorless irises. He might have been a handsome man of fashion but for the color of his hair and eyes—and the unmitigated malevolence pouring off of him in poisoned waves.

“This isn’t gentlemanly, either,” said Bram, and he lunged with his sword at the Dark One.

The Devil merely waved his hand, and the sword in Bram’s grip transformed into a snake. Instead of stabbing the Dark One, the serpent reared back, hissing. Bram threw the snake across the chamber before it could strike him. It coiled in the corner.

“Don’t need a blade to make you hurt,” Bram growled. In a blur of movement, he darted forward, fists swinging.

The Dark One merely waved his hand again, and Bram flew backward, slamming into the wall. Chunks of plaster rained down as he groaned and slid to the ground, conscious but dazed.

Red-limned fury boiled through Livia. She sensed her magic within her, whole now. Yet difficult to wield—this physical body of hers felt ungainly after the lightness of being a phantom.

She imagined the shapes of ancient symbols, simplest writing from the earliest time of desert and flood. With them called forth the most powerful spell she knew, a killing curse. Burning power poured through her, singeing her within—she had forgotten how visceral magic could be. It fed her rage. With a snarl, she flung the spell at the Dark One, and it shot from her hands like lightning.

Smirking, the Devil simply flicked his fingers, and the spell turned to a clot of harmless black flies. They flitted away into the dust of the house.

“Truly, Valeria Livia Corva,” he sniffed, “have you learned nothing from our long association? None of your magic, nor your flimsy mortal weapons, can harm me.”

Livia only glared at him as she hurried to Bram’s side. He was already rising to his feet, despite the hard blow he’d been given. Still, he looked a little unsteady, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, supporting him as he stood.

Despite the Dark One’s presence, she yet marveled at the feel of Bram, at her own solidity and the heat and sensation of his body.

“You’ve cost me a great many souls,” the Devil continued. He held up Bram’s soul, admiring it the way one would a prized bauble. “This one I shall keep.” He turned his pale, cold gaze on Bram. “The promise you held—all wasted.”

“If I get to slice that smirk off your face,” Bram answered, “then nothing’s wasted.”

The Dark One pressed his lips together into a white line. “Your mistake is a costly one. There shall be no safety. No peace. Killing you will be merely the commencement of your suffering.”

He did not snap his fingers nor wave his hand. The Devil simply disappeared like a candle winking out. Yet he left behind a miasma of evil, choking the air with its malevolence. Livia’s stomach roiled from it—and she started at the unfamiliar sensation.