“Where are you, Beranabus?” I whisper, hoping the clouds will answer. “How long will it take you to come?”

I’m not sure what we’ll do if he doesn’t find us soon. We can’t wait forever. Where will we go when Dervish recovers or dies? Back to Carcery Vale? To stay at Sharmila’s home or with other members of the Disciples? Into the universe of the Demonata to search for Beranabus?

I feel guilty when I think about Shark and Meera, and the mission I sent them on. It was necessary to summon Beranabus. If the attack happened because I’m part of the Kah-Gash, he needs to know. But how likely is that? Maybe I secretly sent them to get him because I was missing my old friend.

A breeze blows in from behind me, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck. I shiver with delight and snuggle into the wind as if it was a giant cushion. Then I pause. This is a warm breeze, not like the cold blasts which whipped across the roof the other times I’ve been up here. And it’s coming from a different direction. It feels unnatural.

I focus, senses locking on the currents of air, mentally tracing the breeze back to its origins. I wasn’t good at this in the past, but my talent has blossomed since I died. My mind bounds off the roof like a magical hound and hurtles towards the ground. As it draws level with the first floor, it veers through a broken window, one that’s been shattered from the inside out.

It comes to a halt in the centre of the room and my eyes snap open. There’s a mage, a man of weak magic, but strong, evil intent. And in front of him stands a panel of light—a window into the universe of the Demonata. As I probe it with mental tendrils, I sense figures hurtling through. As much as I wish otherwise, it’s not Beranabus or his Disciples. I’m a long way removed, but even from up here I’m able to tell that the creatures setting foot on our world aren’t human. They’re demons!

I’m on the walkie-talkie before I take my first step. “Sharmila! Answer! It’s an emergency! Over.”

She replies as I’m taking my third step. “What is happening? Over.”

“Demons. On the first floor. Move Dervish.”

“Damn!”

Racing down the stairs, I feel the air fill with magic, flooding up through the building from the open window. That’s good for me—more power to tap into—but it’s also good for the Demonata. I try keeping track of the window, to get an idea of how many demons we’ll have to deal with, but it’s hard when I’m running. I’d have to stop and concentrate, but there’s no time for that.

“Hey,” a nurse shouts as I hit the fifth floor and race towards the elevator shaft, where I spot Sharmila, the four guards and Dervish. “No running!”

I don’t stop. I reach Sharmila a few seconds later. The elevator has arrived. The guards are rolling Dervish in on a hospital trolley. I’m relieved Kealan was able to unhook Dervish from his banks of machines so quickly.

“Where are they?” Sharmila asks.

“I’m not sure. They entered on the first floor, but I don’t know—”

“How many?”

“Give me a moment.” I step into the elevator after the guards and Dervish. I focus as the doors close… my senses seep down through the building, searching for demonic targets…

With a gasp I jam a hand between the doors just before they close. The panels slide apart automatically.

“What are you doing?” Sharmila snaps.

“They’re in the shaft,” I hiss. “Three of them. Climbing the cables.”

“Out!” Sharmila barks at the guards. As they roll Dervish back into the corridor, the nurse who shouted at me hits the scene.

“Where are you going with that patient? You can’t move him without a doctor’s orders. I’m calling the—”

Sharmila waves a hand at her. The nurse’s eyes flicker, then she turns and walks away.

“The stairs?” Sharmila asks.

“More of them there. Eight or nine.”

Her face pales. “Can we fight them?”

“If we have to. They’re not strong. But there are so many of them…”

Balazs—the smallest of the guards—is on his walkie-talkie, talking softly but quickly. He finishes and clips it to his belt. “The roof,” he says calmly. “A helicopter will be with us in five minutes.”

“Bec?” Sharmila asks. “The elevator or stairs?”

I concentrate. The demons in the shaft are making fast progress. Those on the stairs are moving slower, pausing to pick off a few unfortunate nurses who get in their way.

“The stairs,” I decide, hurrying ahead of the guards to open the door.

Gabor and Bence—the other two guards—push the trolley to the foot of the stairs, then each takes an end. They raise the wheels off the floor and start up the steps. Kealan moves alongside them, monitoring Dervish.

“You two go ahead,” Balazs says to Sharmila and me, taking out a pair of pistols. “I’ll hold off the demons.”

“You cannot kill them with bullets,” Sharmila says.

“I know,” Balazs says softly. “But I can slow them down.”

Sharmila starts to object, then nods curtly and flees up the stairs, no longer limping, using magic to move freely and swiftly.

“Do you want me to stay and help?” I ask Balazs.

“No,” he says. “You’ll serve more good if you stay with Dervish.”

“You’ll die,” I note sadly.

“Dying’s my job.” He grins bleakly. “Now get the hell out of here and let me do what I’m trained for.”

I stand on my toes and give him a quick hug. I get flashes of his mother’s face. She was mauled by a demon. It took her several hours to die. A slow, painful death. Balazs is determined not to suffer as she did.

Releasing the doomed guard, I chase after the others, feeling the demons close on us from beneath.

We’ve just passed the seventh floor, heading for the exit to the roof, when the gunfire starts. We pause, even the guards who are used to situations like this. Then we press on. By the time we crash through the doors at the top of the stairs, the hail of bullets has stopped.

Bence and Gabor check their watches. Their frantic eyes reveal how desperate the situation is. Unholstering their weapons, they silently head down the stairs.

“Where is the helicopter coming from?” Sharmila asks as Kealan wheels Dervish towards the landing pad.

“Nearby,” Kealan says. “We’d have kept it here, but there wasn’t space. The hospital helicopters took priority.”

“Nobody said anything to me about that,” Sharmila huffs.

“We make our own plans,” Kealan says. “We don’t discuss them with civilians, even Disciples. No offence meant.”

“None taken.”

Guns blare on the staircase.

“How much longer?” I shout.

Kealan checks his watch. “A minute. Maybe two.”

I dart back towards the stairs. “Bec!” Sharmila screams.

“Don’t worry,” I pant. “I’m not going to fight them.”

I didn’t absorb any of Beranabus’s magic when we touched, but I learnt a lot of his spells. There are many I can’t use—there’s more to magic than knowing the right words—but some I can. Reaching the doors at the top of the stairs, I draw upon the ancient magician’s years of experience and prepare a holding spell.

Bullets are still being fired on the stairs. “Gabor! Bence!” I yell. “Come back!”

There’s no response. A few seconds later the guns stop. There’s the sound of scurrying footsteps—but not human feet. Grimacing, I unleash the spell and block the doorway with a shield of magical energy.

The first demon appears. It has a square, bloodstained head. Dozens of eyes. Three mouths. A tiny body. It leaps at me, wild with bloodlust, but crashes back off the shield. It snaps at the web of energy, trying to tear it apart with its teeth, but the barrier holds.

I back away from the doors, focusing my power. This is the first time I’ve tried this spell and the effort involved is greater than I thought. By tapping into the magic in the air, I can hold the shield in place, but I won’t be able to maintain it for long, especially not with demons snapping and clawing at it. But I don’t need much time, just a minute. It should be enough.