“What…?” he started, then stopped. Because even if he’d never seen the video before, a single glimpse at the paused frame was enough to make his heart sink.

  “I don’t know,” she said, clicking play.

  The video stuttered to life. It had clearly been shot from a helicopter. The picture jerked, as though strong winds buffeted the craft. The wind and rotor noise drowned out the words of the pilot and videographer, leaving behind only raw notes of panic.

  Waves, whipped to a frenzy, crashed against the aging walls of Fort Sumter National Monument. Wind had shredded the remaining flags, and lightning exploded across the sky. Rain sluiced down in sheets, hammering the tiny figures scattering for cover. The tempest was on the cusp of becoming a full-blown hurricane.

  And above it all loomed a titan of storm and shadow.

  “Who sent you this?” he asked quietly.

  Zahira shook her head. “I don’t know. The address they used is from one of those anonymizer sites. The email just said it’s footage of Fort Sumter, taken by a local news helicopter.”

  SPECTR had suppressed as much video of that night as possible. But things always got out in the end, passed around alongside whispers of conspiracy and black ops.

  “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to see,” she went on. “It’s just a jumble of light and shadows, like some kind of weird Rorschach test.” She pointed at the screen. “What is this, even?”

  Of course she didn’t know. How could she? Information about that night was supposed to be locked down tight. And yes, she’d heard about what happened, or at least a brief version of it. But seeing…seeing was different.

  Seeing made things real.

  He might lie. Tell her the thing on the screen was the monster summoned by Forsyth. Lie, because Caleb had already been hurt enough by the very people who should have had his back.

  John paused the video. Found the best still he could, given the rain and the clouds. “Eyes,” he said, pointing to twin balls of lightning. “Wings…I guess. Sort of.” Pointing to twin ragged flags of black cloud, spanning the island from one side to the next. “Claws.” Each as long as a human body.

  She let out a hiss as it came together for her. “I see it.” She advanced the video one frame at a time. “But…what is it?”

  “It’s Gray.”

  * * *

  Zahira looked up sharply, her brows drawn tight beneath her hijab. “Gray? What do you mean?”

  John looked out across the garden. A breeze rustled the trees, and sent a blessed breath of coolness across the back of his neck. A burst of laughter came from the street, mingling with the soft song of the fountain below. “You asked before why everyone is so terrified of Gray. Now you know.”

  “But that isn’t Gray. It can’t be. I’ve seen him.”

  “No, you haven’t.” John glanced back at her. “Not fully manifested, anyway.” He paused, trying to think how to explain it. “Imagine you’re in a dark room. No light. While you’re stumbling around, you find a big rock. You run your hands over it, trying to figure out what it looks like. It’s oval, a little taller than you, and after a few minutes you come to the conclusion that somebody carved a sort of round, slightly squashed statue for some reason. With me so far?”

  Zahira looked dubious. “I think?”

  “Then the lights come on. And you realize what you’d been feeling wasn’t just a roundish, slightly squashed sculpture. It was the toe of a colossus.”

  Her lips parted slightly. “Oh. Wow.”

  John gestured to the video. “We don’t normally see Gray fully manifested, because it takes huge amounts of energy. But just because you only feel the toe of the colossus, doesn’t mean the rest of it isn’t still there in the darkness.”

  “So that’s what a drakul really looks like.” Zahira stared at the screen. “No wonder people made them into gods.”

  John ran his hand tiredly through his hair. “Yeah. And that’s why other agents at SPECTR-HQ are afraid. Some of them were there. They stood on a tiny scrap of land in the middle of a raging storm, and they looked up and saw a power that could have swept us all away in an instant. And it scared the shit out of them.”

  “Barillo wasn’t there, though.”

  “No, but he’s seen the footage. And talked to those who were.” John shook his head. “I won’t sit here and pretend it wasn’t terrifying. If I hadn’t already put my life in Gray’s hands a dozen times over, if I hadn’t already trusted him absolutely, I don’t think I would have had the courage to face him there at the end.”

  The buzzer sounded inside the apartment. “I’ll get it.” John rose to his feet. Zahira leaned closer to the screen, forwarding through the video again, one frame at a time.

  Goddess. Would she quit? Walk out right now and refuse to have anything to do with them?

  “It’s me,” Caleb called from downstairs when John answered. “I’m coming up.”

  John smudged away the spirit ward—Gray would only break it, and it would have to be redrawn anyway. “Hey, babe,” he said, trying to put on a calm face for Caleb. “How was lunch?”

  “It was…” Caleb’s words died away. Belatedly, John realized Caleb could see the computer screen from this angle. “Oh, fucking hell.”

  Zahira turned to him, eyes wide and slightly alarmed as Caleb strode across the room. The second spirit ward flashed and died as he passed through it without pause.

  “Caleb,” John said, hurrying after him.

  “No.” Caleb stopped and held up his hands. “You know what? I give up. Go ahead, Zahira. Be scared of me just like everybody else. Why the hell not?”

  Zahira stood up. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.” She pointed at the video. “Gray, you’re amazing.”

  Caleb just stared at her for a moment, mouth slightly open. Then Caleb was gone, and it was Gray’s black eyes looking back at Zahira.

  “Yes,” he said, practically preening. “I am. You are an unusually sensible mortal.”

  John realized his own mouth was open now, and shut it with a snap. But Gray didn’t usually pay attention to other people, unless they were in a fight, or hunting NHEs, or on the run from SPECTR. He never manifested just to talk to someone, with the exception of John.

  And, okay, John hadn’t realized it, but maybe that had made him feel a little special. Which was absurd, really, but he couldn’t help it.

  Zahira clasped her hands together enthusiastically. “I wish there was more footage, so I could get a better look. What did it feel like? Was it—” she caught herself. “Sorry—I’m being rude.”

  Gray cocked his head slightly to one side, as if listening. “Caleb says you wish to examine us more closely,” he said. “I will allow it. And I will answer your questions, if I can.”

  If Zahira got any more excited, she might literally vibrate into another dimension. “Thank you! Oh my goodness, I don’t know where to start!”

  John sank into his wicker chair, feeling limp with relief. And a touch of guilt—he’d underestimated Zahira once before, but he apparently hadn’t learned not to do it again.

  Still, after everything with most of the other agents, not to mention Barillo riding their asses, he’d let himself forget there were people in their corner. Zahira and Karl. And hell, Kaniyar had been the one to put them back on the SPECTR payroll in the first place.

  Gray vanished, the flood of etheric energy folding back up into Caleb. Caleb grinned at Zahira. “I think we should deal with the vila first,” he said. “But…thanks. I never imagined Gray having, you know, a friend.”

  “I hope I am,” Zahira said.

  Caleb snorted. “Are you kidding? You’re his second-favorite human. Well, third, I guess, since he insists on counting me for some reason.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Mine too, come to think of it.”

  Zahira smiled brilliantly. “Thank you, Caleb.” She glanced at the broken spirit ward. “But as you said, we should concentrate on the vila right now. Decide where you and Gray want to stand watch, and I’ll redraw the wards.”

  “I’ll stay out here,” Caleb said, crossing to the porch railing. “With any luck, I’ll scent the vila before she reaches the yard.” He cast John a grim smile. “She won’t get past this team a second time. We’ll take her down, and not even Barillo will have anything to complain about.”

  Chapter 10

  After sunset, Zahira drank some water, and they ordered a giant vegetarian pizza for iftar. John carried a slice out onto the porch for Caleb, so he wouldn’t break the spirit ward coming back inside. John and Zahira sat on the couch, watching the local news. As they finished off the last of their slices, the door to the bedroom swung open, and Rania finally emerged.

  She didn’t look good, her eyes puffy and her hair still tangled from sleep. She moved stiffly; had she pulled muscles last night under the vila’s spell? Or hurt her feet, trying to go up on pointe in regular shoes?

  “We saved you some pizza,” Zahira said. “Are you feeling better?”

  Rania slumped into a chair and stared listlessly at the pizza. “No, I’m not feeling better. I’m not okay.”

  John tried to think of something encouraging to say. “I know you’re frightened, but we won’t leave your side until the vila is dealt with.”

  “Damn Elise.” Rania blinked rapidly, tears beading on her lashes. “There’s a reception tonight, downtown in the historic district. A big fundraiser for the Beaufain Ballet. All the soloists and principal dancers were supposed to be there. I ought to be in the spotlight tonight. Wined and dined, and…but no, I can’t, thanks to Elise.” She sniffled. “The worst thing is, I’ll never know if I was elevated to principal dancer because I was the best, or because the vila murdered my competition.”

  “I’m sorry.” Zahira put a hand on Rania’s arm. “It’s not fair. But we’re going to stop her, and you’re going to be brilliant on stage.”

  Caleb’s voice drifted in from the porch. “What I don’t get is, why is Elise so pissed off? She retired from the company, right? Why does she want to come back and kill you?”

  Rania let out a bitter laugh. “Retired is the polite way of saying ‘forced out.’”

  John set the rest of his pizza aside. “Wait. She was forced out?”

  “She was old,” Rania said with a shrug.

  “The hell?” Caleb had come to stand just on the other side of the wards. “I saw her. She was, what, forty at the most?”

  “Forty-one,” Rania said. “But Giselle is supposed to be a naïve village girl, not a middle-aged woman. Besides, ballet is a lot more physically demanding than some sports. Basil felt she couldn’t cut it anymore, so he allowed her to save face by ‘retiring.’”

  “Rania!” Zahira sat back, looking shocked. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “Yeah,” Caleb chimed in. “Like on day one, when we asked you if anyone had a grudge against the company?”

  “Caleb,” John said. Antagonizing Rania wasn’t going to accomplish anything, even though a part of him wanted to lash out at her as well.

  “Why should she have a grudge over that?” Rania demanded. “These things happen all the time, in every company. Dancers get older and can’t perform, or get injured. Or hell, the director just has an eye for younger, prettier dancers. It’s life in the ballet. Most of the time, former dancers just go off and open a ballet school themselves somewhere. They don’t come back and try to murder their successors.”

  “All right,” John said, his mind racing. “That explains why she was out to get the soloists, one of whom would have replaced her. But Syrkus was the one to actually decide not to rehire her for the season, correct? To make her retire? Would she be after him as well?”

  “Oh hell,” Caleb said. “The reception. Elise tried to kill one soloist—her potential replacements—each night leading up to it. What if tonight was supposed to be the—I don’t know, the grand finale?”

  Adrenaline sent John’s heart thudding in his chest. “Syrkus and everyone else could be in danger. We have to get over there.”

  Rania curled her legs up under her, seeming to shrink in on herself. “But what about me? If you’re wrong, I’ll be here alone!”

  “Someone has to stay here with you,” John said. “Zahira—”

  “Um, John?” Caleb interrupted.

  “We don’t have much time, Caleb.”

  Caleb shifted from foot to foot. “I know, but…um. Gray wasn’t manifested the last time we…you know…but are you still juiced up past what an ordinary exorcist would be?”

  “Yes,” John said, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face.

  “Then you would have a better chance of stopping the vila if we’re wrong and she comes here instead,” Zahira said matter-of-factly. “Caleb, Gray, and I should go check out the reception.”

  John wanted to protest. The vila was dangerous, and if they were right and she was loose in the middle of a crowd…

  Zahira and Gray could handle it. They’d have to.

  “All right,” he said. “Do it. I’ll stay here with Rania. Just be careful. All of you.”

  “When are we not?” Caleb asked. He flung a leg over the porch railing. “See you downstairs, Zahira.”

  “Good luck,” John said. But Caleb had already dropped over the edge, vanishing into the dark garden below.

  * * *

  Elise slipped over the wall behind the grand old house. The scent of rain blew in from the west, but the party on the wide lawn was still in full swing. Tables covered in white cloths offered a sumptuous buffet, and the soft glow of candles transformed the space into a fairy garden.

  Even from a distance, she recognized some of the people milling about: the men dressed in thousand-dollar suits, the women in designer gowns tailored to their fashionably thin forms. The movers and shakers of Charleston: corporate CEOs, state senators, the inheritors of old money and older names. All of them eager for their philanthropy to make it into the newspaper tomorrow.

  Dancers were there, too; coryphees, danseurs, and of course Carlos McElroy, who would no doubt dance Albrecht again this year. No one thought he was too old.

  “But he won’t dance Albrecht,” the vila reminded her. “He has but one last dance, and that is the one we control.”

  Yes. She felt them all, like little insects crawling on her skin. Everyone from the private security on the gate to the caterers to the monied guests; all of them would be hers soon enough.

  “It is time for the curtain to rise.”

  She nodded. Timing was everything, both in the ballet and in life. She began to walk across the grass, feeling it bend softly beneath her pointe shoes.

  Thank you. For this opportunity. For giving me my revenge.

  “I promise you, it shall be glorious.”

  I know it will.

  She’d worn loose clothing and a wide-brimmed hat to hide her face as long as possible. Still, she heard a gasp as she made her way through the crowd, toward the pergola where she knew her main quarry would be holding court. Candles glowed all around the pergola and lined the edges of the reflecting pool in front of it. The rising wind bent the flames and sent ripples across the water’s surface, fracturing the light.

  Basil Syrkus stood beneath the pergola, a glass of champagne in one hand, chatting with a white-haired society woman. Apparently an older woman was fine with Basil so long as her money was equally aged.

  “We’ll see how well she dances.”

  Perhaps warned by some instinct, Basil looked up as she approached. His eyes widened, and she felt her lips twist into a smile.

  Perfect.

  “Hello, Basil,” she said, and tossed her hat into the reflecting pool.

  Someone shouted for security, but it was far too late. Basil’s face went deathly white, and the champagne fell from his grip. “El-elise,” he started, then swallowed convulsively. “Don’t do this. Please—”

  “He betrayed you.” Rage. “We will destroy him.”

  “SPECTR can still save you,” he babbled. “Just surrender, and they’ll get this monster out of you.”

  “And why would I want them to do that?” she asked, stalking slowly toward him. “Not to say it wouldn matter, even if I did. My time is up with the vila. Just as it was up with you.” She mimicked his words, spoken almost two months ago but blazing still in her heart. “‘Giselle is a fresh-faced village girl, not an old woman! Perhaps you should audition for her mother.’” Elise’s lips drew back from her teeth. “I gave everything to this company. To you. And now you toss me aside over a few wrinkles?”

  “Elise,” he said frantically, even as a dark patch spread across the front of his pants.

  She raised her arms bras en couronne. “One more dance, Basil. For old times’ sake.”

  Something shifted, the world taking on a new balance. It had been exactly forty days to the moment since she’d summoned the vila.

  The vila rose in her triumphantly, and Elise felt herself growing smaller and smaller, pushed aside. She didn’t fight it, but let herself fall away, her body no longer her own. This was what she’d wanted from the beginning, after all. Only the vila’s full power could deliver a fitting grand finale.

  Claws sprouted from her fingertips, and her teeth became knives. The vila reached out, and dimly Elise sensed her ensnare the security guards rushing toward them, the caterers, the well-dressed men and women.

  They would pay. They would all pay.

  “Join me,” said the vila, and began to dance.

  * * *

  Caleb clung to his seat, wishing he had Gray’s claws at the moment, just for a little more traction. Zahira drove even faster than John, and used her horn when the screaming siren didn’t move traffic out of their way fast enough. They must teach it at the Academy. How to Drive Like a Maniac 101.

  “It is faster than we could run,” Gray pointed out. He quivered with anticipation, right under Caleb’s skin, a breath away from manifesting.

 

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