Summoning the Night (Arcadia Bell #2)(86)

“No need to be frightened of me,” he said to Lon. “How I pity you, being forced to hear all this emotional garbage, day in and day out. A useless knack, much like your father’s.”

Lon was a patient man, but lately I’d seen him reach his snapping point more times than I could count. He barreled toward Merrin before I could stop him, charging the elderly magician like a bull. But it was pointless. Merrin wasn’t lying—he had no interest in Lon’s knack. He wanted Chora’s ability, and with his tattooed sigil now freshly charged, he absorbed it.

The magician leapt out of the path of Lon’s charge and floated into the darkness just above us. Lon jumped and swatted at the magician’s feet, but they were already out of reach. His shirttails fluttered behind him as he rose to the roof and landed near Jupe and Ms. Forsythe. He stumbled, not quite competent with the whole flying thing, then righted himself.

“Now, this is a knack!” Merrin shouted breathlessly. “And your son’s new ability isn’t half bad, either. Thank you for telling Gracie about it, or I never would have guessed,” Merrin yelled down to Lon, yanking Jupe away from the demon.

Jupe, God bless him, wasn’t going gently. He kicked the living daylights out of Merrin and the volume of his muffled shouts increased, but then the magician hissed something to him that I couldn’t hear. After that Jupe went quiet. Merrin kept one hand clamped over Jupe’s mouth, just as Chora had done.

Come on, Chora. Take one step back, I thought, watching the three of them on the roof. I calmed myself and searched inside for the Moonchild power, willing it to the surface.

“What’s this?” Merrin peered at the fading golden glow emanating from Jupe’s tattoo. The trailing thread was becoming difficult to see in the darkness, but the mark itself still pulsed with Heka. “Have you warded the boy?” he yelled down at me. “You’ll tell me the truth.”

“No,” I answered, before I could even consider an answer. I covered my mouth in alarm. Jupe’s damned knack! But I’d only told the truth—I hadn’t warded him. Jupe had put that mark on himself.

“It doesn’t matter. The duke can break it later.” He turned to the demon. “Chora, right now you will kill both of them below. Quickly, if you would, please.”

The demon didn’t hesitate. Still wearing Ms. Forsythe’s skin, he glided to ground, heading straight for us. I yelped and turned to Lon, but he wasn’t there. Gone! Any crumb of calm I’d accumulated in readying myself to wield the Moonchild power dissipated as panic seized my chest. I whipped my head around, searching the shadows for him, and the demon landed several yards in front of me. Ms. Forsythe’s crushed arm hung limply beneath her poncho, and her hair was matted with blood. But the demon didn’t seem to care about her injuries. When her leg quivered as if it might buckle, he just groaned and hobbled toward me.

“Lon!” I called out.

Angry grumbling filtered from beyond the fence, over which Lon had climbed and was now leaning across the top, tugging at a nearby tree branch in the neighbor’s yard. One strong wrench and something loosened. “Aghh!” he cried out in victory before he leapt to the ground, shotgun in hand. Lon shouldered the butt of it and aimed it at Ms. Forsythe’s stalking figure.

“Gracie, if you can hear me, try to fight him,” Lon said between labored breaths. “I’d hate like hell to kill you.”

If the teacher could hear him, she sure didn’t show it. The person striding toward us had a purpose. Lon aimed low and squeezed the trigger. Boom! If no one had called the police about the shots at the scene of Merrin’s wreck, they would surely be dialing now. Ms. Forsythe’s body tilted, then faltered. The shot had landed just above a kneecap.

Although a good chunk of her lower thigh was gone and dark blood splattered across her pant legs, she attempted to take another step and stumbled. Lon pumped the shotgun and fired at the opposite leg. Her knee exploded. That did it. The teacher’s entire lower body fell out from beneath her and she went down like a rock, her face slamming into the grass.

Movement on the roof tore my attention away. Merrin was tightening his hold on Jupe as he stepped to the edge of the roof. “Too much noise,” Merrin said, looking over the roof to the street below. “Chora, finish up quickly and join me. That’s a command.”

The magician jumped off the roof and descended several feet. While floating in place, he shifted his grip long enough to slice through the striped tenting with his metal disk. A flap fell open, exposing a second-story window. He murmured something to Jupe, who struggled to push the window open. They were going inside.

I took one look at the teacher’s body on the ground and figured she wasn’t going anywhere, then raced across the yard and stopped beneath the window. Merrin was stuffing Jupe inside, legs first. The golden thread vibrated. It was taut and glowing brighter. My finger throbbed as if there was an actual piece of string tied to the tip.

Magick is directed energy. It can be formed, shaped, and molded. I took a chance, acting on instinct. With gritted teeth, I made a fist and pushed Heka into the golden line, then tugged on it. Resistance. Weak, but it could be enough . . . if only my body didn’t feel like a gas tank running on fumes. I needed more juice. Had to risk it.

I reached out and siphoned electricity from the house—not much, just enough to kindle what little Heka reserves I had left—and sent it down the thread. Raw, burning Heka.