“It’s okay.” I wiped beneath my eyes and stepped from Mayhem’s embrace.
Shade stood next to Miles, what was left of his shirt hanging in charred scraps, his skin pink but otherwise unscarred. “What can we do?”
“You can rest.” I pointed at him and then at Miles. “You can help me summon the final demon.”
“Not a chance,” Shade said. “I’m in this until the end.”
“Suit yourself.” I sighed again, too tired to argue. “But if you pass out in the middle of the incantation, I’m leaving you on the floor.”
“Deal.” He leaned against the table, wincing slightly from his healing burns.
“Right.” I stepped up to the edge of the salt ring. “Let’s get this over with.”
I raised my hands, ready to link with the guys, when three heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed from the back of the house. This was no polite knock either. It was a demand, shaking the doorframe with enough force to rattle the windows.
“Ignore it,” I said, not breaking my focus. “Probably just some drunk tourists getting a jump start on Halloween.”
“It sounds persistent,” Miles said, glancing toward the hallway.
“We’re in the middle of saving the world,” I said. “Unless they’re selling Girl Scout cookies, they can wait.”
I took a deep breath, centering myself and preparing to recite the incantation.
THUD. THUD. THUD. The banging grew louder, more frantic, like someone trying to put their fist through the wood.
Mayhem growled, his eyes flashing purple. “Shall I remove the nuisance?”
“No,” I said, my patience snapping like a dry twig. “You stay by the circle. We need your energy anchored here.”
THUD. THUD. THUD.
“Oh, for the love of Hecate!” I dropped my hands and spun on my heel. “I swear, if that’s a delivery driver who can’t read a ‘Closed’ sign, I’m going to feed him to a troll.”
“Ember, wait.” Shade pushed from the table.
“Stay put,” I ordered over my shoulder. “I’ll get rid of them.”
I stomped out of the studio and through the library, the relentless pounding grating on my last nerve. Whoever was on the other side of that door had a death wish, and I was currently in the mood to grant it.
I reached the back door and threw the deadbolt, yanking it open with enough force to startle anyone standing there.
“We’re closed!” I shouted. “What do you?—”
The words died in my throat.
Adrian stood on the porch, his normally pristine suit rumpled and stained with soot, his face a mask of desperate malice. But it wasn’t the sight of the High Priest of Boston that froze the blood in my veins.
It was Patrice.
She hovered a few inches off the ground in front of him, her feet kicking uselessly at the air. An invisible band of wind—Adrian’s signature magic—wrapped around her throat, choking off her air. Her face was a terrifying shade of gray, her eyes wide and pleading as she clawed at the nothingness constricting her windpipe.
“I have something of yours,” Adrian said, his voice tight with strain. He squeezed his fist, and Patrice let out a strangled gurgle. “And you have something of mine.”
I clutched the dagger at my thigh, but I didn’t draw it. If I moved, he’d snap her neck before I could take a step.
Mayhem appeared at my shoulder, a low, lethal growl vibrating in his chest. “Let her go.”
Adrian’s gaze flicked to the demon, fear warring with greed in his eyes. He took a step back, using Patrice as a human shield.
