Cool sorcery slid over his skin like a whisper, beneath his clothes, forming a ward around him. The instant it locked into place, the overwhelming sensation of magic vanished. He could breathe again. See again. Lucien let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out second.
The front door crashed open, and Lucien swept in front of her, flinging the blade he kept in his sleeve, before he could blink.
A stranger flung both arms up in front of his face in a cross, and the blade struck an invisible ward around him with a flare of green that shot through the entire shield, then vanished. The knife clattered noisily to the floor.
"Some kind of welcome," the stranger drawled, lowering his arms. He wore a great coat that smothered him and a beaver hat perched over his brow. Parts of his coat still smoldered, and a conflagration of power crackled over his shoulder as something launched itself up the front steps, and then vanished in a crackle of searing white light.
At Lucien's side, Miss Martin caught Luc's sleeve. "Don't. He's one of ours. Mr. Bishop, how do you do?"
"Any idea why the house is under attack by imps?" Bishop had the sort of smile that no doubt stole hearts by the handful, and a face that looked younger than he probably was, but Lucien didn't mistake the rasp of his voice, as if something had scarred his voice box, or the cold blackness of the man's eyes. Shadows lurked there, whispers of darkness and sins unknown. Combined with the heavy rings on his fingers with their chips of obsidian that stated him a seventh level adept, there was no doubt this Bishop was a dangerous man. The seventh was the highest level one could achieve, below that of the Order's Councilors, or the Prime's ninth level.
"Some idea," Lady Eberhardt's voice echoed through the entry as she returned. Only one of her lions stalked at her heels. "Shut the door and step lively. The wards are about to fall, I believe, and we're going to be inundated with hell spawn. Someone's dragged them straight out of the Shadow Dimensions."
The stranger stepped over the lintel, his heavy boot landing on the floor. It felt momentous, as if the shiver of that landing echoed through the marble in an underground fault line that slithered its way toward Lucien's boots and ended there.
What the hell? Lucien looked down. Nothing had happened, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been here before, seen this moment played out in slow, time-catching movement, again and again—or perhaps, as if he'd been heading toward this moment his entire life.
Even the stranger paused, no doubt aware of it too. "What are you?" A hand slid to his belt, as if Bishop touched a knife there for reassurance.
Their eyes met and the air grew sharp with wariness, danger, and the underlying black current of sorcery as both men gathered themselves.
"What are you?" Lucien demanded in return, taking a step forward.
"That's enough, you two. We'll deal with this little mess later. Right now, we have over a dozen imps on hand," Lady Eberhardt commanded, striding forth with the fire poker in her hand. "Your timing is impeccable, as usual, Bishop." She peered out through the side panels of glass by the front door. "They've taken down my first ring of wards." A hand slid over the stone lion's head at her side. "Mounting an assault at the front door, it seems. They must have sensed the crack in the second ring after that last assault."
"Is there anything we can do?" Miss Martin asked.
Lady Eberhardt's smile was dangerous. "Stay out of my way and keep them off my back."
Glass shattered somewhere near the side of the house. "I've got it," Bishop declared, striding toward the noise. As he went, a pair of blue-white daggers formed in his hands, flickers of lightning dancing off them.
Dangerous. Lucien watched him go. He wasn't sure who, or what, the man was, but he knew a predator when he saw one, and he could still see the after-image of the man stepping inside the house, flashing again and again in the back of his mind, as if it had been burned into his retinas.
More glass erupted, this time from the back of the house.
"Go!" Lady Eberhardt told them, and a ball of pure energy began building in front of her, a mage globe of red light.
Definitely time to leave Lady Eberhardt to her own devices. She clearly knew what she was doing.
"Guard my back!" Miss Martin panted as she grabbed Lucien's wrist and hauled him past the stairs and toward the back of the house.
Lucien primed one of the pistols he'd confiscated, feeling incredibly useless. What was he supposed to do? His magic was useless to him in this situation, his legs felt like lead, and an imp would swallow his bullet and spit it straight back at him. "Can you handle this?"
"Watch me." Miss Martin flashed a grin over her shoulder before she pushed a door open and strode into the kitchens, her lavender skirts swishing around her legs.
An imp leapt on top of the kitchen table, hissing at them. Its skin gleamed a dull bronze color, and though it wore the coat and trousers of a boy, there was no mistaking those all-black eyes, or the razor-sharp teeth in its face as it leered at the pair of them. A thin tail lashed out behind it, back and forth, like a cat anticipating its prey.
A Lesser Demon, it could still wield an enormous amount of power from the Shadow Dimensions it came from. Lucien aimed his pistol directly at the creature's forehead and fired.
The imp hissed as the bullet slammed into its skull, a black hole glaring back at them like a third eye. Then the hole began to mend itself, vanishing into smooth, unblemished skin.
"What part of 'guard my back' did you not understand?" Miss Martin took a stance in the middle of the room, flinging her arms out to the sides and muttering power words under her breath.
The room turned cold, and the imp hissed as a mage globe the size of Lucien's fist sizzled to life in front of her. It gleamed like blue lightning. Dangerous, but not bloodthirsty, the way Eberhardt's mage globe had been.
Lightning lashed off the globe, spearing toward the imp. It sprung, claws clinging to the hanging pot rack above it, then twisted as another spear of lightning arced toward it, and leaped toward the sink. As it went, it threw a variety of utensils at Miss Martin. Lucien grabbed a frying pan, using it to bat away the knives and pots that the creature flung. He was less than useless, but at least he could do this. Miss Martin needed to concentrate.
