Another came from the side, faster than the first, and Brummy lunged with a snarl so fierce, it shook the ground. His teeth closed around the guard’s leg; although he was still small for a dire wolf, he was bigger than a timber wolf. His jaws had more than enough strength to bring the rogue down, and his claws were more than sufficient to slash out a throat.
“Status check, moonbeam,” Zane called.
“Breathing,” I whispered. “You?”
“Same. Fozzinator, want me to bring you a souvenir?”
“So long as it’s not fuzzy gonads,” Foster muttered.
Ignoring them, I approached the back door, which had a binding ward. I coiled magic in my palm like thread on a spool and unwound the ward. Exchanging a nod with Foster, I crouched down and pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked. Foster handled the guard who tried to rush us from the kitchen, driving one of his blades into the rogue’s chest.
“Getting better at this,” he remarked as we slipped inside. “Last time we practiced ward-breaking, you set my eyebrows on fire.”
“That wasone time.” I blushed to the roots of my hair. “And they’re growing back, aren’t they?”
“Slowly.” There was teasing in his tone that reminded me of Zane. That same ability to find humor in the most dire situations. “Now let’s get this done, Little Boss.”
I led the way inside, refusing to look at anything too closely, until I paused on the threshold of the living room. It had once been a place where my father read me stories by the fire, where my motherbraided my hair while singing. Now it was a shrine to Arabesque’s corruption.
Three reliquaries waited, displayed like trophies on wall shelves, just as Foster had said. Hexed glass, sealed with blood wax and glowing faintly with runes I half-recognized, half-felt, each heart wrapped in black-thorn vines.
The first contained something wet and fungal, a spongy clump of moss and rot clutched around a bloated heart-shaped mass. Ashmouth.
The second was a knot of iron and bone and pulsing crystal. Mechanical gears turned slowly within its bulk. A curved horn jutted from its top, one part machine, one part living tissue. Splitter.
And the last was deceptively simple. A horse’s heart. Whole. Gleaming dully in the low light. I could almost see a mane trailing in the dark. The White Dread.
“Simmy,” I whispered through the comm. “Any dead monsters yet?”
Zane beat him to the reply.
“Ashmouth’s mulch. While I’m waiting to see him regenerate, I’m playing with the rogues. Can we keep one of them? As a pet?”
“No,” I snapped.
Examining Ashmouth’s reliquary, I noticed the runes that sealed the glass were complex, layered with protections and curses. Break them wrong, and the backlash could kill us. I recognized patterns in them, though, at least enough to do the job.
“All those hours studying are paying off now.” I worked for a few seconds, then, with a grin of victory, I broke through the last ward. “Yes!”
The second the glass hissed open, Foster drove his blade straight into the heart of rot, which let out a shriek like a cat’s yowl. Through the comms, I heard an answering cry.
“One down.” Foster yanked his dagger free, and the heart collapsed in on itself, the fungal mass crumbling to dust.
“My turn, beloved,” Koa spoke up. “Splitter’s down. Bastard’s core exploded. Took out a squad of rogues with it.”
“Tragedy,” Zane cackled as I moved to Splitter’s heart, studying the runes.
They were different, more geometric patterns, but the underlying principle was the same. I reached out with my magic, finding the weak points in the seal. It resisted more than the first, the wax hardening instead of melting when I first touched it. I pushed deeper, feeling sweat bead on my forehead as I wrestled with themagic. It felt like trying to untie a knot underwater, slippery and resistant.
“You can do this, Little Boss,” Foster murmured, dagger held at the ready.
I bit my bottom lip, refocusing. Instead of fighting the hardening wax, I worked with it, using its rigidity to crack it along hidden fault lines. The seal fractured with a sound like breaking ice, and I quickly pulled the pieces away.
As Foster plunged the weapon into Splitter’s heart, the mechanical parts sparked once, bright blue electricity dancing along the blade, then went still. Through the comms, I heard a distant crash, and Zane whooping in victory.
Two down. Then, “Seri.”
A single word, but what I heard in Casimir’s voice stopped my breath.
