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Adalaide swallowed. “Apologies, but did you say your bloodline?”

Jophiel waved a hand. “In good time. First, we must get your wards up.” She glanced around the room, seeing something Adalaide could not. “I see you haven’t begun work tonight. I’ll assist, and we will speak afterward.”

Adalaide wanted to argue, to ask this strange witch to leave, but the breeze tickling her skin spoke of trust and honesty; she felt at once a deep sense of faith and calm.

Adalaide nodded, and she watched as Jophiel began setting wards around the inside of her house. It was different from the way Gabriel had done it; she wondered why she was comparing them. Where Gabriel leaned heavily on his air magic, Jophiel’s inclination was to use fire magic first.

Adalaide’s gift rose to the surface, humming under her skin. It begged to be united with its twin, but she tugged hard at the ember in her chest, banking the magic simmering just out of reach. One thought, one word, and it would ignite, but she let the witch do her work, watching in wonder at the way she used kinetic energy to force it into being instead of pulling it from her own internal spark.

It was a trick she longed to master, marveling at the possibilities of using a gift that did not draw from her own strength.

“There,” Jophiel said when the house was encapsulated in an invisible forcefield of kinetic energy, a bomb prepared to detonate at the first sign of intrusion.

Jophiel truly was a master of her craft.

“Would you care to sit?” Adalaide asked, gesturing toward the sitting room.

Jophiel inclined her head and they moved into the room, each sitting opposite one another.

Adalaide bit her lip, unsure what to do or say next. She entertained so infrequently; certainly, her guests were never strangers who had just performed magic and declared themselves to be of her bloodline. She opened her mouth. Closed it, glancing at the portrait of a long-dead relative over Jophiel’s head.

“I want to teach you how to hone your gifts,” Jophiel said after an uncomfortably long silence.

Adalaide nodded. “I would be grateful.”

Jophiel dipped her chin, and again, they sat in silence, neither making a move.

“Also,” Jophiel said after another long pause, “I wish to impart that Gabriel is quite well.”

Butterflies erupted in Adalaide’s stomach at the sound of his name. “You are acquainted with Gabriel?”

“Yes, dear. He is my brother.”

Chapter 15

Gabriel

Gabriel’s sword swung in a wide arc, taking off three heads, one after another. He spun, running the flaming blade through another creature, and it dissolved under his touch. Three raced for him, and he spread his blue-hued fingers wide, shooting bolts of flame at all three. They dropped silently. He turned, surveying the space.

It was pitch dark, the tents of sleeping soldiers undisturbed; he could only hope he’d killed them all.

The nasdaqu-ush were working with the Ottomans. Had they succeeded this night, they would have wiped out the Egyptian army and left the victory—quite decisively—to the Ottomans come morning.

Running a finger over his blade, he moved silently, laying both hands on each of the slain creatures, dissolving them. When they had all been dispensed, he stopped at the edge of camp, listening for the demons he knew would come.

Where there was a battle, there were always demons. They were drawn to it; like a sweet aphrodisiac, they could not stay away. They would whisper deceit and fear in the minds of the sleeping soldiers.

There, in the distance, sliding silently in and out of tents, he spied a dark, wispy creature. It looked up, sensing him, its red eyes slanted in the dark. It moved quickly, slipping into the nearest tent.

Gabriel stopped just outside the tent and dissolved into dust, letting the wind carry him inside. In the tent, he floated around the demon, watching as he leaned in and whispered in a sleeping man’s ear. The man tossed and turned.

The demon smiled, seeming to sense Gabriel’s presence.

Much as he would like to interfere, the demon was within his rights to test the man. So long as he did not inhabit him, Gabriel could do nothing but watch.

The demon’s red eyes swirled with devious intent, and he rose, gliding through one tent flap and into the next.

Gabriel followed, watching with growing contempt as the demon planted fear and doubt in the next man’s heart. The man would not die tonight at the hand of a nasdaqu-ush, but he would surely die tomorrow, for nothing killed more swiftly than crippling fear and doubt.

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