Page 52 of Paris and the Reaper

“And your money?” Charlotte said.

“Is mine now, regardless.”

She cursed, then snatched her phone out of her purse, tapping the screen a few times before glancing back at him with an incredulous glare. “This was a trap.”

“To free my money, yes, but the offer to free you is also very real.”

Through it all, Paris had kept his voice even, calm, gentle almost. No smirk, no victory smile, just the caring, empathetic human who was offering a lifeline, and Charlotte, Mac was sure, was ready to take it, but then Frankie said, “It’s too late.”

She whirled around in her chair. “What do you mean it’s too late? This is a good deal. Better than the other one.”

Icarus had shifted forward, muscles coiled. “What other one?”

“I thought it was a trap.” Frankie’s hazel eyes shifted from Icarus to where Jason had hopped the bar, then to each of Robin’s, Adam’s, and Mac’s positions, all of them moving closer. “I already said yes.”

“You were supposed to wait!” Charlotte yelled.

But her bellow was barely audible over the sound of metal ripping apart above, an opening torn in the roof, followed by a rain of fireballs.

Paris yanked on the bond, and Mac’s gaze collided with his frightened one. Only a second before Icarus covered his head and hauled him out of the chair, dragging him back toward the bar where Jason stood churning out fireballs of his own.

Mac mentally calculated how fast he could reach them, by foot or wing, but then his math was rearranged by Wallace Boyle falling through the hole in the roof, the giant’s feet hitting the floor with a massive rumble. A firefight ensued, cutting off Mac’s path, as Jason and Wallace exchanged shots, the latter’s height and breadth growing by the second, the tattoos on his skin coming to life, weapons and beasts on the cusp of materializing into this reality.

“Where’s the medium?” he bellowed.

A shifted Robin launched at the giant, aiming for his knees, while Adam aimed a shot at his head. Neither attack landed, Wallace deftly maneuvering out of the way—toward where Icarus stood over Kai, Paris, and Charlotte behind a wall of fire Jason had erected. A wall the giant would likely walk right through if Mac didn’t do something.

He didn’t have a clear path himself, not one that wouldn’t push the giant closer to the vulnerable, but he did have a clear path to call in reinforcements so that he, Robin, and Adam could get a better shot at Wallace.

Arms raised, tapping into the two ancient magics that ran through his veins, he recited the words of his ancestors, callingdown the wind. And on the next gust that blew through the opening in the roof, Liam led a wave of ravens and crows, all of them flying at the giant’s head, disorienting him and causing him to stagger back a step.

Almost enough for Robin to take him down, for Adam to take another shot.

“Seasamh síos!”

Mac went down on one knee, the order issued with power, with magic greater than his own, and the rest of the corvids obeyed too, falling away from the giant, whose gaze locked once more on Paris.

Mac swung his own gaze the direction of the call, to the top of the bar where a certain missing warlock stood wielding a crossbow.

“Stay down!” Atlas yelled for everyone else’s benefit.

Right before he unleashed a bronze arrow that sailed through the air and into Wallace Boyle’s chest, putting an end to another giant.

THIRTY

“Is this really necessary?”Paris gestured at the caged corner of the basement barrel room where Mac’s family kept a collection of library wines... and today, a warlock of dubious intent.

“It’s for his protection more than ours,” Mac said with a pointed look across the room to Robin seething in a club chair, thinly veiled hate swirling in his golden eyes. The only reason they’d made it back to Talahalusi with Atlas in one piece was because Adam had forced Robin to make the trip on paw to “run the murderous impulses out.” Mac didn’t think it had worked.

For his part, Atlas didn’t seem the least bit fazed, resting back against a barrel and magically stitching together a tear in his kilt. Otherwise, the warlock looked his usual put-together self, not a blond hair out of place, his green eyes bright, his thin black tee hugging his fit, compact torso. Sounded like his usual acerbic self too. “One, I can snap my fingers and be out of here whenever I want.” He finished with his kilt and straightened, perusing the shelves of wine behind him. “And two,” he said as he withdrew a bottle Mac recognized well, “if memory serves, this vintage had a perfect rating and trades in the high six figures.” He was right onboth counts, and when he sizzled through the wax and cork and drank straight from the bottle, Mac had to tamp down his own murderous impulses.

Paris did his part to calm him too, turning his back on Atlas and patting Mac’s chest, those big brown eyes gazing up at him. “He’s an ass, but he saved my life.”

“About that...” Robin said. “You two been working together the entire time?”

Atlas laughed out loud. “No, and truth be told, I’m amazed he’s managed to stay alive this long.”

Paris spun around so fast he almost stumbled, Mac’s arm around his waist the only thing that held him upright. The loss of balance didn’t stop his “Hey!” from sounding any less indignant. “What about all those tutors? All those books you made me read? You prepared me for this. If I’d failed, it would’ve been your fucking fault.”

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