Page 280 of House of Flame and Shadow

The Harpy didn’t answer. She didn’t show any sign that she’d heard or cared. As if she’d lost her voice. Her very identity.

“Fry the bitch,” Bryce muttered to Hunt, and he didn’t wait before sending a plume of lightning for the Harpy.

She dodged it, those white-painted wings as fast as they had ever been—

No, they hadn’t been painted white. They’d turned white. As if whatever the Asteri had done to her with Hunt’s lightning had bleached the color out of them.

Hunt threw another bolt of lightning, then another, and he might have lit up the whole fucking sky if not for that gods-damned halo—

“Athalar!” A familiar male voice rang from the mists above them. Hunt didn’t dare take his focus off the Harpy as the voice clicked.

Isaiah.

“What the Hel—” an equally familiar female voice said. Naomi.

But it was the third voice, coming from behind him as its owner landed in the snow, that made Hunt’s blood go cold. “What new evil is this?”

The Governor of Valbara had arrived.

* * *

Bryce didn’t know which was worse: Celestina or the Harpy. The female who’d stabbed them in the back, or the one who’d literally tried to slit Ruhn’s throat.

She and Hunt couldn’t take on two enemies at once—not in subfreezing temperatures, totally drained from opening the Rift, with the mists obscuring almost everything.

The Harpy swooped, and Hunt launched his lightning, so fast only the swiftest of angels could evade the strike. The Harpy did, and plunged earthward, mist streaming off her white wings, straight for Bryce. Bryce rolled out of the way and the Harpy hit the ground, snow exploding around her, but she was instantly up, lunging for Bryce again.

Isaiah blasted the Harpy with a wall of wind, knocking her back. But Celestina stood three yards away, and Hunt was already whirling to face her—

Bryce unzipped her thick jacket, the cold wind instantly biting into her skin. She grabbed the Mask.

And gave no warning at all as she fitted the icy gold to her face.

* * *

Wearing the Mask was like being underwater, or at a very high altitude. Her head was full of its power, her blood thrumming, pulsing in time with the presence in her head, her bones. The world seemed to dilute into its basics: alive or dead. She was alive, but with the Mask, she might escape even death itself and live forever.

The star in her chest hummed, welcoming that power like an old friend.

Bryce shoved aside her revulsion. Hunt was readying his lightning for Celestina, the mists glowing with each crackle, and the Harpy had broken through Isaiah’s power and was diving for Bryce again—

“Stop,” Bryce said to the Harpy. It was her voice, but not.

The Harpy halted.

Everyone halted.

“Bryce,” Hunt breathed, but he was far away. He was alive, and her business was with the dead.

“Kneel.”

The Harpy fell to her knees in the snow.

Celestina started, “What evil weapon have you—”

“I shall deal with you later,” Bryce said in that voice that resonated through her and created ripples in the mist.

Even the Archangel fell silent as Bryce approached the Harpy. Peered down into her narrow, hateful face. Truly soulless.

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