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But he didn’t.

She jumped and twisted, throwing her elbows into his gut. He grunted and lurched to the side as she knocked him off balance—

A scream ripped out of her lungs, her foot slipping off the slick edge of the pool.

She fell back, taking Ethan down with her, sharp nails ripping into his neck as they crashed into the pool, water bursting around them.

—

Darien couldn’t move. He couldn’t even work his tongue to scream.

Shadowy teeth came at him from a misshapen form that had pits for eyes. It was a mass of shadow and mist and things he couldn’t describe—things he’d never seen before.

The creature had no aura. But a smell…it had a smell. It was the stink of an old grave, the smoke of a forest fire, and the must of centuries’ old wood polish, like furniture that had spent too long sitting in an antique store. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But it didn’t matter, because his time was up. He couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t call upon his magic. The air exited his lungs like someone had punched them flat, and his heart began to beat slower and slower as the creature sucked the life out of him. A vortex of bitterly cold wind tore through the room.

As his heart slowed, beat by beat, he felt stretched thin, like his soul was being extracted from his body. Currents of ink-black, slate-gray, and a handful of dim colors bled out of his body as the thing feasted—

And then Bandit was scrabbling out from under the couch, nails grappling for purchase. With a deafening bark that generated a sound wave Darien could feel, the Familiar pounced, a burst of his magic rippling out in a dark wave—a sight Darien had never seen before—that rivalled the thick shadows of the monster.

It let go. And thank the Star it did, because Darien was able to rally his magic then, able to breathe.

Forming a wall of magic protecting him from the demon, he righted himself midair and dropped to his feet in a crouch. His boots thumped on the floorboards, rattling jewelry and shelves and an old chandelier.

“RUN!” The word tore out of him, the sound as ragged as he felt. He was up in an instant, sprinting blindly for the hallway, Bandit right on his heels. Their footsteps thudded on the floor, the boards creaking and groaning in protest. They sank with every step, threatening to snap.

Don’t break, Darien begged. Don’t break, don’t break, don’t break.

The door neared, the faintest glow of moonlight shining through, a beacon declaring safety.

Darien’s fingers closed around the screen door, boots skidding across rotting wood. When the demon attacked again, he felt his magic disintegrate as if it were nothing, but he was already out the door.

He didn’t stop running until he was off the lawn, across the street, and slamming to a stop against the car door, Bandit so close he almost stepped on his paws. The spells on the car hummed and gave way as it sensed their presence.

Bandit was barking at him, the sound bouncing down the night-darkened street. Open it! Open it!

“I’m trying!” He opened the door, nearly ripping the handle clean off. He got inside, banging his head on the door, pulling Bandit up onto his lap before slamming it shut.

The spells rippled over the car. For once in his life Darien didn’t mind the nausea it brought to his stomach, the chill it raised on his arms, hairs prickling. The spells meant they were safe.

That demon…it was new. Another unknown not catalogued in any book. He didn’t pray often, but as he sat panting behind the wheel, holding Bandit tight, he prayed that thing couldn’t get in here.

Bandit usually preferred to stay in Darien’s shadow, but he sat there on his lap for minutes, paws on Darien’s shoulders. They panted in unison, staring at the house. The old structure was quiet and still, no trace of the chaos that’d just ensued, as if it had never happened.

Darien pulled his eyes from the house and looked at Bandit. Bandit looked back at him, the dog so close, their noses were almost touching.

They were both still catching their breath when Darien said, “Want to play fetch now?”

46

Water filled Loren’s mouth, rushing down into the hollow pit of her stomach as Ethan pushed her head below the surface of the pool. She kicked and fought, chlorine burning her nose and throat. Water splashed and voices echoed, only audible when she was able to lift her head above the surface. Barely, and not high enough to breathe.

Sound became muffled again as Ethan pushed her back under, both of his hands on top of her head. Water plugged her ears and flooded her nose and throat.

Forty feet of clear blue stretched around her. The black-and-white tiles marking the depths of the pool were wavy and distorted. They shimmered like a dream, the sight of them hypnotizing.

Her lungs burned, and her limbs were weak. While her arms hung limp and buoyant in the water, her feet fought for purchase, toes searching for solid ground. If she could shove off the floor of the pool and through Ethan’s hold, she might be able to get back up…