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S o,” Sawyer says eventually. “That went well.”

“We… probably could’ve been a little more tactful,” Naomi admits, worrying a stray thread from her shirt.

Obie scoffs. “A little? Do you even know the definition of ‘tact’?”

“They do not,” Micah confirms, and he shrugs when Naomi and Sawyer glare at him. “But Obie. Ez. You get it, right? You believe us?”

Ez takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Tries not to look at Roma as she considers the words.

She doesn’t want to believe it. She doesn’t want to believe that the Chain could be working with the very humans who hunt them, that they knowingly protected the criminals responsible for the Jackson–Locke murders, that they’re actively betraying demons around the world??—

Doesn’t want to believe that they could be teaming up with the Sanctum to destroy lives like JJ’s for the sole purpose of amassing power.

But Ez didn’t want to believe that the Chain could be sending neophyte demons to the Sanctum’s prison, either?—and she and Roma have been tugging at the edges of that corruption for nearly a month now. At the very least, the Chain’s Education Department and a handful of Sanctum hunters seem to be involved.

Going from an isolated issue in Redwater to a worldwide conspiracy is a stretch, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. “I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Ez says at last. “But we’re going to need a lot more evidence before buying what you’re selling.”

“But not tonight,” Obie says, shaking his head. “Like Ez said, we came here for a spell?—specifically, a spell to help us end the mega-rift epidemic. Your conspiracy theories can wait.”

And Micah??—

Micah actually looks crestfallen by that. “Right,” he says quietly, and he turns to Naomi and Sawyer. “Naomi, you have a theory about that, right?”

Roma laughs sharply. “Seriously? You brought us all the way here for another theory?”

Naomi glares straight back at her. “All right, Little Miss Prodigy Spellcaster, riddle me this: who can create rifts?”

“Mostly demons,” Roma answers immediately, “but also humans with access to a demon’s soul energy. That’s how summoners are able to open rifts to Tamaros?—they’re utilizing the soul energy of the demon they’re about to drag to Earth.”

“And why can’t these mega-rifts be the work of a human spellcaster?”

Roma’s eyes narrow. “Hypothetically, they could be. The spellcaster could be tapping into a demon’s soul without actually summoning them,” she says, and she shifts uncomfortably. “Realistically, though? A human would need to take more breaks to eat, sleep, and avoid overexertion. It could be a network of human spellcasters, but that level of coordination would be nearly impossible to maintain for this long.”

“And why can’t the mega-rifts be the work of a demon spellcaster?”

Roma’s jaw twitches. “Again, they could be, but a demon would also need breaks to avoid overexertion. And a network of demon spellcasters would run into the same problem as a network of human ones. Why are you asking me stupid questions? Ez and I literally went over this in the first hour of the epidemic, and we’re currently two and a half weeks in.”

“Because you apparently haven’t arrived at the right answer yet,” Sawyer says, and she points meaningfully at the floor. “Namely, that Redwater happens to be situated over a stockpile of magic that doesn’t need to eat or sleep, doesn’t need to worry about coordinating resources, and is known far and wide for its bizarre quirks.”

Ez’s stomach plummets. Obie stops dead. “The Deep,” he says, incredulity bleeding into his voice. “You think the Deep is responsible for this?”

Ez crosses her arms over her chest, unsettled. “But magic reservoirs don’t just activate out of nowhere like this. The Deep might play by slightly different rules than most, but in general, it follows the same principles. It’s just a stable source of magic.”

“You’re right,” Naomi says. “We think something must have de stabilized it. There were mega-rifts opening even before the full epidemic started, right? Whoever was responsible for those must have accidentally brushed against the Deep, and now, the Deep is stuck in an infinite loop of activating and re- activating that same spell.”

A chill runs down Ez’s spine. “That… makes sense, actually,” she says, chancing a glance at Roma’s wide eyes and still face. “If someone was stupid enough to use an older spell that doesn’t play nice with magic reservoirs, then they could’ve disrupted the Deep’s equilibrium?—and, because the Deep keeps a record of every spell that’s cast within its borders, it’s reacting to that faulty record over and over again. It would explain why there are predictable breaks?—the Deep would occasionally need to replenish itself after activating the same spell repeatedly?—and why the mega-rifts only open one at a time. It makes sense.”

Eventually, Roma nods. “It does make sense,” she agrees haltingly. “So how do we stop it?”

“First, we need to check if the Deep really is responsible,” Gregorio says. “That’s our first varsity-level spell, and it’s one that we already know. But after that…” He presses his lips together. “We’d have to do a second spell to reset the Deep?—basically, to restabilize it so it stops activating the rift-opening spell ad nauseum. And we don’t currently know any spell that can accomplish that.”

“But you might,” Naomi says, raising her eyebrows at Roma. “Or the Sanctum might, at least. They have advanced magic books in the main library, plus the restricted spellcasting library in the prison. You might be able to find what we need in there?—or, at least, find the pieces to create our own spell.”

Ez’s stomach lurches. “Creating a spell from scratch is dangerous, Gutierrez. The probability of making a mistake and blowing yourself up is extraordinarily high.”

Sawyer’s smile is all teeth. “Well, then, it’s good that you and dear Roma work so well together, isn’t it? You can check each other’s work.”

Roma chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “So that’s it? You’re just forking this off on us?”

“We didn’t even invite you, Roma,” Naomi snaps. “You invited yourself.”

Ez’s hackles rise. Considering how deeply this conspiracy affects Roma as a hunter, it’s actually insulting that they tried so hard to keep her away in the first place. “Technically, I invited her,” Ez says pointedly.

“Let me rephrase that,” Roma says, restrained fury behind every word. “You were going to take JJ?— who’s not the strongest spellcaster at baseline, and who’s literally wanted as a fugitive?—and make him break into the Sanctum for you?”

Ez stiffens, realization snapping through her. She wouldn’t have thought twice about Naomi and Sawyer’s plan if Roma hadn’t put those pieces together, wouldn’t have followed the original guest list for this ill-fated meeting to its logical conclusion, but??—

But Roma is right. Naomi and Sawyer didn’t know Roma was going to be here. That means JJ would’ve been the only person capable of finding what they needed inside the Sanctum.

They were going to pressure him into going back to the source of his worst nightmares?—the source, apparently, of his family’s actual murders?—without a thought for how that might affect him.

And Roma is angry about that. She’s indignant and protective and angry that Naomi and Sawyer were going to risk JJ’s life for the cause.

It’s the same reaction that Ez has had every time she thought Roma herself could get too close to JJ again. She swallows hard past the unfamiliar swirl of solidarity?—of connection? —in her chest.

Maybe Roma isn’t as much of an enemy as Ez always thought she was. Maybe she cares about JJ?—about her friend?— more than she cares about the Sanctum’s opinion of him.

Maybe she really did make a mistake when she double-crossed them all those months ago, and she’s trying her hardest to atone for it now.

Suddenly, the other implications of Roma’s deduction catch up to Ez. Her temper flares. “And then you were going to put both of us at risk by having us create an unproven spell and hoping it worked? Micah and Gregorio were damn near insistent on pairing me with JJ, who we know is a weaker spellcaster than Roma. You were just going to let us die if things went sideways?”

“You’re the best spellcaster on the East Coast, Ez!” Gregorio snaps. “And we would’ve helped you, obviously. You would’ve been fine. You would’ve??—?”

“I’ve seen spellcasters die before.” Obie’s voice is smooth as silk. Dangerous. “Actually, I’ve seen dozens of spellcasters die while testing new spells. You were trying to coerce two of my good friends into a potentially fatal situation without any regard for their safety.” His smile is chilling. “But that didn’t matter as long as it didn’t affect you, right? You were going to let them be a sacrifice, just like you let JJ?—and Roma, and their friends?—be a sacrifice to the Sanctum when you left them behind.”

Sawyer steps forward, her eyes blazing. “Listen, Smith??—?”

A vortex of power surges through the room. Ez jerks away on instinct, grabbing Roma’s arm to yank her backwards. Sawyer freezes, Naomi flinches away, Gregorio and Micah go utterly still??—

Obie smiles with all his teeth. “I think we’ll be leaving now,” he says. “I know the spell to check the Deep already?—you forget that I’ve been alive for almost seven times longer than even Gregorio. If that test comes back positive, then maybe we’ll call you. Don’t get in touch before then.”

And Ez??—

Sometimes, Ez forgets just how terrifying?—and ruthless?—Obadiah Smith really is. Not for the first time, she’s glad that he’s on her side.

Hers and Roma’s, apparently. Abruptly, Ez realizes that Roma’s fingers are wrapped tightly around Ez’s forearm as she stares at Obie with wide eyes, like she’s fully prepared to haul Ez away with her if Obie proves to be a threat to them.

Like Roma truly does think of herself and Ez as their own little team.

But Ez can unpack that later. Now, she gently tugs Roma forward. “Come on, lackey,” she says, and she snaps open a rift. “Let’s get out of here.”

And, as Ez and Roma silently step into the Courtyard with Obie following just behind them, Ez has the bad feeling that this isn’t going to be the last they see of Naomi Gutierrez and Sawyer Solomon.

It has to be a trick.

Roma collapses onto one of the benches between Cachapa Castle and Pad Thai Palace, her trembling legs finally giving way beneath her. This entire day, this entire month, this entire year? ? —

It has to be a trick. A test by the Sanctum to judge her loyalty, or a con the Chain devised to deceive her, or??—

“So what do we think?” Ez is hovering just next to Roma, her arms crossed over her chest. Distantly, Roma knows that Ez is talking to both her and Obie, but right now, she doesn’t trust herself to speak past the raw emotions choking up her throat. “Do we think they’re crazy crazy? Or just mostly crazy?”

Obie’s jaw tightens. “I want to see their evidence,” he says quietly, a thread of pain creeping into his voice. “And I want to know how long this has been happening. If all the neophytes we always thought we were saving ended up trafficked straight to the Sanctum’s prison…” He shakes his head. “If they’re right, if this is a conspiracy, then it’s deep. Deeper than I even want to think about.”

Nausea licks up Roma’s throat. She swallows it down hard, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees and bury her head in her hands.

Naomi and Sawyer can’t be right. They can’t be. They must have been fed some faulty information along the way, from Gregorio or Micah or the Chain itself. They must have drawn the wrong conclusions, followed the wrong evidence, gone down the wrong path??—

For a split second, Roma remembers life at the Sanctum before they defected. Remembers Sawyer’s raw skill and purebred confidence, remembers all the status and power she held as the top self-defense instructor. Remembers Naomi snapping at her heels, fighting tooth and nail for that same spot, working twice as hard because she was a mixed breed?—and still achieving a level of recognition that most hunters could only dream about.

They were on top of the world back at the Sanctum. How could they have given that up if they weren’t certain?

“Roma?” When Roma looks up, dazed, it’s to see Ez and Obie staring down at her. Obie mostly looks wary, but Ez actually looks a little worried. “You good?”

“Not really,” Roma says honestly, relieved that her voice comes out firm instead of small and hoarse. Taking a deep breath, she sits up straight, ignoring how the Courtyard still feels like it’s spinning around her. “Obie, you mentioned that you know the spell to check the Deep. To see if it’s responsible for the epidemic. Does it require a second spellcaster? Or?—or human magic?”

Obie casts his eyes towards the sky, grimacing. “I’m not positive. I know of the spell, but I’ve never cast it, and I don’t have it memorized. It might take me a few days to dig it out of my reference library.”

“The one in your house?” Ez asks, her eyebrows furrowing. “I can help you look.”

Obie shakes his head. “No, this is in one of my safe houses. One of the many that you don’t even know about.”

Ez whistles quietly. “Do you have the Library of Alexandria stashed away in there?”

“I wish. I was in South America during the Great Library’s heyday,” he says, and he glances back at Roma, a note of caution dropping into his voice. “If it does need human magic or a second spellcaster, though, would you be willing to help Ez? It’s a varsity-level spell, but it’s a proven one. The risk of death and dismemberment is minimal.”

Roma’s stomach churns. Checking the Deep to see if it’s repeatedly activating the spell that destabilized it? The spell that Bryant and Chester cast, the spell that Roma gave them to use?

She thought the odds were in her favor to cast a pre-WMSA spell directly above a magic reservoir, but apparently, that was just one more thing she’s been wrong about recently. Now, not only is the entire mega-rift epidemic her fault, but it’s a mistake that never should’ve happened. Roma knew better than to muck around with pre-WMSA spells.

After all, Naomi always warned her to stay away from them.

“Gutierrez?” Ez prompts, shifting the slightest bit closer to her. “You still with us?”

Roma winces. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you,” she says, and she squares her shoulders. “And yes. Yes, I can help with the spell. Just, uh. Just let me know if you need me.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Obie says, and he turns to Ez. “You want to head back to Cass’s place with me? I feel like he and JJ might appreciate someone watching Desi for a while.”

The words jolt through Roma. Ez swears under her breath. “You’re probably right. JJ is going to be a wreck after all that. Meet you there? I just need to go over a few details with Gutierrez first.”

“Sounds good.”

“Take care of him,” Roma blurts out, and when Ez and Obie shoot her startled looks, she swallows hard. “JJ, I mean. Just?—just please take care of him?”

After a long moment, Obie nods. “We will. And Cass always does.” He snaps his fingers, peeling open a rift. “See you soon, Ez.”

He vanishes in a whisper of purple-gold smoke, and Ez turns back to Roma, her eyebrows furrowed. “Hey,” she says, and to Roma’s surprise, she eases herself down on the bench seat next to her. “Are you good? That was… a lot.”

Roma’s heart twists at the concern on Ez’s face. She tries to hide it behind a scoff, looking away. “Afraid your spellcasting buddy is going to fall apart on you?”

“Yes,” Ez says, and she ducks her head, trying to meet Roma’s eyes. “Roma. Seriously. You just found out that your sister abandoned you because the organization that brainwashed you might be working with your worst enemies.”

Roma chokes on a half-hysterical laugh. “Wow. And I thought Sawyer was the one with no tact.”

Ez’s lips twitch. “Still. Are you okay?”

A bell tolls in the clock tower nearby. Seven o’clock, Roma realizes. Less than an hour ago, she was getting ready to head back to the Sanctum, looking forward to eating dinner and collapsing into bed after a long day of closing mega-rifts with Ez.

Now, the summer sun is finally slipping towards the horizon, and the Courtyard’s nightlife is just starting to appear. The shops around its border are turning on their catchiest music and most colorful lights, bright and cheerful to welcome the impending darkness. The savory scent of cachapas wafts over from the nearest food truck, and a woman two tables over is busily connecting her guitar to a small amplifier, her guitar case already set out to collect tips.

The temperature is cool, but for some reason, Ez’s presence makes Roma feel warm. Not overheated, but just… comfortable. Cozy.

Almost safe.

“I’m fine,” Roma hears herself say, not trusting herself to look too deeply into Ez’s steady, fathomless eyes. “I don’t even think they’re right. They probably just invented an excuse to justify their defection.”

Ez hums noncommittally. “But if they are right?”

“I?—?” Roma scrubs a hand down her face, exhausted. “I don’t even want to think about that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay,” Ez says softly, and she pushes herself to her feet. “But we’re still good for Obie’s spell? And our rift-closing shifts?”

Right now, all Roma wants to do is crawl into a corner and hide. She forces herself to nod. “Yep. Business as usual.”

“Cool,” Ez says, and she clears her throat, clapping a hand on Roma’s shoulder. Roma almost starts with surprise. “And, uh. Thanks. For trusting me.”

Roma’s heart does something fluttery. “You didn’t really give me much of a choice.”

“Still.” Ez gives her the ghost of a smile as she drops her hand and steps away. Roma’s shoulder feels cold where Ez’s palm was warm through the fabric of her shirt, and fleetingly, Roma wonders what Ez’s bare fingers would feel like tangled through Roma’s.

It’s probably the most heretical?—and impossible?—thing she’s thought all night. And it shouldn’t leave her feeling nearly as sad as it does. “You should, um,” Roma says awkwardly, and she clears her throat. “You should probably head to Cass’s place. To meet up with Obie.”

“Probably,” Ez agrees, and she flicks open a rift. “Later, Gutierrez.”

And, with one final wave, she ducks through the rift, snaps it closed behind her, and vanishes from sight.

Roma stays in the Courtyard for a while. Watches the civilians walk by, listens to the woman on the guitar. Buys a cachapa and eats it without really tasting anything. When the clock strikes eight, she stumbles to her feet, walks back to the Sanctum, and slips up the staircase to her bedroom without seeing a soul.

And then she curls up on her bed, pulls the blankets over her head, and tries to remember how to breathe.