As he sullenly shuffled his feet, I realized what he was saying. He’d deliberately sought out a sorcerer. While not totally absolutely proscribed, sorcerers were routinely ostracized throughout the northern parts of Otherworld for their parts in the great wars. Their magic had laid ruin to a huge region, creating the Southern Wastes, and some of the cities—like Elqaneve—forbade them entrance. Sorcerers tended to be arrogant and chaotic, unlike the witches and mages. They worked primarily with fire elementals and the magic of mind control.

And our cousin had chosen to take that path. Shamas had trained in secret and kept it from the family.

Camille looked like she was going to cry. “I thought it might be true, but I didn’t want to believe it. We were such good friends during childhood, Shamas. What happened?”

I could only imagine the betrayal she felt. Sorcerers and witches clashed. The Moon Mother was constantly at odds with Chimaras, Lord of the Sun. Sorcerers often worshiped him, and the ongoing battles between Chimaras and the Moon Mother had been a big factor in the Scorching Wars that had scarred the Southern Wastes.

Shamas shook his head. “We don’t have time to talk right now. But I promise, I’ll tell you everything,” he said, reaching over to brush her cheek with his hand. At Smoky’s glower, he pulled away. “After we take care of the Tregarts, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

It occurred to me that Shamas could have helped us out a lot more in some of our other battles if he had confessed to working sorcery before this. I jabbed him in the ribs.

“Listen, whatever you have that can help, you’d damned well better use it. If you’re going to dabble in sorcery, you’re going to use those powers to help us rather than hide them under a rock.” My voice was gruffer than I intended, and he flinched. But I wasn’t about to apologize. Now that he was outed, Shamas had to man up and use what he had to help.

I pushed in front of him and peered around the corner toward where the shouts were echoing from. “Come on, let’s go get them.”

We kept close to the wall, creeping along. The store was a pastiche of disparate items. Everything from muzzles for rogue werewolves to herbal remedies for Supes who couldn’t use standard OTC medications to clothing choices to fit every body from a sprite up to a half giant. Speaking of which—my mind began to meander—we hadn’t noticed any half giants lately. There was Peder, of course, the giant who bounced at the Wayfarer during the day. But we still missed Jocko, the bartender who originally ran the Wayfarer. Hell, I missed the days before Jocko got offed…before the demons made themselves known.

I skirted a jutting shelf that carried specialty harnesses for werewolves who didn’t trust themselves under the full moon and wanted a firm restraint. Though they changed into standard wolf form, they were stronger by far than the ordinary wolf—just like a number of the larger predators. In fact, if panther was my primary Were shape and I automatically turned into her instead of my tabby during the full moon, there’d be a good chance we’d have to cage me, considering my Death Maiden abilities.

We slipped past bins filled with the Were equivalent of Milk-Bones—almost all of us with any teeth resembling fangs (and my own were small but not retractable) needed something to keep them from growing too long. We used flavorful hard biscuits to chew on—mostly while in Were form—in order to keep our teeth strong and healthy. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. The scent of beef set my stomach on edge, and now I wished I’d bought the cinnamon bun at Marion’s after all.

Shaking my head, I brought my attention back to the matter at hand.

Halfway down the aisle, the wall to my right ended as we came to an intersection. The screams were coming from the right, and they didn’t sound human to me. They didn’t sound pained, either. I wished the lights were off. We should have thought to douse them, but then, the controls were probably somewhere near the back of the store.

Peeking around the corner, I caught sight of the group of Tregarts. Two were attempting to bust down a metal door but not having much luck. The customers must have taken refuge in there. Three of the Tregarts were gathered around a couple of bodies sprawled nearby in a pool of blood, and they were busily engaged in ripping out and eating the hearts. Cringing, I managed to keep quiet. The rest of the Tregarts were nowhere to be seen.

I quickly pulled back. Fuck. At this range, they could hear if we talked—though the bashing against the metal door wouldn’t help them any. But if I tried to tell the others what I saw, somebody would hear us for sure. I glanced at Chase and motioned for him to hand me his notebook and pen. I scribbled down Group of five. Two trying to batter down door. Three munching on two dead Supes and passed it back. As soon as everybody had seen it, we were ready.

I sucked in a deep breath, steeling myself. There were always a few seconds before every battle where I wondered if we’d all make it out alive.

People died. Friends died. Tregarts were demons, vicious and more than willing to kill anything in their way. We had no guarantees. Hell, with any battle, demons or not, there was always the chance we’d sustain a fatality. Morio had nearly died. Chase had almost died. Camille had been raped and beaten. Zachary had been permanently paralyzed. Trillian had been brutalized. We’d all suffered.

As I let out my breath, I felt a tingle as I held Lysanthra in my hand. The familiar hum of her magic raced through me like a comforting old friend. She was sentient, my dagger, and we shared a special bond.

Are you ready? Her voice was lyrical, melodic.

I’m ready. Stand by me. A little spark shot through me, just enough to remind me she had hidden powers and released them only as she saw fit. After a second of indeterminable length, I slammed around the corner, followed by the others, and the fray was on.

We were facing only five of them, but Tregarts were tough. As I swung around the corner, ready to fight, the ones on the floor by the bodies leaped to their feet. The two trying to batter the door down stopped pounding on it and turned their axes toward us. The glint of the fluorescent lights shimmered on the blades.

As I sized up our opponents, I realized they looked bigger and nastier than any other Tregarts we’d encountered so far. Maybe a subspecies? Whatever the case, there wasn’t time to speculate now.

I raced toward one who didn’t have an ax in hand—better to have longer weapons when attacking someone with a big blade like that. Instead, I aimed for one near the bodies. He was burly and hairy and stank like a dead fish. As I barreled down on him, dagger ready to strike, he let out a loud grunt, pulling out a length of chain.

Oh shit…these guys were good with chains. They could wrap the links around a weapon and yank it right out of your hand.

I veered to the right, and the chain went whistling past with barely an inch to spare. As I heard the others engage, I focused on my own battle. That’s one thing I’d learned: Don’t let your attention waver. Ever. It could be deadly.

I ducked the chain and slid in from the side, bringing Lysanthra whistling down. Her tip managed to scar his leather, but I wasn’t close enough for the slash to break through. I danced away as he whipped the chain around his head, letting out a yawp. As I darted back, he followed, the chain whirling like a propeller, faster and faster.

And then, before I realized what he was doing, he let go of one end of it instead of just bringing it to bear, and the chain lengthened by half again as it came slashing through the air in my direction.

I dove for the floor, a split second before it would have smashed into my neck and either decapitated me or broken my skull into pieces. Landing hard, I shook my head, trying to pull out of the sudden daze.

As I turned to get up, he was on top of me, raising one fist over my head. My hand did my thinking for me, and I thrust Lysanthra into his balls from my half-seated position. The tip of the blade sliced neatly through the material of his trousers and he screamed. Lysanthra tasted blood and, eager for more, spurred me on. I felt her savage joy surge through my hand and twisted the blade, driving it deeper to feed her thirst.

My opponent dropped his fist; the blade he’d been drawing with his other hand skid across the floor as he furiously clawed at my dagger, trying to pull it out of his scrotum.

Lysanthra screeched in my head, still thirsty, and I ripped her back out of his flesh. As he cupped his balls, trying to stop the flow of blood, I swung her up, underhanded, tip directly under his chin. As the blade slid neatly through the skin, I let out a shuddering breath. Lysanthra sang as the blood satiated her need.

I was on my feet before he hit the ground, looking for the next target. Smoky was finishing off one of the demons, raking long talons across his midsection, and Shade was doing something to another. Camille and Morio were holding hands as a sickly plum-colored haze washed over the fourth Tregart, and—choking—he sank to the ground, scrabbling at his throat.

Shamas faced the fifth. He had a black eye; the Tregart had landed the first blow. Shamas’s hands were filled with what looked like blood, but then I realized it was some sort of ectoplasm and, as he thrust his palms forward, the substance splashed over the demon. The Tregart screamed as it slathered him, burning him as a cloud of ash and soot exploded. The demon pawed at his face, not realizing that half of it was gone, and then dove for Shamas.

Our cousin was physically fit, that was for sure. He nimbly dodged the attack, then swung around, his foot connecting with the blistered muscle that lay beneath the flesh of his opponent. The Tregart screamed as Shamas dropped him.

Chase pulled out a pair of nunchakus as the demon fell in front of him. He let go with a whistling blow, and the wooden stick hit the demon so hard we all heard the skull crack. Another blow and what was left of his face vanished into a bloody pool. A third and we heard ribs fracturing.

One look at Chase’s expression told me he was making up for lost time. I hurried over to him before he pulverized the body and, one hand on his shoulder, quietly said, “He’s dead, Chase. He’s dead.”

Chase jerked his head up, a look of pure fury on his face. Then his anger dropped away and he lowered his arm as he stared at the demon’s body. He started to say something, but I shook my head. There was no need. We all had demons of our own to exorcise.

“Where are the others?” Camille kept her voice low.

“I’m not sure, but I’m betting they’re still around somewhere.” I knocked on the door and said, as loud as I could without attracting unwanted attention, “It’s safe. We’re here to rescue you.”

Slowly, a click sounded, and the metal door swung open. A group of Supes peeked out, and I saw that several had changed shape—probably out of fear. There were two dogs, an owl, and three still in human form hiding in the room. We were near an exit—probably where they’d been headed when they’d been ambushed. Shamas peeked outside.

“Do you know how many of the…bikers…there are?” I asked the group.

“Nine, I think,” Jade, the owner of the Davinaka, said. “That’s all I saw.”

Shamas returned. “Safe enough.”

“Guide them out—make sure they reach safety.” I turned back to the hostages. “We’re taking care of the situation. There are still four of the…bikers…in the mall. So please, follow Officer ob Olanda as fast as you can and do what he says.”

The owl flew down to perch on the shoulder of one of the men, and the dogs followed them obediently as Shamas led them to safety. As soon as we saw them near the patrol cars, I closed the door and turned back to the others, leading them into the break room. If the other Tregarts came back, we could shut the door if we needed to—we knew it had already held against them.

The break room was replete with table, chairs, sink, microwave and refrigerator, doors that opened into a small bathroom, and a cleaning closet. A motivational poster hung on one wall—a picture of a werepuma in midchange. The caption read, Be All That You Are.

“Okay, we need to find the others and dispatch them as soon as possible. If she was right, then we have four left. I just hope they didn’t get out into the rest of the mini-mall or we’re going to have one hell of a time ferreting them out.” I wiped my dagger on a paper towel, wincing as bits of brain matter and blood smeared on the sheet. I tossed it into the garbage can and washed my hands, using the dishwashing soap to scrub away the blood splatters.

“Where would you go if you were a Tregart?” Morio looked around. “How much bigger is this store?”

“Not all that big.” I frowned. “I guess we’d better head out into the rest of the mini-mall. Let’s wait for Shamas, though. I want to know if any of the five we killed was—what name did he say? Feris—the Tregart he trained under.”

Camille let out a small choking sound. “I just can’t believe he actually trained with those scum. Not Shamas. He was the only one of our cousins who treated us with any respect—”

I shook my head and held up my hand. “He treated you with respect, Camille. Shamas never had a lot to say to either Menolly or me. I think either he had a crush on you or he liked that you work with magic.”

She flinched. “No. I refuse to believe it. He wasn’t like that…” Her voice trailed off as Shamas entered the room. “How are they?”

“Safe. Scared. I found Thayus—he managed to get outside shortly after I led the others out. He said he hid from the others but kept an eye on them. They apparently realized we were beating the crap out of their friends because they vanished. He’s not sure how, but they just…held hands and vanished.”

“Great. Teleportation. That’s the last skill we need for them to have. By the way, was Feris among the ones we killed?” I stared at him, challenging him. For some reason I was feeling uber-territorial. Camille sounded so bruised that I didn’t want him to hurt her. To disappoint her like our father had.