Magic is risen.

When magic returned to the world, it could have saved humanity, but greed and thirst for power caused mankind’s downfall instead. Now once-human monsters called Howls prowl abandoned streets, their hunger guided by corrupt necromancers and the all-powerful Kin. Only Hunters have the power to fight back in the unending war, using the same magic that ended civilization in the first place.

But they are losing.

Tenn is a Hunter, resigned to fight even though hope is nearly lost. When he is singled out by a seductive Kin named Tomás and the enigmatic Hunter Jarrett, Tenn realizes he’s become a pawn in a bigger game. One that could turn the tides of war. But if his mutinous magic and wayward heart get in the way, his power might not be used in favor of mankind.

If Tenn fails to play his part, it could cost him his friends, his life...and the entire world.

Runebinder

Alex R. Kahler

for those who never saw themselves as heroes

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

PART 1

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART 2

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

PART 3

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Copyright

PART 1

THE ROAD TO HELL

“And with our greed, a great sin was born unto this world

and like Eve to the apple

that sin shall consume us.”

—Caius 8:22

2 P.R. (Post-Resurrection)

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS NOT the clean kill he had hoped for.

Tenn raced across the cornfield. Rain seeped through his leather coat and mud squelched up his boots, but he focused on the shadow darting in front of him. Everything else dulled to gray and black and pounding heartbeats.

Gray and black...and red. Too much red.

If he didn’t hurry, that red would damn them all.

His prey staggered. Fell. A moment later he dropped to its side, dagger in hand. He didn’t want to kill. He didn’t want his hands stained red again. But those wants didn’t stop him from slicing through its warm, heaving neck.

The buck twitched.

Tenn kept a hand on the deer’s flank as its lifeblood throbbed between his fingers. It wouldn’t be right to look away, to let the poor creature die alone and cold.

Alone and cold, alone and cold, how many have died alone and cold?

The Sphere of Water raged within his gut. It wanted to revel in the blood. It wanted to drown in red. But he pushed the thoughts and the power away. Now wasn’t the time to give in, either to his own weakness or to that glorious strength. His stomach knotted when the deer’s rolling eye found his. He almost laughed from revulsion; years ago, he’d been a vegetarian.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as the deer spasmed and fell still. Not that it mattered. Not that those apologies ever mattered—not to the dying, not to the dead. Apologies didn’t change the world he lived in, and it didn’t change the deeds he’d done.

“Shit.” Katherine stopped beside him. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Tenn glanced up to her and Michael. Their breath came out in clouds, their forms bare shadows in the gloom. He opened his mouth, but the words got caught in his throat.

Three years of killing, three years of bloodshed, and it still turned his stomach. He swallowed and looked away, washing the blood off in a puddle before sliding his dagger back in his boot. Three years of blood on his hands. Three years...

“I thought you said you were a clean shot,” Katherine said, turning back to Michael.

Tenn stood. The Sphere of Water still raged, still begged for control. He pushed it farther down. The longer he refused its call, the worse it got.

Michael stepped forward, his shoulders hunched and a bow held loose in hand. He was built like a linebacker, but right then, he looked like a puppy caught pissing on a Persian rug. Five arrows jutted from the deer’s hide, and another half dozen were scattered throughout the field.

“I am,” Michael said. His words didn’t hold much conviction as he gestured to his throat. “Usually. It’s just been a while since I had to shoot without magic.”

Katherine ignored him. There wasn’t time for apologies. She pulled a set of nylon cords from her backpack and handed one to Tenn.

She wrapped one cord around the buck’s neck while Tenn tied its hindquarters. Her movements were smooth, well-practiced—her hands were used to dealing with the dead. Like Tenn, she was eighteen. Unlike Tenn, she didn’t seem bothered by the buck’s sightless glare.

She nudged him. “You okay?”

He nodded, but his nerves were on edge, and the Sphere of Water pulsed in his stomach like a wound. One that desperately wanted to be touched, inflamed. Over a week had passed since he’d been allowed to open to that energy center, that source of pain and power, and like a neglected child, it sat there and wept and begged to be noticed. But they had their orders: no magic. Not until the enemy army arrived.

They needed that tenuous element of surprise.

“We need to hurry,” he said. “They’re going to smell the blood.” He turned to Michael. “And if that happens, it’s all on your head.”

Had they met before the Resurrection, Michael probably would have shoved Tenn’s head into the school toilet just for making eye contact. The guy was a nineteen-year-old tank, with broad shoulders and short brown hair and tattoos from eye to shin. His face was a plane of white scars and black ink. Tenn, on the other hand, was tall and lithe—years of using Water had crafted him a swimmer’s build rather than the hulking muscle granted by Earth. He hadn’t been at all athletic before being attuned. He’d been a nerd at best, and Michael was clearly used to being respected.

But now, when Tenn spoke, Michael didn’t refute. To Michael, at least, Tenn was a superior. The Resurrection had changed almost everything for the worse; this little leveling of the playing field was about the only perk.

Together, they dragged the deer toward the highway. Tenn kept his eyes trained on the fields. He didn’t want to see the way the deer’s head lolled to one side, its tongue curled out and its eyes wide with static fear.

“We should be okay,” Michael said, his voice cutting through the rain like rumbling thunder. “I mean, rain dilutes blood, right? And there’s no way anything could hear it through the storm.”

“Just shut up and keep your eyes open,” Katherine replied.

Yes, there was a chance the rain had diluted the blood and hid the buck’s wild cries of pain, but there was also a chance the rain was just helping the blood spread. Tenn wasn’t about to test his luck, especially since he’d been sent out with Michael. That alone was a sign the fates weren’t on his side.

His hands still felt sticky with blood.

For all his hatred of killing, he felt naked without his quarterstaff, which was lodged in the earth beside the highway. Katherine had her katanas and Michael had his mace, but physical weapons were barely enough; battles were lost and won by magic now. Without it, they were like lambs to the slaughter.

Not an emboldening thought when lugging a two-hundred-pound sack of meat.

Chills raced across his skin as he peered deeper through the curtains of rain. It wasn’t the cold—it was the expectation. The fields appeared devoid of life, corn drooping and swaying in the wind and rain. At least, he thought they were empty.

The storm might have been hiding him and his comrades, but it could also be hiding those he was sworn to kill. Without magic, there was no way to tell. There would be no way to know. A kraven could be out there, hidden in the stalks, just out of sight. Just within arm’s reach.

Water sang to him.

Water wanted to help.

Tenn gritted his teeth and focused on the bit of nylon between his palms. The Sphere of Water couldn’t want things, no more than his kidneys could. It was all in his head. It was stress. They were so close to being done with this damned mission, so close, and that’s why Tenn’s nerves were on edge. That, and that alone.

He grabbed his bladed staff when they reached the road. Years ago, this would have been like any other quaint Midwestern highway, but now the road leading back was far from pastoral. Cars lay scattered and broken like some kid played God with his Hot Wheels. Shattered glass littered the ground, shards jutting from windows like open jaws. Rust splattered across trucks and semis like bloody stains. Everything, everything, was quiet and empty, the only sound coming from the rain and the occasional moan of wind through hollowed cars—a cacophony of and for the dead. No movement. No life.

No bodies.

There were never any bodies. Not in the desecrated cities, not in the wild. Not when there were myriads of creatures to gobble them up, bones and blood and all. Tenn shivered again and looked out to the field.

They unceremoniously dropped the deer atop the small red wagon—the same type he’d dragged around as a kid. The sick sound of flesh thumping on metal was a noise Tenn had grown accustomed to, which almost made it worse. He didn’t like relating corpses to his childhood.

How easy it is to get used to dead things.

Tenn nodded to Katherine.

She withdrew one of her katanas and raised it high above her. Then, with a quick slice, she lopped off the deer’s head. It fell to the pavement and rolled away, settling in a pool of its own steaming ichor. Tenn turned; its eyes were trained straight on him, and he’d had enough postmortem glares for a lifetime.

“Still seems like a waste to me,” Michael said. He threw his bow beside the carcass, not caring if the string got bloody, and picked up the handle. That was the problem with food-scavenging missions—no cars, unless you wanted to scare off prey or attract predators. “I thought the tongue was supposed to be a delicacy.”

If not for Michael’s usefulness as a pack mule, Tenn would have cursed Derrick for sending him along. The world might have turned on its head in the three years since the Resurrection, when monsters ripped the modern world apart, but Michael was still the same brain-dead jock. Some stereotypes, apparently, were never outgrown.

“What, and risk being followed?” Katherine asked, cleaning her blade with a spare bit of cloth. “Are you a complete fucking moron or just dense?”

Michael shrugged and began pulling the cart down the highway. Tenn bit back his smirk. At least Katherine was willing to say what he himself was thinking.

“I’m just saying, kravens aren’t known for their big brains,” Michael said.

Who are you to talk about big brains? Tenn thought. “They think like animals. If they find blood and no body, they’ll search for one until they either find a meal or die. And we already have enough on our plate.”

They’ll search forever. Forever...

Water surged at the thought.

Monsters tear through the city, ripping humans from cars, crashing through houses. Blood puddles like rainwater. He hides behind a hedge, fingers white-knuckled on the gun, blood splattered on his jeans. Not all of it monster blood. How can you tell, when some creatures wear human faces? There’s no chance to ask, no chance... He clutches the gun. The useless gun. He opens to Water. He drowns out the screams in the hum of power. This was his home. Once. Now the houses are on fire and the streets are red and black with bloodied bodies and char and I know those bodies, I know those faces. He pushes deeper through Water, lets the Sphere consume him. I have to save them. I have to—

Tenn snapped back, Water’s magic crashing from his limbs and back into his gut, where the angry Sphere rested and raged.

“What the hell?” he gasped, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What?” Katherine asked. “Did you see something?”

Tenn shook his head. His thoughts swam from the aftershock of Water and he had no idea how to answer. Water couldn’t just dredge up memories like that. Not on its own. Not when he wasn’t utilizing it. The Spheres didn’t act on their own accord—they were energy centers and nothing more. So how had Water done that? Opened up and dredged up his past... He shook his head again, tried to push down the memories, the screams.

He was just tired. He was losing his grip.

Just tired, and Water was just angry at not being used for so long.

He focused on the cart, on ensuring no blood dripped from the back. He wouldn’t give the kravens a Hansel and Gretel–style bread-crumb trail. That, at least, he could control.

The highway cut a straight line through the fields and hills, sharp and bleak and dotted with abandoned cars. Outpost 37 was still a blur on the horizon, several miles and a few hours away. It wavered like a mirage in the rain, a smear of black-inked buildings on pale gray paper. Every step toward the city was a tick against Tenn’s nerves. The creaking cart was too loud, the rain too heavy. There was no way they could walk fast enough for his comfort. He wanted to be back and dry and warm, preferably pretending they weren’t waiting for battle. Maybe the Prophets were wrong, and the army would miss them entirely. Maybe there was no army. Maybe this was all a waste of time, and the worst thing that had happened was that he’d been bored.

Denial had never served him well, but out here, in the freezing cold with no comfort from the Spheres, it was better than reality.

Katherine stopped. She didn’t say anything, just stood with her eyes wide and a slight part to her lips.

Shit.

A second later, he heard it. A scream. A howl. It sliced through the fields like a scalpel, high-pitched and dragged from the depths of hell.

No living thing could make that noise.

Tenn shielded his eyes and tried to see farther out, but through the rain and the haze all he could see was shifting gray.

The scream was distant. Maybe, if they were lucky...

Michael lowered the cart handle to the ground, slowly, gently, making sure not a sound was made. His mace was in hand the moment he stood. Tenn looked over to Katherine, who had her katanas unsheathed.

“Stay very, very still,” Tenn whispered, his knuckles white on his staff. “Maybe they’ll pass us by.”

“Not likely,” Michael muttered, but he held his position.

Seconds passed in silence. Each raindrop froze into his skin, each heartbeat promised devastation.

There was a chance—a small chance—that it was a single kraven. Just one lowly, lonely monster seeking out its next meal. And there was a small chance that the kraven had found the deer’s head, taken the bait and was on the run for fear its brothers would discover the bounty.

It was a small chance. Delusional at best.

Silence stretched across Tenn’s nerves like a noose. Blood pooled against his gums from a fresh-bitten wound in his cheek. He tried to relax his jaw, tried to breathe slow and deep. In and out. In and out. The silence grew heavier. At least thirty seconds had passed. They would have known if they were spotted by now. He took another deep breath and started to relax his grip.

A second howl split the world, closer this time. And this one wasn’t alone. Another voice picked it up, as high and piercing as shattering glass and nails on a chalkboard. He knew the scream of a kraven as well as his own voice, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other types of Howls out there. The quiet ones were often the deadliest. Without magic or a clear line of sight, he also had no way to estimate how many there were. Could be dozens. Hundreds, even.

It didn’t matter. Without magic, even a handful of kravens could be deadly.

Blood thundered in his ears, louder than the rain. He counted his heartbeats in the back of his mind, wondering how many more he had left before his blood stilled. The Sphere of Water roiled in his gut. It could sense the upcoming battle, could feel it in the pulse of the rain—so much blood was about to be shed, and his Sphere yearned to be a part of it.

His Sphere wanted to cause it.

“We’re going to die,” Katherine said. Her voice was too calm for comfort. Like him, she had faced death a hundred times, and each time had probably felt as final as this. Unlike him, she seemed okay with it. “There are too many.”

“You know the orders,” Tenn said. No magic. Even if the orders get us killed. His eyes flickered to his right arm, to the tattoo he could practically feel burning against his skin. The Hunter’s mark—the tattoo that first bound him to Water and, more recently, to Earth. The mark that let him use the Spheres.

Katherine didn’t say anything in reply, but he could imagine her nodding her head and accepting her own approaching demise. He wasn’t willing to give up so easily. There were still too many lost souls on his conscience to avenge. Somehow, he was going to make it out of this alive. He owed the dead that much.

The first kraven broke through the field with a banshee’s scream, and all thoughts vanished in the heat of survival.

Like all the variations of Howls, the kraven had been human once, though the resemblance was minimal—two legs, two arms, a torso and head. The conversion process twisted the host into something beyond a nightmare. Bones jutted like talons from rotting gray flesh, its spine curved and twisted. Its eyes were bloodshot, red as meat, and its jaw had snapped and reformed like the maw of a piranha in a bulbous human head. The very sight should have been enough to send a sane man running. If not, the dozen others that appeared close behind it would have.

Before the first kraven even reached the road, Katherine ran forward, her blades a whirl of silver. Metal met flesh, and all the fear and anticipation from before washed away.

When he was younger, Tenn had immersed himself in books and movies of heroic battles. The tales were always gorgeous in a way—heart-pumping and engaging, filled with quick moves and dancing blows. Heroes dashed between villains with ease, always golden, always immortal. Always confident and brave and beautiful.

The Resurrection taught him that all those stories were full of shit.

Real battle wasn’t pretty. You trained to block and parry and dodge, yes, but you didn’t think about it, didn’t focus on long dancing combinations. You swung. You screamed a lot. You killed as fast as you could and didn’t think about anything but the feel of flesh giving way under your hands. And if you were even a hairbreadth too slow, if today just wasn’t your day, you were never, ever heard from again.

He gritted his teeth and prayed today wasn’t that day.

Tenn lunged forward, meeting a kraven midleap and slicing its body right through the gut. Cold, black blood sprayed out, but Tenn was already slashing another monster before the first corpse fell. Michael was just out of sight beside him, grunting and yelling, the skull-shattering cracks of his mace echoing across the fields like thunder.

But more monsters were coming. The field was thick with beasts, the air alive and hellish with their screams. A shadow darted behind him. He turned just in time to parry the slash of a cleaver. He barely registered his opponent—male, shirtless, whiter than snow and drenched in blood—before counterattacking. The man’s head fell to the ground with a wet smack.

“Bloodlings!” Tenn yelled, but even though he screamed it at the top of his lungs, he knew his companions hadn’t heard. The world was a living, grinding thing of scarred flesh and teeth and talons, and everywhere he turned he was slashing, dodging, trying to stay alive as the gray tide overtook him. His breath was fire as he fought, as he hacked and screamed his way through the melee. Seconds felt like an eternity, and the damage done to him and his foes was immense. A thousand cuts burned across his skin. A thousand moments he was too slow. A thousand instances he could have died, and a thousand reasons he still might.

A yell broke through the din—masculine, enraged and in pain. Then Michael’s voice cut short in a gurgle. Tenn spared a glance over but he couldn’t see anything through the kravens scrambling over corpses. Katherine screamed as well, but whether from rage or pain, he wasn’t certain.

That’s when he realized, in the far-off corner of his mind, that he was going to die. They all were.

His arm went numb from a kraven’s bite. His hands were drenched red. And still, the monsters came.

Derrick’s voice drifted through his mind as he fell to his knees. Don’t use magic, not under any circumstances. Don’t give yourselves away.

Water and blood seeped through Tenn’s jeans, his numb arm limp. He could only stare at the blood and wonder at how quickly this had come, his end. At how easy it was to die. Pain seared across his back as a Howl ripped through his flesh. Blood was everywhere—black blood, red blood, red rain. The Sphere of Water screamed inside of him as his own life spilled forth. Memories rode the current—flashes of his mother and father, the few friends he’d made and lost, his mother’s voice and a lullaby he couldn’t place. His eyes fluttered. His working hand dropped his staff.

This is how it feels to die, and I will be eaten before they find my corpse.

As another kraven lunged for the kill, mouth wide and broken teeth bared, the Sphere of Water opened unbidden in Tenn’s stomach.

Power flooded him, rushing through in a whirlpool of memory and pain, a roar that filled him with a thousand freezing agonies, dragging him down, down, down into the pits of his every despair. Down into the deepest depth of power.

The Sphere connected him to the rain hammering from the sky and the blood pooling on the ground and the pulse in every vein of every creature within a mile. He could feel it. All of it. He felt Katherine a few yards away, her heart throbbing so fast it hurt his own. He felt the Howls, their pulses thick and jagged and starved.

Most of all, he felt power. More than he had ever tapped before. The rage, the fear, the anger, the thirst. It made his limbs vibrate, made his breath catch, made the rain around him seethe and hum. And in that split second after Water’s opening, he wrapped his fingers deep into the torrent and screamed.

The rain shivered. Changed. He twisted the power and twisted the elements and raindrops became ice, became shards sharper than glass, became hammers that lashed from the sky with sickening velocity. His Sphere raged in joy and agony as its power unleashed, as the bloodlust filled his darkening vision and screams filled the air. His screams. Their screams. Blades of ice met flesh, sliced through skin and bone. Ice spilled forth blood, and Water rejoiced as the world drenched itself in crimson.

Power ran through his veins, and this power craved revenge.

It was over in seconds.

He felt the Howls die. Felt their blood leave their bodies and pool against the sodden earth. Felt their pain. Felt their final heartbeats. And when every heart had stilled, the power in his chest winked out. He collapsed.

“You’re going to do great things,” his mom says. She hugs him. Wipes tears from her eyes. “You’ve already done great things. The moment you came into my life. That was the greatest thing.” And he tells himself not to cry. Not here, in front of the dorm. He tells himself he will see her again. “I will always...”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Kevin asks.

“A linguist,” Tenn replies. “Or a writer.”

“You like words?”

“Yes. Words have power.”

“Your words do.” They go silent, and the stars slide past as they watch from the library. They go silent, and the stars speak for them.

He sees her. He sees her hand. He sees her hand from where he stands in the doorway. It droops from the shed, a finger cocked. Her fingernails red. Fingers red. Red, red—

Tenn curled against himself. Curled against the memories.

Nothing else moved in the world.

Just the rain.

Just his breath.

Just his blood mixing with the dead.

CHAPTER TWO

HE DIDN’T KNOW how long he lay there. The wind and rain were a constant roar, but their sound was distant compared to the throb of blood in his ears, the roar of memories in his head.

His house is empty. Too empty. He walks. The gun is gone. His hand is covered in blood. Blood, like the blood streaking the walls. Where is the gun? Where are his parents? He shakes. He walks. Water roars within him, a tide that drowns the screams outside. His house is too empty. His house is too silent. He shakes as he walks and the blood-streaked halls tilt. He shakes, and the back door swings. He walks, and his silent house bleeds.

Something brushed his cheek. Frayed nerves snapped to life, and his eyes fluttered open.

Katherine knelt beside him. Blood stained her skin, and long gashes webbed across her in leaking lines.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was angelic, if only because he had been certain he’d killed her.

Tenn could only nod. There were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t force them away. He was hollowed out. Raw. Earlier, he’d wanted to break the world, but the world had broken him.

Even as the memories ebbed, the pain and the sadness lingered in his lungs. Tears leaked from his eyes unchecked.

“You’re bleeding,” she continued. “Badly.”

He tried to sit. His muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He felt it then...or rather, he felt the lack of feeling. The numbness leaking through his limbs as blood leaked to the soil. His wounds would kill him. Just as her wounds would kill her.

“So are you,” he managed. He bit back a sob. The world was spinning. Fading. Fast.

“You’ve already broken orders,” she said, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “We might as well live to face Derrick’s wrath.”

Tenn closed his eyes and reached deep into the pit of his pelvis, to the place where the Sphere of Earth rested. It was the second and last Sphere he’d been attuned to. He coaxed it awake and sank his focus into the rich soil of it, to the heavy power that rooted him to the earth. Energy filled him with green light, with the warm, calming sap of gravity and flesh.

He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t move his arm to meet hers, to start healing. His fingers twitched, and she placed her bloodied hand in his. Energy connected, a snap of power, and slowly, painfully, he began his work.

She winced as flesh knitted itself back together. There was no shortcut—he had to heal each wound one at a time. If his connection to Earth had taught him anything, it was that dying was easy; healing was the painful part.

“So like you,” she muttered. “Healing me before yourself.”

He laughed. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t let his concentration break. Even when something warm dribbled from his lips.

“You’re the pretty one,” he whispered, and choked down a sob of pain or despair, he couldn’t tell which.

When her wounds had closed, he turned his attention to himself. Arcs of fire lanced across his skin, seared through his bones. He didn’t grimace. This pain, this physical hurt, couldn’t hold a candle to the hell that Water had dragged him through. This was just a reminder that he was still alive.

After what seemed like hours, he closed off to Earth.

The Spheres all had a backlash as unique as their power, but Earth’s was, in many ways, the most dangerous. Earth was like a drug: when you were on it, you felt invincible, high, immortal. The moment it left you, you were sharply reminded just how weak and mortal and close to death you truly were.

His limbs, though healed, shook as he forced himself to sitting. His heart raced and his stomach wanted to eat itself, but at least he hadn’t used so much that he passed out. Or lost a chunk of hair. Again. He just hoped that nothing would break when he moved.

Together, the two of them hoisted each other up to standing. Katherine wouldn’t meet his gaze; she stared out at the creatures littering the ground around them. Limbs and carcasses were splayed everywhere and, even with the rain, the stink was atrocious. Blood pooled dark and thick like an oil spill.

“Michael?” he asked.

She shook her head and continued looking off into the distance. The rain hid whatever tears she might be shedding. He bit back an apology; apologies wouldn’t bring the guy back. Idiot or no, he had still been their companion. He was still important.

For a while, they stood there, looking out over the massacre. Tenn’s heartbeat didn’t slow, but it was no longer just the blowback of Earth. It was the fear. The fear of what he’d done, or what Water had done. He’d jeopardized their mission by using magic.

Rather, the magic had used him. How? And where the hell had that power come from?

“How did you do that?” Katherine asked.

He started, wondered if he’d spoken aloud. Then he realized that of course she would ask that, because no one could use that much magic and live. At least, no one he’d ever met.

“I don’t know,” he replied. His voice rasped.

“You killed them. All of them.”

“I know.”

He wondered if Michael had still been alive when he called down the power. Pain wrenched in his chest at the thought. If he’d killed Michael by accident...

“Did I—”

“He was already dead,” Katherine whispered. “I saw him go down.”

That shouldn’t have been the relief that it was. It almost made him feel worse.

She looked at him, but her eyes quickly flicked away.

“I’ve never seen that much power,” she said. “How are you still standing?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. He felt like a broken recording.

“Did you know...”

He shook his head. “I was ready to die.”

“Me, too,” she said, and went silent.

Despite the fact that they needed to move, despite the cold and the scent and the bodies, they stood there in silence and let the minutes drip by. Tenn tried to gather his thoughts, tried to create an argument that would hold up against Derrick’s inevitable tirade. He failed. He couldn’t stop looking at Katherine, at the old blood trickling down her face and the small quiver in her fingertips. What did she think of him, after what had happened? What would she say to the others?

Tenn looked back to the bodies. Michael was under there, somewhere. He deserved a better burial than this.

“We need to burn them,” Tenn said. “In case...”

In case they attract attention. In case any are still alive. In case others come along and devour Michael’s corpse...

She looked at him, and maybe it was his imagination, but that look was different. Like she wasn’t certain who or what she was staring at. She didn’t speak, just nodded tersely, and light flickered in her chest as she opened to the Sphere of Fire. Heat shimmered around her, made sweat break out across his skin. Then, with tendrils of flame snaking around her fingertips, she lashed out.

The fields erupted into flame. Tenn hid behind his arm as the world around him roared with heat and anger. Katherine screamed as bodies caught fire, as rain sizzled and the earth cracked. She screamed and cursed until the roar of flames drowned her out.

Fire was the Sphere of passion and hate. It pulled from the heart, just as it burned it apart.

It lasted only a minute. But when the power died down, the fields were nothing more than smoldering ash and steam.

He put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to wince from the heat of her skin.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He stepped back.

This was why he didn’t get along with Fire users. After using their powers, they were unstable at best.

Then she started to laugh. He took another step back.

“Sorry,” she said through the laughter. She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s gone,” she continued. “The fucking deer. It’s gone. They ate it.”

Tenn turned to the road. She was right. Hell, there was nothing on the road anymore save for the burned-out scraps of cars and pools of the dead that streamed like magma.

“Michael would be so pissed,” Katherine said. She giggled. Then her laughs choked into a sob. “We should have let him eat the tongue.”

* * *

The walk back to base was long and silent. Tenn ate some jerky from their packs, but it didn’t assuage the hunger gnawing at his bones. That, he knew, would take hours and a few days of rest to overcome, just like the waves of sadness that kept washing over him. He didn’t stop scanning the fields, but both he and Katherine kept their Spheres closed off. Katherine didn’t ask him any more questions; somehow that made things worse. He was asking them all himself, and he didn’t have an answer.

How had Water opened like that? The Spheres weren’t sentient, they were just energy centers. Everyone had them, but only those who were attuned could use each particular Sphere. Even then, it required training and concentration to get them to influence the outside world. Magic wasn’t just something that happened; it was something you had to force. So how had Water taken over? As though it were a reflex, as though the Sphere itself hadn’t wanted to die. And where the hell had that power come from? It should have been beyond him, should have drained him entirely. Yet here he was. Alive.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Everything. Everything.

For the first time since he’d been attuned to Water, he was scared. Not of the monsters. Not of the world outside. But of the power that rested within him. The power that seemed to be scratching for control.

Only one thing was certain, and it wasn’t a truth he wanted to think about. The Howls they’d faced weren’t the army his troop had been warned about. It had been a roaming band, one of the thousands scattered throughout the uninhabited swathes of America.

That meant there was still another, bigger fight left.

They reached Outpost 37 before nightfall. Home sweet home. Once, it had probably been some quaint touristy harbor town. Now the scattered houses along its perimeter were empty. Whole lots were charred to piles of ash, while other homes were unscathed save for shattered windows or scratched facades. Lawns entangled forgotten toys, and fences lay like dominoes. Everything had that sick old stench of antiquity, like a sodden vintage store. Even here, though, there were no bodies or bones, no scavenging birds or mice. The Howls were efficient, if only because they were hungry.

Cities were often the emptiest. After all, what was a city to a flesh-craving beast besides a buffet?

It wasn’t just the Howls that had destroyed the town. Necromancers had done their own part, and the Hunters that fought against them probably hadn’t helped. Lake Michigan swallowed half of the buildings, and a small hill erupted through another city block, the houses there toppled and tossed. Much had changed in the chaos of the Resurrection—whole cities burned or buried, mountains collapsed or created. Magic had altered the face of the country in more ways than one.

The world didn’t like being manipulated. At times, it seemed, the very planet fought back.

Katherine said nothing as they trudged through the streets, stepping over rusted bikes and piles of old refuse, dodging craters and overturned cars. Both her swords were clean and bared, and Tenn’s grip on his staff was just as tight as hers. No matter that the rest of their troop was only a hundred yards away—anything could have happened in their absence.

Every time Tenn walked through the base, he was reminded that they hadn’t been stationed here to thrive. Nothing in this shell of a town hinted at humanity—the storefronts were shattered and looted, the houses razed. There was no music, no industry, no trace of civilian life. No real reason to wake up in the morning, save to fight.

Shadows shifted over the rubble, and he jerked his staff to the ready. Then the shape stepped into the road: a small fox, its ribs horribly pronounced with hunger. The creature didn’t flinch as he and Katherine walked past. It watched them intently before finally turning and slinking back into an alley.

When houses gave way to the broad downtown avenue, his nerves calmed. Their hotel rose up from the buildings on the other side, one of the few structures still intact. Uprooted trees stretched like black veins across the concrete. Marble slabs and pillars of other structures tumbled across the road in piles of white bone. Only the hotel stood strong and seemingly deserted, the clean red brick and white marble an anachronism in the destruction surrounding it.

Something moved and Tenn turned on the spot, ready for the attack. A girl in black stepped out from the crumbling post office.

“Audrey,” he said. He lowered his staff.

“Jesus H.,” she said. There were two daggers in her hands, the kris blades glinting like wolves’ teeth. “I thought... We thought you were in trouble. Derrick’s had us on high alert since noon.” She looked between them, and it seemed to click then that Michael was missing. Her voice became a whisper, and her shoulders slumped. “What happened? I’ve never felt that much power. It was like a bomb going off.”

Tenn’s pulse began to race. If the troop had felt their use of magic all the way back here, there was no way the necromancers had missed it. There was no way Derrick would let him live for his insubordination.

“Where’s Derrick?” Tenn asked. The last thing he wanted was to admit what he’d done. Not when he wasn’t certain himself. He didn’t want to face their commander, either, but it would be easier to get it over with than wait in fear.

Audrey nodded to the hotel. “His office,” she said. “He’s meeting with the captains now. Everyone else has been stationed in the field in case...”

“In case we brought anything back,” Katherine finished.

“Yeah.”

“How pissed is he?” Tenn asked.

Audrey gave a small grin, though it was more forced than anything.

“Well, I wouldn’t go near him. Though maybe he’s cooled down by now.”

“Right,” Tenn said.

He’d have rather faced another bloodling.

* * *

Their base was depressing even during good days. Today definitely wasn’t a good day. The rain wasn’t helping.

Outpost 37 hadn’t been built to house civilians, but to act as a buffer between Outer Chicago and the wild lands beyond. Wild lands that were inhabited by necromancers—mages who bowed in service to the Dark Lady, the Goddess of Death—and the Howls they created and controlled. There were other settlements and other outposts scattered across the States, many of which Tenn had bounced between after the Resurrection. Hunters had no say in where they were stationed to fight the forces of the Dark Lady. They went where the battle was. And, frankly, the battle was everywhere.

Outpost 37 was home to him and maybe thirty other Hunters. For now.

These were the trenches. Those stationed here would fight until they died, and their bodies would burn or be tossed in the lake, and a fresh batch of Hunters from Outer Chicago would come in to take their place. Or they were transferred to die in service somewhere else.

Being a Hunter wasn’t glorious. But it did mean you were fighting back, trying to return the world to what it once was, rather than sitting around waiting to be eaten. After everything he’d seen during the Resurrection, joining the Hunters was honestly the only way forward. Revenge was the only reason he could live with himself.

A few Hunters mingled in the hotel lobby. Maybe mingling was the wrong word; they were clearly all waiting for the alarm to sound. Their weapons were at hand, and though a few were reading musty paperbacks and another group was playing cards, there was a tension in the room that belied the apparent ease. Tenn nodded at those who looked up, waiting for them to ask about what had happened in the field. About what he’d done in the field. But they said nothing. Even the new recruits—easy to spot, from the lack of scars and the life in their eyes—knew better. Someone had fucked up, and since Tenn had been in charge of the food-scouting mission, it was on his shoulders no matter what.

He looked down and continued up the emergency stairwell to the top floor.

“What the hell happened out there?”

The words were out of Derrick’s mouth before Tenn closed the door behind him.

Whereas the rest of the encampment was cold and dark, this suite was warm and brilliantly lit, albeit far from welcoming. Flames danced across every surface, fires fueled by magic alone. It should have been beautiful, but it just set Tenn’s hair on end. The Sphere of Fire burned brightly in Derrick’s chest and his eyes darted with agitation. That was never a good sign.

Derrick himself stood behind a grand mahogany desk, its surface coated in papers and maps and weapons. He was tall, commanding, his Mohawked hair burnt-red and his skin traced with scars.

“I didn’t mean to—” Tenn began, but Derrick cut him off.

“What do you mean, you didn’t mean to?” He stepped around the desk, hands clenched tight into fists. Small sparks flickered around his skin. “I felt your fucking magic all the way out here!”

Tenn wasn’t about to point out that none of them should be using magic and that Derrick was betraying his own orders, but he knew that the amount Derrick channeled wasn’t enough to give them away, and, frankly, Tenn didn’t think Derrick would appreciate the reminder.

“We were surrounded,” he said, lowering his eyes. “There were dozens of kravens. We wouldn’t have made it.”

“Then you should have died.”

Derrick’s voice was so terse, so fully void of emotion, that Tenn barely realized it sounded more like a command than anything else. It was a stab in the gut. Water churned over. You should have died, you should have died—your life is worth nothing, and neither is your death.

“I meant to,” he said. His words sounded small. “But Water took over.”

“The Spheres don’t control you. You control the Spheres.”

It was ironic, seeing as Fire users were notorious for the tempers their chosen Sphere gave them. But it was a phrase they’d all learned during training. It might not be true, but the meaning was clear: you didn’t give in. Ever.

“Not this time,” Tenn said. He looked up then, just in time to see something new flicker across Derrick’s features. Fear. “Water took over. It... I don’t know. It killed them. Every last one.”

“You aren’t that powerful,” Derrick said, his voice muted. It wasn’t a dig; it was fact.

Tenn didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I should have you killed for this,” Derrick said. He stood up straighter, as though taking more control of himself and the situation. “You jeopardized the safety of everyone in this troop. Because of you, we have lost the element of surprise.”

This outpost has been here for over a year. We lost that element a long time ago. But Tenn didn’t say that. Of course he didn’t say that. Outposts always changed locations. Keeping one in place had been a new tactic, decided by the higher-ups of Outer Chicago itself. If it was expected that base locations changed, having one stay put would be a surprise to the necromancers and the Howls. So long as it kept a low profile. So long as it wasn’t compromised.

“I’m sorry,” Tenn said.

“Tell that to your comrades who are going to die tomorrow.”

Tenn’s eyes shot up.

“Tomorrow?”

Derrick turned and walked back toward the desk.

“Our scouts have spotted them. The armies are moving. They will be here by sunrise.”

A lump of dread twisted in Tenn’s stomach.

“We need every fighter we have,” Derrick continued. “So I won’t kill you. Not tonight. I’ll let the necromancers do that in the morning.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor or mockery in Derrick’s voice.

Tenn bowed his head and turned from the room.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that he realized he hadn’t even mentioned that Michael was dead.

It didn’t matter. In the morning, thanks to him, they all would be.

CHAPTER THREE

THE RAIN TURNED to a drizzle as the night bore on. Tenn stood on the hotel roof, watching water pool and stream below. The hotel offered the best view in town—quite literally—and without magic to guide their sight, they needed all the vantage they could get. There was a small, guttering torch on the ground, the only source of light in the darkness. Beyond, everything was dark and sifting and slick with rain.

He knew that Derrick hadn’t sent him up here out of necessity. He was up here for punishment. Far from the glory of battle. And, being so high up, he’d be the first thing the necromancers could target.

Tenn turned at the sound of footsteps. Katherine. She’d been chosen as the other lookout, probably on some sort of probation because of him. He wondered if this was the worst of her punishment for not killing him in the field.

“We need to talk,” she said.

He didn’t answer, just tightened his grip on his staff and stared out into the dark. His stomach flipped over, and once more the thought flickered through his head, What is wrong with me?

“What happened out there—”

“There’s nothing more to talk about.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

Tenn’s internal tirade silenced. He turned to her. Firelight flickered over her face, but even in the shadows he could feel her eyes trained on him.

“What?”

“You saved my life. You avenged Michael’s death. So...thank you.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked toward the darkness. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“I...”

But there wasn’t anything else for him to say. He hadn’t tried to save them. He hadn’t wanted to save them. Something else had taken control.

She sighed and walked over to the edge of the roof.

“Derrick is an asshole,” she said. She glanced at Tenn. “And I think he’s scared of you.”

He frowned. “What?”

She didn’t look at him, just kept staring out at the shifting rain and shadows.

“Everyone felt it. That much power... Hell, I was there, and even I don’t believe it.” She paused, took a breath. “It should have killed you.”

“I know.”

“What did it feel like?”

It wasn’t the question he expected.

“Honestly...it was terrible. I’ve never felt so much pain.”

She nodded to herself.

“Fire can be like that, sometimes. It burns through you. But it feels good, in a way. All that pain makes you feel alive. Even if it does nearly kill you.”

“Yeah.”

Except it wasn’t like that. Not really. Fire was about rage. Water just felt like drowning in misery. And delighting in it.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. Again, not the question he expected.

“Yeah.” His stomach rumbled with the thought. Derrick had sent him up here immediately after their meeting, and Earth was still ravenous. “Starving.”

“I’ll grab you something from the storeroom. I think they have Twinkies down there.”

She walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

He wanted to ask her something, anything. He wanted to talk, to have someone help him understand how the impossible had happened. Instead, he stayed silent. He knew she wouldn’t have any answers, and he didn’t want her thinking he was crazy as well as dangerous.

She left, the roof door slamming loudly behind her, and he went back to his watch.

It was nearly impossible to see anything in the darkness, but he was out here to sense more than see. Necromancers would use magic to lead the Howls in their army. Most turned to the Goddess of Death for power or immortality, to be on the winning side of this constant battle. There really wasn’t a middle ground—either you used magic to fight the Howls, or you used magic to create them.

Tenn figured they were all insane. The Dark Lady was just a myth. The trouble was that the necromancers took the idea of her seriously. Their cult was what had caused the Resurrection—the day the first Howl was created. Tenn never quite understood the event’s name—Resurrection—since Howls could only be created from the living.

Really, it didn’t matter if She was real or not. Her followers were dangerous either way.

Footsteps sloshed through the puddles behind him. He didn’t turn around, assuming Katherine had taken the stairs at a run.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it, Tenn?”

It wasn’t Katherine. It wasn’t any voice he knew.

He spun around, staff raised and ready.

The man in front of him was a stranger. Despite the freezing rain, he wore dark jeans and a thin white shirt unbuttoned to his waist. The fabric clung to his body like some romance-cover model, accentuating his perfectly chiseled chest and stomach, his smooth olive skin. Chin-length black hair hung in loose waves and twined over his ears. Everything about the man screamed sex and desire and danger, from his broad shoulders to his low-slung jeans. Even his copper eyes glinted seduction. Tenn’s heart raced, but whether from fear or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He took a half step back, then realized he was already too close to the edge. Thunder rolled overhead; he could barely hear it over the thunder in his own blood. “How did you get up here?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side, the smile never slipping, as though he were examining a plaything. Or a tasty appetizer.

“How civil.” He ran a hand through his hair, and even that movement seemed perfectly executed. His voice was low and husky, a bedroom murmur. “He asks not what, but who.”

In the blink of an eye, he stood an inch before Tenn, his face so close their lips nearly touched. Copper irises filled Tenn’s vision. The guy’s heat sent sweat dripping down his skin.

“My name, young Tenn, is Tomás.” His voice made Tenn’s heart beat with lust.

The name rang a bell Tenn didn’t want to recognize, a tone tolling destruction. He knew he should push the stranger away, should use the staff lodged between them to force a retreat, but he couldn’t budge. Tomás was still as stone and just as immovable. He burned like a radiator; rain hissed and steamed, and Tenn’s skin seared with the nearness. The heat. He should push him away. But the heat...the heat...it made him want to draw Tomás closer.

Something clicked in the far corners of his mind, and Tenn knew precisely what he was facing and just how screwed he was.

“Incubus,” Tenn hissed through clenched teeth.

Tomás’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?” The words dripped venom.

The copper eyes. The heat. The perfect seduction. Tomás was a Howl birthed from the Sphere of Fire, a demon craving human warmth. And like all incubi and succubi—their female counterparts—they preferred feeding through more lascivious acts.

“You’re...an incubus.” Even before the words left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Tomás’s eyes sparked red.

“Incubus?” His composure cracked. Model became monster, and Tenn’s desire turned to fear. “You dare call me incubus? Monster? Demon?” Tomás grabbed a fistful of Tenn’s hair and yanked his head back. Where Tomás’s flesh touched his, Tenn’s skin turned to ice.

“I am more than any incubus, little mouse,” Tomás whispered. His lips just brushed the nape of Tenn’s neck, sending ice and flame across his skin. “And you would do well to remember this.”

He let go, and Tenn stumbled, nearly careening off the roof’s edge. When he steadied himself, Tomás was a step back, hands clasped behind him and an insidious smile slashed across his perfect face.

“The army is coming,” he said. His words were calm, and a frightening juxtaposition to the rage that seemed to lurk within. “They will be here before dawn. You cannot stop them. If I were you—and I’m most assuredly grateful I am not—I would be gone before they arrive.”

Tenn tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized just how fast his heart was pounding, just how much he wanted to run. But whether he wanted to run away from or toward Tomás, he couldn’t tell. Fucking incubus. They were renowned for their ability to draw desire from their victims. He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

Howls didn’t reason. They didn’t talk or tell you their names. Howls killed. The fact that Tomás didn’t follow any of these rules scared the shit out of Tenn.

Again, Tomás’s head cocked to the side. The grin didn’t slip and, for a moment, he just stood there, considering, as rain dripped down his delectably disheveled hair. Tenn kept his focus on the man’s eyes; he couldn’t be trusted to let them wander anywhere else. It already took all of his concentration to keep his thoughts focused, to not imagine what the man would look like naked, or how they would feel pressed against each other.

His pulse doubled every time he considered it.

“Because,” Tomás finally said, “my sister, Leanna, has an interest in you. And what she desires, I, too, covet.”

That name rang a bell, this one louder than the first. Leanna was the Kin who controlled America. The one who ran the Farms and dictated where the necromancers attacked. For many, she was an embodiment of the Dark Lady herself.

Tomás’s name clicked into place.

Tomás was also one of the Kin, one of the six most powerful Howls in the world—the direct descendants or creations of the Dark Lady. They were the ones who ran the world now; the monsters who had humanity under their thumbs. Tenn’s eyes widened.

“Bingo,” Tomás said. “Tell the boy what he’s won.”

“What the hell?” Katherine yelled. The roof door slammed shut.

Tenn looked past Tomás at Katherine, who was holding a covered plate. The next moment, Tomás was beside her, a single hand around her neck.

The plate fell to the ground and shattered.

“You will be inspired, I think, to tell others you have seen me.” Tomás didn’t raise his voice, but it still cut through the rain, as if aimed for Tenn’s ears alone. “Perhaps to warn them of my presence. Perhaps to try and save yourself. That would be a very bad decision.”

Tomás barely moved, but the crack that resonated said enough.

He let go, and Katherine crumpled to the roof, her neck crushed.

Tomás stepped forward, not even looking at Katherine. Tenn wanted to throw up. Bile twisted in his stomach, but with Tomás’s every step toward him, the sensation faded, replaced by a growing desire to pull the man closer, to tear the world down and bathe in blood and flame. Tenn forced down the imagery. Or tried to.

“I have marked you, Tenn. I will follow you everywhere you go. And if you so much as speak my name aloud—” he was now so close that Tenn’s skin burned “—I will kill everyone you tell. Slowly. In front of you. I will make you wish I let you die.”

He smiled sadistically. Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Katherine’s limp body. Tomás had killed her, not by draining her heat, but by snapping her neck. He’d killed for the hell of it.

Until now, Tenn had thought Howls only killed for food.

“What do you want from me? Why?” Tenn’s voice shook, but it still carried. That was enough.

“I want you to do your job,” Tomás said. His grin widened. Any larger, and it would split his face. “A job you are proving more than capable of doing—killing the minions of the Dark Lady.”

Thunder crackled overhead. Tomás burst into giggles.

“Oh, She is watching. Yes, She is.” He looked up into the sky and raised his hands. “But what do I care, Mother? What do I care, when you are dead dead dead?” He hopped around when he said it. One rotation, and he snapped back to attention, calmly staring at Tenn with his head tilted to the side. “You will help me. But you cannot do that if you stay. Your friends cannot beat this army, Tenn. Not when the army is coming for you.”

Tenn opened his mouth to speak, heart thudding with Tomás’s final statement, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close. Tenn couldn’t help the moan in the back of his throat. Tomás very clearly noticed.

“Run along, little mouse.” He bit Tenn’s lower lip. Fear and shock and desire pulsed through Tenn’s chest. When Tomás let go, it took all of Tenn’s control not to bite back. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you live long enough to play with.”

Then he was gone.

Tenn staggered at the sudden loss and fell to his knees. Once again, he couldn’t stop staring at Katherine’s body. He could no longer hear his thoughts in the drowning silence and rain. Gingerly, he touched his own neck, feeling Tomás’s handprint burning ice-hot. He hunched over and heaved.

He cowered there, curled over in the rain, his knuckles dug into the concrete.

He waited for Tomás to reappear.

He waited for Katherine to wake up, for it all to have been a dream.

He waited.

Katherine stayed dead.

The nightmare stayed reality.

And on the horizon, he felt a surge of power flare.

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR THE BRIEFEST moment, Tenn thought it was the enemy attacking.

There was no one else out there—at least, no one from his troop—that could use that much power. A power that was racing toward the outpost, strobing against the sky like lightning.

Tomás had barely been gone a minute and Katherine was dead and what the hell was going on that everything was falling to shit so quickly?

He jumped up and ran to the edge of the hotel, ready to send out a signal, ready to scream that they were under attack, when he realized the power was coming from the west. From Outer Chicago. And there was no way the enemy could be coming from there. Not when Outer Chicago was ringed with outposts like his to keep it safe.

Light flared as the door burst open, and Derrick ran up beside Tenn, followed by two younger recruits. Fire flickered to life all around the edge of the roof, casting garish shadows and splays of light over the crew. Whether the fire was for defense or a beacon or just from Derrick’s anger, Tenn wasn’t sure.

Derrick didn’t even look at Katherine’s body. He was too trained on the sky. The others, though, they lingered. Kneeled at her side. Tenn looked away.

They would say he did that, too. They would say he killed her to hide the evidence of his treason in the field.

“Commander...” Tenn began, not knowing what to say, but Derrick cut him short.

“They’re here,” Derrick muttered.

“The army, sir?” one of the recruits asked.

Derrick glared back at him.

“No, idiot. The fucking cavalry.”

That’s when Derrick noticed Katherine.

He turned back to Tenn. Tenn had seen his commander angry before, but never like this. Derrick’s jaw was tight, and full flames swirled around his hands and from the burning Sphere of Fire in his chest.

“What the hell have you done?” he seethed.

Tenn didn’t get the chance to answer.

Lightning flashed above them as a gust of wind buffeted the roof, sending Tenn to his knees.

He blinked away the afterglow, his ears ringing with thunder.

There were three of them—two guys and a girl—all in pale clothes and white trench coats, all emanating more power than Tenn had felt in his lifetime...save for what he’d wielded that afternoon.

The blond-haired guy stepped forward. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and his pale, angular face bore a dozen half-healed scars. Something about that face made Tenn’s heart flip, almost with recognition, but he was positive he’d never seen him before in his life. The man didn’t speak at first, his arms in front of his chest. He looked like he was assessing their value.

He looked like he didn’t enjoy what he saw.

“Outpost 37,” he said. “I’m Jarrett, captain commander of Outer Chicago. I’ve been sent here to handle the rest of this mission.” His eyes looked over all of them again. Maybe it was Tenn’s imagination, but they seemed to linger on him.

“And one of you has fucked up.”

* * *

“This is madness,” Derrick said, chasing behind Jarrett. Tenn and the others followed them down the steps. The other newcomers were silent, ghosting behind them all. Easy to forget, if not for the shivers they sent down Tenn’s spine every time their cold eyes raked over him.

“What do you expect when your orders are disobeyed so flagrantly?” Jarrett replied. He was taking the steps two at a time, his pale undercut glowing red in the light of Derrick’s angry fires.

Even with fear lodged in his gut—surely this would get him discharged or killed or worse—Tenn was mildly impressed that Jarrett knew the word flagrantly.

“This is my outpost and my troop. You can’t just waltz in here and—”

Jarrett stopped and spun, and before Derrick could blink, Jarrett had him pinned against the wall, one hand to Derrick’s chest and the other holding a dagger to Derrick’s neck.

“This outpost is owned and run by Outer Chicago,” Jarrett said. There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion in his voice, which almost seemed worse than Derrick’s anger. “And that means we own and run you. You screwed up, commander. That is why we are here. So I suggest you take your cocky attitude and shove it somewhere dark and quiet, because the army is nearly here. And, quite frankly, I’m more than happy to throw you out there as bloodbait. I can promise you that Cassandra won’t give a damn if you’re gone.” He resheathed the dagger and patted the side of Derrick’s face, smiling. “Understood?”

He stepped back, turned and continued down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. Derrick seethed silently behind him, fires flickering in and out. Once in the lobby, Jarrett gestured to the strangers he brought with him.

“Devon, Dreya, go secure the perimeter. I want troops every hundred yards. Keep them tight and close to base. You know the drill.”

The two strangers nodded in unison. Tenn had to believe they were related, despite the contrast in their appearance. They were both tall and lithe and angular. But the girl was paler than ivory, with long willowy fingers and silvered hair that reached her waist; paired with the white coat and faded jeans and sweater she wore, she looked like a specter. Even her blue eyes were nearly gray. But the boy—her brother—was darker than night, with choppy black hair and a burgundy scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only his blue eyes bare. So blue...it must have been their use of Air. Tenn tried not to stare. He’d seen plenty of people subtly changed from the element they used, himself included, but he’d never seen transformations so distinct. Neither seemed to carry weapons, which meant their magic was impossibly powerful.

The pair strode toward the hotel exit. Then Air opened in their throats, and they flew off into the night.

“You don’t need to change our formation,” Derrick said when they were out of sight. “I already have scouts in position.”

“We don’t need scouts,” Jarrett said. “We know the army is coming. And they know where we are. We need our ranks close. Otherwise, our fighters will be swallowed up one by one.”

Derrick said nothing.

“And you,” Jarrett said, turning his attention to Tenn. “What are you?”

It wasn’t so strange a question. Not anymore.

“Earth and Water. Sir.”

“That one’s a fuckup,” Derrick interjected. “Nearly cost us the whole mission this afternoon, which is probably why you’re here. Went against orders.”

Jarrett eyed Tenn up and down, a hint of...something...in his pale eyes. “He doesn’t seem the insubordinate type. What happened?”

“He—”

“I was asking him,” Jarrett said quietly. Why was his voice so familiar? “What happened today, soldier?”

“I used magic. Against orders.”

Jarrett’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And why did you do that?”

“I didn’t,” Tenn said. “It...it used me.”

“He’s clearly crazy,” Derrick said, “or just trying to save his own a—”

The Sphere of Air opened in Jarrett’s throat, harsh and pale blue, and a second later Derrick slammed against the wall. Jarrett didn’t even gesture or take his eyes off Tenn.

“What’s your name?” Jarrett asked.

“Tenn.”

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed.

“And you say your Sphere...what? Acted against your will? Used itself?”

A lump lodged in Tenn’s throat, but he forced himself to speak.

“We were surrounded. Only two of us left. I was prepared to die. I swear. But Water just...took over. Before I could stop it...” Tenn took a deep breath. Saying it again felt like insanity. “It killed every single Howl surrounding us. In a heartbeat. Before I could try to stop it.”

Jarrett didn’t say anything. Not for a long time. And whether Derrick was silent out of newfound respect or some sort of invisible gag, Tenn couldn’t say. Tenn didn’t care. He couldn’t take his gaze off Jarrett. Not because he was scared—though he was, definitely—but because there was something about the way Jarrett looked at him that sent electricity through his veins. Like Jarrett knew his secrets.

It should have made him feel like he was being appraised. Instead, he felt, in that moment, like the center of Jarrett’s universe.

He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

“Is this the first time it’s happened, Tenn?” Jarrett asked. Just hearing Jarrett say his name sent another course of energy through his veins. It was nothing like what he’d felt around Tomás, but the intensity was just as sharp.

“Yes. Sir.”

“Call me Jarrett,” he replied. He lowered his voice. “When this is over...we’ll talk again. At length.” He looked Tenn up and down. “I want you to stay out of the fight. The reports say you don’t have many healers out here, so we’ll need all the Earth mages we can get. And if your Spheres are acting up, I think it’s best you stay out of battle.”

Jarrett patted him on the shoulder and left. Derrick slumped down from the wall, rubbing his throat. He didn’t approach Tenn, but the glare he shot over was enough.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” he rasped. “You killed her, and now you’ve damned all of us.”

He spat on the ground.

“You’re no better than a fucking Howl.”

He walked out, and all light went with him.

There, in the darkness, Tenn began to wonder if it would have been better if he’d died.

* * *

It was sometime past midnight. The troop was assembled and the orders had been given. Tenn was back on the roof of the hotel, most of the troop stationed to the city or field beyond. Katherine’s body had been...removed. He didn’t ask where, or by whom. No one told him. No one told him anything.

Especially not the two Hunters he’d been stationed with.

Devon and Dreya stood farther back. They’d been there when he arrived, and when he tried to introduce himself, they stared at him like he was speaking a different language. He shrunk under Dreya’s hawk-like glare and didn’t try speaking to them again.

The rain pounded down harder now, but he barely felt it. It was a perk of being attuned to Water, though it didn’t necessarily make up for the emotional backlash. You took what you could get. Like Tenn, the cold and the rain didn’t seem to bother the newcomers. He looked back to them. They stood on opposite sides of the roof, both open to Air as they scanned the sky.

Neither of the twins spoke as they stood there, waiting. Minutes churned to hours. The night deepened. His nerves sharpened to daggers with every drop of rain. He wasn’t just waiting. He was waiting to die.

No. He was waiting for something else to go horribly wrong.

He stiffened when Dreya walked up next to him. She stood by his shoulder, staring out at the abandoned town. She was almost a head shorter than him, though she seemed much taller.

“You say that Water used you,” she said. Her voice was soft, barely carrying over the rain, but it was perfectly enunciated.

He nodded.

“That should not be possible,” she continued.

“I know.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, so he took that as his opportunity.

“Why are you here?”

“Because you need us.”

It was not the response he expected. She had to be lying—they were clearly here because of him, to take him away. They were just guarding him to ensure he didn’t escape.

“Then why just the three of you? If you’re here to stop the army, why didn’t they send more?”

She laughed. It was high, and childish, and completely belied her serious demeanor.

“We are more than enough, Tenn,” she said. “Besides, the Prophets did not send us here to save your army. They sent us to save you.”

He couldn’t speak. The fear in his chest prevented it. The Prophets were a group of mages dedicated to understanding the fifth and elusive Sphere of Maya—the one Sphere you couldn’t attune to by choice. It had to choose you. No one had seen the Prophets, no one knew how to contact them, but many battles were won or prevented by their guidance. Tenn didn’t know how anyone learned what the Prophets decreed. He’d never wanted to ask.

The future wasn’t something he wanted to know too much about.

“You are being noticed,” Dreya whispered. She reached out and touched his neck. Right where Tomás had gripped his throat before. “That is a very dangerous thing.”

Fire blossomed on the horizon, a red stain on night’s canvas. He didn’t have a chance to speak.

“That is the first line,” Dreya said. In this new light, her damp hair glinted rose. “The army is near.”

Tenn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d spent the last week waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall, and here it was, at last.

Dreya walked back to her brother, who stood with his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed. The red on the horizon seeped closer, the whole town illuminated in its ghostly light. Tenn could sense the magic even from here. Somewhere out there, the necromancers were pulling out their big guns and spurring their undead army with fire and fear. Tenn counted the seconds in his head, like counting the space between lightning and thunder. He counted the seconds until death arrived.

Deep in the pit of his stomach, the Sphere of Water simmered. It knew battle was coming, and it was excited.

Flames leaped higher, burning through the fields and stretching to the clouds above. The wall of flame burned white-hot, speeding toward the city in a ravenous wave. Years ago, magic had turned the tides of war. It was no longer the most powerful who walked away from battle, but the quickest. He prayed his comrades in the field had shielded themselves. He prayed that he would get out of here alive, that Water wouldn’t destroy him.

The fire splashed closer, only a mile away. Its roar chilled his bones, and its heat threatened to melt him.

And then, behind him, the twins began to sing.

The sound sent chills up his spine, and he turned and glanced at them, the fire momentarily forgotten. The twins stood there, heads tilted back and hands outstretched. Three Spheres blazed in them like ghostly lights—the slow blue of Water in their stomachs, the fierce red of Fire in their chests and the swirling vortex of pale blue and yellow Air in their throats. Everyone had all five Spheres, but you had to be attuned to them individually to use them, and each consecutive attuning was more difficult. Most mages could only handle one Sphere. Two at most. To split your concentration to three Spheres was nearly impossible. To be so powerfully trained in them...it made what Tenn’s Sphere did that afternoon feel small in comparison.

It also explained their appearance. Overuse of Air would account for Dreya’s paleness. But Devon...he must have primarily been a Fire mage.

Air flared in the twins’ throats and lightning crackled across the sky, a pulse of blue light that shattered in a dome above them, spiderwebbing down to the earth. Tenn looked to the field just in time to see the necromancer’s fire billow closer, only seconds away. He winced.

Fire hit the invisible shield, burned across it with all the power of hell before flaring out into nothing. He blinked hard, tried to get the sear of fire from his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw the army.

They swarmed across the land, a black tide that screamed and howled like demons. More fires roared around them, but none broke past the twins’ shield. Yet.

Jarrett had commanded him to stay back; he hadn’t commanded him to stay out of the fight.

Since he couldn’t trust Water, Tenn opened to Earth.

Power surged in his pelvis, pulling down through the concrete of the high rise, rooting him to the soil. He could sense the flesh of every creature for a mile, could taste their decaying feet on the earth as they ran. The Howls were hungry. Their empty, ulcerated stomachs burned with his; their need for flesh brought bile to his throat. It sickened him, but the power of Earth kept him rooted.

It would always keep him rooted.

Then, against his bidding, Water flared to life, and his head swam as the traitorous Sphere pulled him under.

“We’re so proud of you,” Mom says, hugging him one last time. They stand outside the dormitory, Dad idling the car in the street. Dad never likes goodbyes; one quick hug had been enough for him. “You’re going to be great.”

Tenn takes a deep breath. Tears burn behind his eyes, and he wants so badly to tell her to take him back home, to lie and say he doesn’t want to learn about the Spheres and magic, even though a week ago it was all he could think about. The buildings are too big, the other kids too loud. Home is too far away, and no magic, no power, could be worth this much hurt.

“I love you,” she says. One more hug. He inhales the scent of her, the perfume that lingers against his clothes. She is shaking. She’s trying not to cry. That makes it harder to keep his own emotions in check. It’s always been hard to keep his emotions in check. “I’ll see you soon. Over winter break.”

He tries to stem his tears while she turns and walks back to the car. The dorm-mother shuffles up behind him and puts her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, son,” she says. “You’ll see her again before you know it.”

He knows it’s a lie.

He knows it’s a lie.

And there’s nothing he can say to bring her back.

“Shut up!” he screamed.

His words ripped through the memory and slammed him—throbbing and raw—back to the battle, back to the roof of the hotel and the screams of the monsters now crashing against the shield. He knelt on the ground, hands pressed to his head. The memory pulsed in his ears like a migraine and tears ran down his face like the rain. What the hell was happening? The visions were becoming stronger. Water was gaining control. Sobs welled up in the back of his throat, but a scream from outside the barrier cut them short.

He pushed down the sadness, buried it deep under Earth, forced Water away with a wrench of willpower.

He was in charge. Not the Spheres.

He grabbed his staff from where it had clattered to the ground and pushed himself to standing. Then he reached his senses deep into Earth and pushed the power out.

The ground rippled. Just outside the shield and beyond his comrades, a wave of soil burst up and spilled out, sending Howls and their human slave drivers stumbling. It was a small act of magic, but Earth sapped him fast. Too fast. He leaned heavily against his staff as hunger gnawed at his stomach and his knees shook. If he used much more, he’d drain himself completely.

Lightning flashed down outside the shield like the spears of angry gods, piercing Howls and necromancers and filling his ears with thunder. More fires raged, these spurred by the powers of his friends, flames hungry for undead flesh. The sky swirled faster as great funnel clouds sank from the heavens and roared across the plains. He could feel the power of his comrades, could feel the magic racing through the air as they struggled to hold their ground. It was enough magic to level cities.

The army still came.

He wondered if their power was enough.

Electric-blue cracks spiked along the shield where Howls threw themselves upon it. He gripped his staff tighter. He wanted to be out there. Water wanted to fight. Even now, tired from Earth, he wanted to be close to the blood. More cracks lanced over the shield. He gritted his teeth. If they could just kill off enough before...

Devon gasped.

The shield above them shattered with the sound of breaking glass, blue sparks raining down like snowflakes. Screams pierced the night as the shield collapsed and the hordes of Howls broke through.

“What happened?” Tenn yelled. He ran over to Dreya’s side, to where she cradled her unconscious brother. The town around him erupted in flames, the earth shaking with magical tremors. This magic, he knew, wasn’t fighting for his side.

Dreya’s eyes were wide.

“Someone drained him,” she whispered. “He’s been tapped.”

Tenn’s thoughts spun with the impossibility. Someone tried to drain his Spheres. Someone tried to turn him into a Howl. That shouldn’t be possible, not from so far away.

Dreya glanced up. Her eyes covered over in shadow. She didn’t flinch when someone screamed below them. The Howls weren’t just coming...they were here.

Power surged and the hotel shuddered.

“Shit,” Tenn hissed. He ran to the edge and glanced down. Howls filled the streets, swarmed like ants around a person he could only guess was one of his own.

The Hunter’s screams were cut short.

“We have to get out of here,” he yelled.

The hotel lurched again, magic laced through its very foundations. Necromancers were trying to raze the whole city. He glanced over to Dreya, who still knelt beside her brother with her hands on his chest.

“Dreya, we can’t stay here.” A wail came from the streets below him. If it was human or undead, he couldn’t tell. “We need an escape route.”

She looked up from her brother; he expected her to wallow, but her gaze was sharp.

“That I can give,” she said. She closed her eyes, and Air blazed in her throat.

Wind tore through the streets. It whipped up rubble and shoved cars, bashed through windows and shattered bones. Tenn shielded his eyes as it screamed past him, as the Howls below were swept up and tossed about like crumpled paper, splatting against buildings, crashing through trucks. He didn’t watch for long. He ran over to the twins and pulled Devon to standing. Dreya still channeled Air, still cleared the streets of Howls, but she helped drag Devon toward the fire escape.

It wasn’t any safer down there, but at least they wouldn’t die in a building collapse.

They rushed down the fire escape and into the back alley. The street was clear, wind screaming like a banshee. Tenn kept his eyes narrowed, tried to see through the dirt and rain and debris that swarmed around him like wasps. He needed to keep Devon out of harm’s way. If another necromancer came along and tapped him again, he’d die. Or worse, he’d become a Howl. Tenn couldn’t let that happen. He needed to get them someplace safe. But where in this hell could be considered safe?

They ran through the crumbling, burning streets. Kravens and bloodlings darted about, but the dust and debris from Dreya’s windstorm kept him and his comrades hidden. Elsewhere, he heard the screams and clashes of combat. Blood hammered in Tenn’s ears. Water wanted to fight; Water was tired of running. It felt the pain and agony ripping through the fabric of the city, and it wanted to respond. It wanted to create more hurt. He kept a tight rein on the power, forced it down, but he knew if he stayed here, he wouldn’t be able to hold it down forever.

The temptation to unleash its power sang sweet in his ears.

The streets opened up ahead of them as they neared the shore. If he could get them there, maybe they could defend themselves. At least they couldn’t be surrounded, with the lake at their back. Buildings thinned out into smaller shops, the streets widening into long boulevards of abandoned benches and torn trees. Waves crashed and seethed, but at least here, for now, there were no Howls. He helped lay Devon on the ground.

Fire roared behind them, and their hotel crashed down with a tremor that shook him to his bones.

“I have to go back,” Tenn said, looking between the two of them. His heart hammered and his breath burned.

“No,” she said. Her voice was breathy from exertion, and her pale eyes seemed unfocused. “We have our orders. We are to keep you safe.”

“I’m not going to stand by and watch my troop get killed.”

Dreya must have seen something in his expression. Her resolve cracked.

“As you wish. I will support you,” she said. Her Spheres burned brighter as a tornado funneled down in the heart of the city. It roared like a demon, hungry and feral. He knew Air, being the most ethereal of the Spheres, was easier to wield, but how was she still channeling so much power? “Just make sure you make it back alive.”

Tenn didn’t hesitate. He ran back into the flames.

* * *

If hell was a city, it would have been this one.

Tenn raced through the burning buildings, Water writhing in his gut, Earth filling his limbs with momentum. Even the bricks were on fire, everything shadow and flame. Ash fell down with the rain, coating his sodden body in gray. Everything was crumbling, burning, roaring with despair. He skidded to a halt at an alley thronged with kravens, their misshapen bodies burning and bleeding even as their hunger drove them onward. As one, their heads snapped to face him, jagged mouths open and dripping disease. It was only then that he realized they were crouched over the broken body of a Hunter. All that was left of the corpse was cloth and snapped bones.

The monsters screamed.

Water screamed back.

Tenn gave in to the siren song, and Water dragged him down with delight. Magic beat a battle drum through his veins as he let the power free.

He ran to meet the monsters head-on. He spun, slashed, danced with the pulse of Water. Battle might not have been graceful, but Water made it ecstasy. Blood sprayed through the air like oil, made his black clothes blacker. Water laughed, and he laughed, too.

Kravens fell around him like cards, crumpling headless into heaps. Talons slashed his skin, sent fire racing across his flesh, but Water delighted in the pain. He drowned in power, drenched himself in glory. Dozens fell, and dozens more came, drawn by the screams and the scent of blood. Water was a torrent of agony in his veins, and even that pain was bliss.

Something appeared over the writhing mass of bodies, a shape more humanoid than the monsters. The kravens went still, their prey momentarily forgotten. Tenn’s lungs screamed from exertion. Water wanted more—more blood, more bliss—but he didn’t attack. He stood, transfixed, surrounded by corpses, the buildings on both sides of the alley burning and crumbling, everything black and red and ashen. The silhouette stalked closer, slowly, and that’s when Tenn realized the flames bent around the figure—not away from, but toward. The remaining kravens hunched over as if kneeling, scuttling back toward the shadows and away.

What the hell?

All heat drained from the world the moment the shape resolved itself. Well, herself.

She wore a long white dress, splotches of black and crimson seeping up the hem. In her bloody hands was a glass mason jar. A flickering flame hovered within.

“Hello, Tenn,” she said. How her voice carried over the roar of destruction, he wasn’t sure. It took a moment, through the haze of Water, to realize there was no way she should know his name. “Leanna will be so delighted when I bring her your body.”

Fire opened within her, and the jar blazed red-hot.

Cold lanced through his chest, his heart screaming with ice and agony. His grip on Water and Earth shattered. He crumpled atop corpses and screamed as wave after wave of freezing pain shot through him, all aimed at his heart. All aimed at draining energy from his Sphere of Fire. His back arched. His jaw clenched in a rictus.

The agony stretched on forever. He felt everything, everything. Rage and hatred, passion and desire—they coursed through his burning, freezing heart in a deluge. He couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop the fist from tightening around his chest. Everything turned to ice. Everything threatened to burn his world away. And he knew...he knew that this was how he would die.

He would become a Howl.

An incubus.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Heat flooded through his body as he fell limp to the ground. His muscles relaxed, heavy and wet and shaking with newfound warmth. A hand closed on his shoulder. He flinched aside.

“Tenn,” a voice called. Masculine, familiar. His eyes cleared. Jarrett stared down at him, his face bloody and eyes tight with worry. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

“What...” Tenn croaked. His throat was raw.

“Shh,” Jarrett said. “She’s gone. Can you walk?”

Tenn’s body gave another involuntary shiver. He shifted and tried to sit up; he failed. That was answer enough.

Jarrett lifted him to his feet. Tenn ached with cold and heat, every nerve tingling like he’d plunged from ice water into a sauna and back again. The world around them burned, but he barely felt it. For the moment, Tenn could only focus on the warmth of Jarrett, the solidity of the arms wrapped tight around his body.

“Come on,” Jarrett said. “We’re regrouping.”

With Jarrett still supporting him, Tenn hobbled through the streets. His foot kicked something. He glanced down and saw it was the woman’s head.

“What was...what was she?” he asked.

“A necromancer,” Jarrett said through clenched teeth.

Tenn wanted to speak up, to tell Jarrett that this had been a setup: Leanna was actively hunting for him. My sister Leanna has an interest in you, Tomás had said. If Tenn was wise, he would give up now. Or he would beg Jarrett for help.

Then he remembered Katherine’s limp body, and Tomás’s heavy promise. Another shudder ripped through his body as chills raced down his spine. He looked up to one of the few remaining buildings and swore he saw a shadow standing there, the barest silhouette of Tomás. Watching. Always watching. Waiting for him to speak up. Waiting for another reason to kill.

Tenn kept his mouth shut.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TWINS AND a half dozen other Hunters waited by the shore. Devon was conscious, but he crouched on the ground with his head in his hands, looking at no one. The sky was a hazy pink from the flames, and Tenn felt the magic of Dreya’s barrier the moment he walked through. Regrouping. Right. It felt more like gathering for the slaughter. Storms stretched across the black horizon, arcs of lightning flickering over the endless water. How much of that was magic? How much was just nature being pissed?

Dark shadows oozed from the city as kravens and other nightmarish creatures swarmed the boulevard. Dreya’s shield was thin at best. Judging from the strain in her features, she couldn’t hold on much longer.

Jarrett helped Tenn sit down on one of the benches. A few other dirtied Hunters were there, but no one seemed too heavily injured. He prayed that this wasn’t all that was left of their troop. Not only because that was a lot of deaths, but because there were many more Howls to kill.

And because, in some unknown, twisted way, those comrades were dying and bleeding because of him.

An explosion rent through the air. Light burst from the city, followed by a tremor so great he nearly toppled from the bench. But it wasn’t the mushroom cloud billowing into the air or the scent of brimstone that made them cower—it was the power, the sheer force of magic, that ripped through the town like a bomb.

Tenn had seen power in his life, but never had he seen magic as great as that. Even the twins paled in comparison.

They stared in silence as the smoke cleared, weapons raised and pulses speeding. Air glowed brighter in Dreya’s throat as she reinforced the shield. There was a note in her eyes that scared Tenn more than anything else: fear. Something told him it wasn’t an emotion she experienced often.

“What the...?” Derrick whispered, Fire sparking around his bared sword.

A shape floated out from the ruins. The silhouette soared high above the crumbling towers and burning storefronts. Then a glint of light, a breath of power, as the stranger’s Spheres came into focus: Earth, Fire and Air. The energy radiating from them made Tenn’s frozen skin drip sweat.

“Shit,” Jarrett cursed. He looked to the troop. They were broken, bruised, barely able to strike the lesser Howls now spreading across the boulevard. Fear was plain on everyone’s faces. Even Derrick’s. Whoever this enemy was, they were far outmatched.

“We need to run,” Jarrett said. “We can’t fight this. Not now.”

Laughter cut over the sounds of fire.

“Run?” came a man’s voice. The figure above the city floated closer. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’d be so easy to follow.”

In the blink of an eye, the figure stood before them, barely a dozen feet away. The movement reminded Tenn of Tomás, and the thought made his stomach churn. But this man was definitely not the incubus. This man was tall and sharp, wearing an immaculate black pinstripe suit. His gray hair was combed back, and his goatee was the color of ash. Every inch of him was sleek and strong, a sharp contradiction to the destruction around him.

He reached out his free hand and tentatively stroked the surface of Dreya’s shield. It crackled under his touch, flurries of sparkling energy trailing to the ground with a hiss.

“So charming,” he mused as he watched the sparks fall. “And so naive to think a magic so simple could protect him from me.”

With the press of his finger, he brought the whole shield down in a cascade of sparks. Dreya gasped, hands going to her throat as Air winked out. The man smiled directly at Tenn. That look poured ice down Tenn’s veins, and he knew that none of them would leave here alive.

“Who are you?” Jarrett asked. He took a step forward, his sword held at the ready. Air burned in his throat, but he didn’t make any move to attack. Tenn couldn’t help but notice the slight shake in his hand.

“My name is Matthias,” the man answered. He gave a curt nod. “And I have come for the boy.” He pointed to Tenn. Tenn took a half step back.

“You can’t have him,” Jarrett said. Despite everything, Tenn’s stomach flipped at the resolve in Jarrett’s voice.

Matthias grinned. “Oh, I think you’ll find you’re much mistaken. My mistress desires him, and I shall bring him to her with or without your cooperation.”

“Mistress?”

“Leanna.” Matthias’s words dripped poison. The hole in Tenn’s stomach grew wider.

“Never,” Jarrett said. He didn’t take his eyes off the man, but Tenn knew the body language well. Jarrett was preparing himself for one last stand.

Tenn wouldn’t let him fight alone, not when it wasn’t even his fight. He tightened his grip on his staff. Dreya’s hand clamped down on his arm before he could move forward. She gave a slight shake of her head, her eyes never leaving Matthias.

“Let’s let him decide that, shall we?” Matthias asked. He winked at Tenn. “After all, who better to decide the worth of his own life? Is it worth, say, one other?”

He waved his hand, like he was batting away a fly. Fire flared brighter in his chest.

Derrick didn’t even have time to scream.

Fire burst from his chest and lips, curling around him and hollowing him out so that—in less than a heartbeat—he was nothing more than a shell of ash. His sword clattered to the ground, dropping from his paper fingers. The rest of him collapsed in a cascade of soot.

Tenn cried out. Dreya’s hand tightened, kept him from running forward. Derrick had been an ass, but he had been alive. He’d been worth keeping alive.

“You bastard!” Jarrett yelled. He launched forward; Matthias held up a hand, and Jarrett stopped in his tracks, seemingly held in place.

“Now, now,” he said. “Let’s not be too hasty. After all, I highly doubt Tenn would like any more deaths to weigh on his soul.” He looked at Tenn, his smile deepening. “Personally, I would have thought Mommy and Daddy were enough.”

The words were a punch to Tenn’s gut. He stumbled back and felt another set of hands holding him up. He barely had time to register the twins flanking him before Water stirred in his stomach, dragged at him with cold fingers. Mom, Dad, where are you? It took everything he had to force the bloody memory down.

“You aren’t taking him,” Jarrett said. His voice was deadly low.

“Your choice, Tenn,” Matthias said, as though he hadn’t heard Jarrett’s warning. He gestured to the rest of the troop. “You have seven more chances to come willingly.”

There was no way in hell Tenn was going to let anyone die for him. He wasn’t worth it.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

But before he could shake off the twins to join Matthias, Jarrett lunged into action.

Tenn yelled, but Matthias just brushed Jarrett aside with a wave of his hand. Jarrett skittered to the ground at Tenn’s feet. The rest of the troop rallied immediately, running toward Matthias with weapons raised and magic blazing.

Before Tenn could join the fight, before he could keep these idiots from dying for him—him, worthless, meaningless him—someone pulled him back toward the waves. Fog descended over the boulevard, broken only by muffled shouts and flares of fire. Then he was plunged beneath the waves, and everything went cold and black.

* * *

They raced beneath the waves of the lake. Magic wrapped around them, pushing them through the water at breakneck speed. Tenn’s lungs burned as they rocketed away from the shore, heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the lake, far out of Matthias’s sight. He couldn’t see anything through the darkness, couldn’t tell how deep they were diving. But he could feel the cold pressure of the water, the endless expanse of the lake, as his own magic-fueled senses stretched out. Dreya’s hands were still tight on his arm; he tried to fight her off. He had to get back to them. Had to save them. Had to keep them from killing themselves over him. But Dreya’s hands were a vise, the magic and water pressing him tight to her. Try as he might, he couldn’t break free. His lungs and limbs burned with the effort.

When he couldn’t take any more, he took a frantic breath. Air filled his lungs. He didn’t even bother to be surprised.

He gave up the struggle.

Deep in the darkest pits of his heart, he knew it was already too late. His comrades were dead or Howls now. Matthias wouldn’t have delayed the slaughter. If anything, Tenn’s leaving probably hurried it.

The only consolation was the tingle of magic nearby. The slight halo of energy that ringed the others who fled beside him. The hazy halo of blue emanating from Devon: Water and Air, just like Dreya. And just like Dreya, he carried another. He could sense the shape of the figure with Water’s power. Jarrett.

It shouldn’t have made his heart warm, but it did.

He expected the dark water to erupt into flame, expected Matthias to drop down into the depths and kill them. Matthias had to be close behind. He had to be following them, enraged, and Tenn could only imagine what would happen to them when they were caught. The ash of Derrick’s body still seemed to cling to Tenn’s lungs, making him want to gag. Derrick’s image stuttered like a broken movie reel, shadowed by the flares in the fog, the silhouettes of his comrades as they fought against Matthias. As they died for him.

Because of him.

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes ebbed to hours. Tenn lost track of how long they fled, and the depths gave no hint of the time. There was nothing to distract him from the memories, from the smell of his comrades’ burning flesh. Nothing to distract him as Water regurgitated the battle scenes, meshed them with all the horrors of the past few years. Every once in a while, his attention would flick back to the water surging around them. Back to the hands holding him tight.

Back to the awareness that Jarrett was nearby. Safe.

Why did that make him feel better?

Why did it keep reminding him of a past he’d tried so hard to forget?

After what felt like days, the water around them lightened. The sun must have been rising; they were still so deep he couldn’t see more than a tinge to the black. A tinge that illuminated great shapes below them. The Sphere of Water filled in the rest. Massive blocks stretched through the darkness like shipwrecks, forms of concrete and steel. Some glinted slightly in the sun. Others were dark, pitted and cavernous.

He jolted as they abruptly changed course. Dreya dragged him up, away from the structures below, and in seconds, they plunged into the air. Only a few moments of weightlessness, the shock of light after so much dark, and then they landed on top of a crumbling concrete slab. For a while, he just lay there, gasping, as the water pooled and cold air soaked to his bones. He couldn’t focus on what was happening. Couldn’t force his mind to kick-start and work again. All he could do was focus on the cold and his breath and the pain. Every muscle in Tenn’s body ached, but he didn’t open to Earth. He wanted to feel the hurt. After everything that had just been sacrificed for him, it was the least he could do.

He closed his eyes, let his focus drift in and out. Shreds of conversation drifted through his clouded mind. Finally, he forced himself to sitting and looked around, wincing from the effort. The morning was cold and clear, the sun streaking across the horizon. Beautiful, if not for the nightmare still plaguing him. No land in sight. Just sparkling waves and broken plinths rising from the surf. Things clicked with a disgusting snap. He knew precisely where they were. This was all that was left of Chicago. And the water had once been Lake Michigan.

“What the hell are we doing here?” he asked.

The twins stood farther off, conferring with Jarrett. All of them were dry. Tenn very much was not.

Jarrett looked over and the twins went silent.

He knew the three of them could kill him in an instant, knew it was them who should be questioning him. But the pain in his heart was too much. Water raged. He let it. It was easier than thinking about what he’d done. Easier than thinking about the deaths. Or Tomás. “What the hell is going on?”

Tenn stood as he spoke, realizing he’d lost his staff somewhere along the way, and tried not to sway too much when he did so. Everything was quiet and pastoral, save for the lulling wash of waves. He wanted to scream. Scream because it was too picturesque, too quiet, and his comrades were either dead or dying and here he was, alive and well, for absolutely no reason. He wanted to get back to them. He had to. He had to give himself up.

Jarrett stepped forward and reached out.

“Tenn, let me explain.”

“No. No, don’t touch me. Tell me why you were sent.”

“You know why we’re here,” Jarrett said slowly. As though Tenn had lost his mind in the battle. “We were sent to protect your troop.”

“Bullshit!” Tenn yelled. Water pulsed in his gut, and waves crashed higher against the building. Shakily, he pushed the power away. He couldn’t trust himself with it. “If you were just sent to protect us, why didn’t you stay with them? Why did you...?” He could barely force down the tears. Why did you save me? Why didn’t you save everyone else? Why am I here, when the rest of them are dead?

Jarrett looked back to the twins. Dreya shrugged. Devon studiously looked away. When he turned back to Tenn, Jarrett wore an expression Tenn couldn’t place.

“You have to understand, Tenn. We’re just trying to protect you.”

Tenn shook his head. “Why? Why me? Why didn’t you save everyone else? You could have saved everyone else.”

“We could not,” Dreya said. She stepped forward. Devon moved at her side. A shadow. “We would not have had the strength to carry so many. To do so would have risked us all. We would have been followed.”

“But why me?” I’m no one. I’m worth nothing.

“Because we were sent to find you,” Jarrett said.

Hearing him say it was a kick in the stomach.

“Why?”

Jarrett opened his mouth, but Dreya put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward.

“You are being targeted by the Kin,” she said.

Tenn’s heart lurched to his throat. Did she know about Tomás?

“Dreya, don’t—” Jarrett began, but she waved her hand and continued, anyway.

“It is not a statement you wish to hear. Any sane man would feel the same. But it is the truth. The Kin desire you, and they will stop at nothing to take you. That is why we were sent.”

He went silent. Having the Kin after him wasn’t a shock after all that had happened. The shock was that others knew about it. The shock was that these three had let the rest of his troop die for it. For him.

“You should have let Matthias take me,” Tenn whispered. “I’m not worth their lives.”

“Do you really think Matthias would have let us go?” Jarrett asked. Suddenly, there was a hand under Tenn’s chin; Jarrett tilted Tenn’s head up to meet his gaze. “Matthias is a necromancer, Tenn. He would have taken you and killed the rest of us, anyway. At least this way... At least now you’re safe.”

Tenn wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Jarrett’s gaze held him, as surely as Jarrett’s touch sent flames racing through his chest.

“Why? What makes me special? Why do they want me?”

Jarrett grinned.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out by keeping you alive. The Prophets told us to protect you. Personally, I’d guess it’s tied to your Spheres acting up. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Jarrett’s. They were so warm. So familiar. He was acutely aware of Jarrett’s fingers under his chin, of their closeness, of the warmth Jarrett gave. A warmth, and a confidence. He could have stayed there forever. Instead, he pushed the warmth away and stepped back, letting Water slosh through his veins in a cold curse.

He hated himself. For being alive when the rest of his troop was dead. For being the reason his troop was dead. But mostly, he hated himself because, right then, he didn’t hate himself. There was something about being in Jarrett’s gravity that made him feel alive. That made the last few years of bloodshed and regret fade away.

Something clanked beneath Jarrett’s coat as Tenn stepped away.

“What’s that?” Tenn asked, pulled from his thoughts.

“Something I picked up,” he said.

Jarrett pulled the object from inside his pocket. Tenn gasped and stepped back. It was the jar the necromancer had held, the one with the flickering flame.

“Why—”

“I thought it might come in handy,” Jarrett said.

The twins stepped forward, peering over Jarrett’s shoulder silently. But Tenn wasn’t watching them. He couldn’t take his eyes off the jar.

At first, he thought it was badly scratched, but the more he stared at it, the more the markings that flickered in the sun and from the inner fire became, well, if not legible, at least uniform. Definitely symbols. Harsh and angular. They seemed to whisper in his head, like reading a foreign language he could almost place. The weight of a void, the dark center of a star, the raging heat of space, consuming, consuming...

“What?” Jarrett asked.

Tenn looked up. He didn’t realize he’d been moving his lips.

“Can you read them?” Dreya asked.

Tenn stepped back and looked away. “No. I just... No.”

He caught the twins looking at Jarrett. He caught Jarrett’s furrowed brow. He caught the slightly stronger glow coming from within the jar. Or maybe it was just the sun.

“It sounded like you were reading it,” Jarrett ventured.

“No. I was just making it up.”

Jarrett’s next words were slow. Confused. “Are you—”

“We should be moving,” Dreya interrupted.

Jarrett seemed to snap back to reality. He looked to Dreya, shoving the jar back inside his pocket.

The moment it was hidden, the whispers in Tenn’s mind quieted. He hadn’t even realized they were still there.

“Are you recharged?” Jarrett asked.

“Not fully,” she said. “But we do not have time to waste. Especially if you are carrying that.”

“Where are we going?” Tenn asked. Jarrett was still looking at him curiously, like he wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Questions, he knew, that had nothing to do with the symbol-covered jar.

“Outer Chicago,” Jarrett replied. His words were still guarded.

Tenn looked to Dreya. He could feel the warmth of Jarrett’s gaze. It lingered in his chest, thawing the cold places. And sending a dozen more questions racing through his brain.

“Why?” he asked.

Dreya sighed. She kept looking to the horizon, to the way they’d come from. “Outer Chicago is safe. Mostly.”

Did she mean that he would be safe there? Or that keeping him there would make it safe for others? Either way, Tenn knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t turn them down even if he wanted to. But the truth was, he didn’t want to fight them, and not just because of Jarrett. Tenn had planned to spend the rest of his short life wandering between outposts, fighting the undead until he died for a cause. But now, knowing that he was a danger to those around him...

Or were they just bringing him back so they could experiment on him? He looked from Jarrett to Dreya to her silent brother, Devon. Tenn wanted to believe they were on his side. He couldn’t afford that luxury.

The truth was, though, it didn’t matter what their motives were: he had one of his own. He didn’t have anyone left to fight for, but what he did have was an ax to grind. If what was happening to him—the strangeness of Water, the attraction of the Kin—could be used against the Howls, he would embrace it. If only so he could use it against those who had destroyed his life.

“Let’s go, then,” he said. He opened to Water. Memories flooded to the surface—Derrick, curling into flame; his bedroom, dripping blood—but he was ready for them. He grappled them down with a well-practiced hand. “But I’m not letting you drag me there.”

“He has spark,” Jarrett mused.

“And you have no tact,” Dreya replied.

She opened to Water. Devon opened at the same time. He felt the twins wrap their power around Jarrett, the barest flicker of blue in the sun.

Jarrett just chuckled and leaped over the building, swan-diving into the lake. Dreya followed close behind.

Devon, however, stood there for a moment, hands crossed at his chest and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You still hear them, don’t you?” His voice was gruffer than Tenn expected.

“Who?”

“The dead.”

Tenn’s blood went cold. He could only nod.

“I hear them, too. Every day. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore. Or just all the dead I carry around.”

Devon shook his head, then tightened the scarf around his face and leaped into the water.

Tenn walked over to the edge. Stared down into the waves. They were already jetting off, cutting beneath the waves like spears of light. Devon’s words lingered, curled around the base of his skull. The last thing he wondered before jumping in was if Jarrett and the rest would save him, or if they’d just be three more names on the list of the dead he carried on his soul.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS LATE afternoon by the time they reached the shores of Outer Chicago. The water grew shallower, until they were able to trudge up through the waves toward the shore. The lake lapped at the highway stretching before them, slowly eating at the asphalt, turning it to sand and stone. He wondered if the destruction had been intentional—some necromancer trying to drown the whole city—or if it was just the Earth rebelling, eating itself alive to escape the madness magic had wrought. The aftershocks of the Resurrection had struck deep, and humans weren’t the only ones to receive the blowback.

Dreya slumped heavily against Jarrett as they made their way into the sprawling suburb. She had used the last of her magic to drain the water from their clothes. Devon held her hand.

Both of them were crying.

Gray clouds streaked through the slate blue sky, and the horizon was heavy with the promise of rain. Tenn glanced up and shuddered. Late December in the Midwest and still no snow—another reminder of how much they’d fucked everything up. The summer had been unbearably hot and dry, and it seemed to be continuing into the winter here, too.

If the servants of the Dark Lady didn’t kill them all, then Mother Nature would pick up the slack.

None of them spoke as they made their way through the abandoned streets. The air was still and perfectly silent, save for the twins’ occasional muffled sobs. After the roar of battle and water in his ears, the hush made Tenn’s head ring, like he’d stepped from a crowded school dance into the night air. This was the type of silence that always, always, foretold disaster.

He focused instead on the city, or what was left of it. They’d already passed over the ruins of Chicago, and this was all that remained of the once-thriving metropolis. Countless streets of empty houses, broken and gaping like corpses, all stretched out in a disrupted grid. The place looked like something out of a disaster movie: browned yards tangled with faded clothes and toys, overturned cars and pileups at every intersection, charred houses, and craters carved into the concrete. Even three years later, death and absence hung in the place like a ghost. He expected to hear the wails of the dead, to smell the smoke of burning bodies, a scent other than rain. Hundreds of thousands of people had tried to escape the city during the Resurrection.

Hundreds of thousands of people had failed.

But even here, there were no bodies. The necromancers had turned those they could into Howls, while the rest were devoured by the loved ones that had been turned. The cities were always the worst.

He shuddered and forced down the bile in the back of his throat.

“Did you ever come here?” Jarrett asked, breaking the silence. “Before...”

Tenn nodded. “I went to school nearby.”

“Silveron?”

Tenn’s heart hitched with the name and Water pulsed with recognition. Too many memories were attached to it. Too many ghosts. He nodded again. He couldn’t get any words out around the pain.

“I did, too.”

Tenn looked to Jarrett, opened his mouth to ask more. How had he not recognized Jarrett? Why hadn’t he said anything earlier? But Jarrett gestured, and around the corner Tenn saw what was left of true human civilization.

A smooth, black-earth wall rose from the street, stretching four stories above the pavement. Its surface glinted in the dull light like obsidian, impossibly slick and impossible to scale. Great metal spikes stuck out from the highest ramparts, all angled down to impale anything dumb enough to try climbing over. It stretched beyond eyesight, cutting through the remains of the suburb in a protective ring.

When the four approached, Jarrett called out in a loud, clear voice.

“I am Jarrett Townsend, commander of Troop Omega, requesting permission to enter.”

Something shifted on the high wall. A figure peered over the top.

“Are you untouched?” the guard called.

As one, the three of them opened to their Spheres. Jarrett glanced at Tenn and quirked an eyebrow; abashed, Tenn opened only to Earth. He didn’t want to risk Water, not after so much use.

The guard disappeared from sight and, moments later, a chunk of the wall in front of them shivered. Like the waves of a mirage, the stone faded from sight, revealing a large door of rusted steel and heavy girders. It slowly parted with a shrill scream and the rumble of machinery.

They slipped through before the entrance fully opened.

“Welcome back, commander,” the guard said. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen, yet she carried a bow and arrow and sword, and her face was crossed with scars. She nodded deferentially to the twins, but when her eyes caught on Tenn, suspicion clouded her face. “You found him?”

Jarrett nodded. Tenn’s stomach lurched; how many people knew him?

“I knew I would,” Jarrett said.

The guard didn’t linger. She was already turning a great gear that slid the entry shut behind them. Apparently, he was worth noticing, but not much beyond that. At least it saved him from answering any questions.

In stark contrast to outside, the town within the stronghold’s walls was packed and thriving, like some modern reinvention of a Renaissance fair. Houses had been converted to apartments. Apartments had been built upon and converted into multilevel units. Laundry stretched from roof to roof, flapping like flags above stalls selling the last of the season’s fruits and vegetables. He inhaled deep. There was even the scent of baked bread. Three years had passed, and with the Resurrection had come the fall of modern man: no more smartphones, no more internet, no more technology. All of it had been rendered useless with the onslaught of magic. But here, in Outer Chicago, humanity actually seemed to be doing more than holding on. It seemed to be crawling forward.

His cheerfulness cut short when he stepped in a pile of crap. He glanced down, nose instantly wrinkling, and wondered if it was human or dog. He hadn’t seen a dog in years.

“Careful where you step,” Jarrett muttered. He didn’t seem amused.

Even though they were surrounded by people, and even though the guard had very clearly known them, no one in the city met their eye. People walked about in a crazy mismatch of fashion: high-end coats and shabby jeans, dresses layered with parkas, piles of jewelry amid rags. Like they’d just raided whatever shops they could, and had been stuck with it ever since. The citizens all milled or argued or hurried past. They talked to each other, but it felt like Tenn and his comrades were invisible.

Someone elbowed him in the side as they rushed past. Tenn started, but Jarrett’s hand was on his shoulder before he could react.

“Don’t bother,” Jarrett said, his voice still a low grumble. He was watching the crowd with outright animosity. “To them, we’re as bad as the Howls. We keep them alive, but we still use the magic that put them here.”

Tenn kept his head down and his eyes peeled after that, feeling the weight of the city press against his shoulders. He’d experienced this before, in smaller communes. Hunters used magic; civilians didn’t. And even though Hunters fought off the Howls and the necromancers, even though Hunters were sworn to defy the servants of the Dark Lady, they were still viewed as the cause of the Resurrection. With so much spite concentrated in one spot, he was surprised there wasn’t a riot.

He wanted to scream at them as his group pushed their way through the crowd. He wanted to yell at them just how many good men and women had died to keep them all safe, the names and faces that would go unmourned, unburied. Worse, he wanted to tell them about the Farms, where unturned humans were kept as cattle, and how much worse their lives could be. But he didn’t. He feared what speaking up would do. There might not be a riot now, but he knew the desire for vengeance like a bad taste in the air.

Water churned in Tenn’s stomach, twisting with guilt and fear. Water wanted to show them all, too. There was so much pain in this city, and it resonated in Tenn’s gut like a minor key. He kept the power forced down. Was it even safe for him to be here? Even without Matthias and the Kin, he could barely trust himself with Water’s urgings. Maybe these people had been right all along...maybe he was a danger.

He glanced at Devon, heard the guy’s words filter through his head. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore...

What the hell am I?

The only thing keeping him grounded was Jarrett’s hand on his shoulder. The guy’s grip was strong. Heavy. For an Air user, he had a weight, a presence, that snared all of Tenn’s senses like a sun.

Right before they rounded the block, Jarrett leaned in and whispered into Tenn’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him. The council looks down on that sort of thing. Even if it’s Caius.”

Chills raced down Tenn’s neck at the feeling of Jarrett’s breath on his skin. It didn’t take him long to figure out what he was talking about.

A man stood on a pedestal in the center of the street. He wore a faded three-piece suit that barely covered his potbelly, his messy gray hair unsuccessfully slicked back with grease. He reminded Tenn of Matthias, albeit much less refined. Despite the man’s ragged appearance, he still had a crowd. It was the only part of the city that didn’t seem to be moving. People crowded around the dais like sheep as he spoke, his words cutting above the din of the city around them.

Whatever rant or sermon he had been on cut short when Tenn and the others rounded the corner. The man sneered over at them from his perch, causing more than one head to turn. Their venom was palpable.

Water seethed.

“So, the child army returns,” the man said. He had the voice of a man who used to smoke a pack or twelve a day.

Adult mages existed, but were rare; for some reason, kids seemed more adept at attuning to and using the Spheres than adults. Although Matthias seemed to be a terrifying exception to the rule. As it was, very few people lived beyond their twenties: if you could wield magic and fight, you would probably die in battle. And if you couldn’t fight, you were probably already a Howl, or food for one.

“How many have we lost today, friends? How many souls have you handed over to Satan?”

“Ignore him,” Jarrett whispered. He took Tenn’s arm and guided them around the crowd. Small picket signs had been thrust into the grass.

MAGIC IS SIN

THE END HAS COME

Classic. Tenn had seen those since before the Resurrection, in the scant months between magic becoming mainstream and magic fucking everything up. Hell, the signs still littered the highways, more common than bodies.

Tenn envied the twins; they walked on as though completely oblivious to the world around them. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe they just hadn’t deemed the outer world worth noticing. It was a skill Tenn wished he could employ, especially right now.

“Oh, look,” Caius said. “God must have been on a break today, friends. He let the queer live.”

Jarrett grunted under his breath and said nothing, but his hand tightened on Tenn’s arm, anyway.

“It’s not worth it,” Jarrett said, dragging him on.

Tenn made sure to kick over a God Still Hates Fags poster on the way.

Behind Caius was a reinforced building that Tenn figured was the guild. The place looked like a multistory gym, though the windows were sealed and the street in front was covered in metal spikes. The only people who walked in and out were clearly Hunters—not many others wore all black and carried medieval weapons. They made their way past the blockades. Jarrett still hadn’t let go of Tenn’s arm. Dreya and Devon walked side by side, silent and smooth as ghosts.

Inside, the lobby still held the smell of a gym—the hint of bleach, the tang of rubber, the aftertaste of sweat. It felt strange walking in, dressed in leather coats and scuffed boots when, not four years ago, the place would have been crawling with soccer moms in spandex and bodybuilders with protein shakes. Now, the foyer was relatively empty. There was only a single guard behind the front desk. He gave them a perfunctory nod before going back to reading his book.

Jarrett led them through. Tenn still wanted to ask about Silveron, but something in Jarrett’s silence said that it wasn’t the time.

The back hall was flanked by workout rooms. A small group of Hunters was sparring in one room. The other was still filled with free weights and machines. Orbs of flame hovered in the corners, fueled by a Fire mage currently doing handstand push-ups. The light glimmered off metal and iron, everything within surprisingly well-maintained. It didn’t take much to figure out why the place was spotless: boredom didn’t kill, but it meant you were wasting time. If you weren’t fighting or eating or sleeping, you were training whatever way you could. Tenn knew the routine well.

The hall darkened farther in, ending with a set of stairs. The only light came from a few torches guttering along the walls. For being so big, why was there no electricity in this place? Even some of the smaller outposts he’d been in had had power. Some, at least.

“Let us know what you discover,” Dreya said. “We will be in our room.”

Jarrett nodded. Without even glancing at Tenn, the twins walked downstairs. Jarrett and Tenn watched them go.

“Well,” Jarrett said. “I guess I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” He’d spent the last few years living in communal barracks. The idea of having his own room...that wasn’t a notion he’d harbored since before leaving for Silveron.

“Yeah. Unless you want to share.” Jarrett winked at him, then continued on down the hall.

“Why are you doing that?” Tenn asked as he followed. He wasn’t certain where the words came from. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of the last few days—he was tired of feeling like he was being played with.

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me.” Despite the initial confidence, his words died into nearly a whisper. He expected Jarrett to laugh. Or to say he hadn’t been.

“Because you’re cute,” Jarrett replied. “In a quiet, emo sort of way.”

Tenn immediately regretted asking. Not because he didn’t like the honesty, but because it had been years since he’d even considered hitting on someone, let alone having them do it back. He felt the blush rising back on his cheeks. Not just because of what Jarrett said—something in the forwardness reminded him way too much of Tomás.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He had to stay on the offensive. Couldn’t let himself start asking the questions he hadn’t let himself consider in years.

“I’m Jarrett Townsend, captain commander—”

“Who are you really? I never met anyone named Jarrett. Not at Silveron.”

Jarrett paused and studied him for a moment. They were only inches apart. The way his eyes seemed to bore into him... Tenn’s heart couldn’t beat any faster if it tried.

“Before the Resurrection...” Jarrett sighed and looked away. “Before all that shit, before I became this—” he gestured at himself, still not catching Tenn’s eye “—before either of us were what we are...you were called Jeremy. And I was Kevin.”

Tenn gasped at hearing his old name. And Kevin...he remembered that name. He couldn’t forget it.

Jarrett smiled at his shock.

“Yeah. I hit on you once before—I’m glad you seem to remember. Surprise.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“YOU... I DON’T...” I haven’t heard those names in years.

Jarrett’s grin didn’t slip, but it took on a darker cast.

“I know,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I thought I recognized you when we met, but I wasn’t sure. But when you said Silveron... Well, we’ve both changed a lot.”

Tenn nodded, thoughts slowly congealing into something he could recognize.

Kevin.

Memories blurred. He’d done so well at hiding the past from himself, he could barely recognize the life that slowly swirled to the surface.

Kevin had been in the year ahead of him. They’d crossed paths a few times. Had taken a world history class together.

Water surged...

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Kevin asks.

Tenn looks up from his homework, his stomach rumbling at the thought.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kevin replies.

Light rain drifts outside the window, blinking in the lantern light like the butterflies awakening in his stomach. Tenn had been able to keep them silent, wrapped up in wars and dates and political figures he knew he’d forget the week after the exam.

His skin tingles as the papers before him flutter and the history book slams shut.

“You’re not supposed to use magic outside the classroom,” Tenn says, but he can’t help the smile that fights its way to his lips as he looks at Kevin. The Sphere of Air swirls light blue and yellow in Kevin’s throat, illuminating the planes of his chin and collarbones. Tenn goes back to packing up his notes. He doesn’t want Kevin to notice his stare, because then he’d clearly know everything that Tenn had been thinking. And wanting.

“I do what I want,” Kevin says. He shoves his own papers sloppily into his bag. “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

Tenn keeps his head turned. Damn it, now he’s blushing. But if Kevin notices, he doesn’t say anything as he pulls on his coat.

They head toward the on-campus café. Tenn glances at Kevin, then opens to Water. It pulls at him, but he’s getting the hang of it. After two months of sitting by the lake in class and trying to manipulate the waves, even this little bit of magic feels like a victory. He focuses, and arcs the rain around them.

Kevin smiles and pats him on the shoulder. Warmth floods through Tenn’s chest.

“See?” Kevin says. “A little magic never hurt anybody.”

Tenn stumbled as Water sloshed off. Jarrett’s hands were there, steadying him, keeping him balanced. But his hands couldn’t force away the memory, the roar of Water in Tenn’s ears, the after-cries of the thousands of other memories that bubbled alongside that one. He’d hoped that leaving the field and the bloodshed would help, but...

When will it stop?

“What was that?” Jarrett asked.

Tenn couldn’t answer at first; he studied Jarrett’s face, compared it to the boy he barely remembered. Three years of fighting and magic had definitely taken their toll—this new incarnation was taller, more muscled, his skin paled by magic and scarred by bloodshed.

“Water,” he finally said. “Sometimes it... Sometimes it dredges up memories.”

Jarrett nodded slowly, studying him, his hands still steadying Tenn’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

Dozens had asked Tenn that over the last few years, normally during or after battle. Never had he actually felt like the other person wanted an honest answer.

“I don’t know anymore,” Tenn replied.

A Hunter walked past them, saluting Jarrett. Jarrett just nodded. His hands didn’t leave Tenn. The fact that he wasn’t hiding this closeness sent another wash of heat through Tenn.

“How did you know it was me?” Tenn asked.

Water and war had changed him, too. He’d watched the transformation in the mirror over the last few years—the new scars, the dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness that never seemed to fade no matter how much he rested or ate. He didn’t think he looked anything like the boy he once was. He sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“You stood out back then,” he said, squeezing Tenn’s shoulders. “And you stand out now.” He actually reached up and brushed the side of Tenn’s face, tracing a scar with the back of his fingers. Tenn nearly collapsed at the softness of that touch. “It takes more than a few scars to hide that.”

Jarrett’s seriousness was replaced with a grin.

“Besides, you’re just as gloomy as you always were.” He took a half step back. “Who’d have thought we’d meet again out here, at the end of the world?”

Tenn shook his head. It was still swimming. His skin burned and tingled from Jarrett’s touch, and he wanted nothing more than to close the space between them, if only to be held, if only to connect to a part of his past that wasn’t covered in blood. A part of his past that suddenly, like a flare of light in the dark, felt like it could beckon toward a different future.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.