The only sounds remaining are my panting breaths and the warlock’s, as we stare at each other in shock.

The man that had been massive before is now shrunken down to normal human size. Like his augmented shape had been stripped away and turned into smoke.

If I didn’t already know, then the appalled faces near us would let me know I’ve done something terribly wrong. Alonzo looks down at his chest, anger warring with shock. His lips curl back, and his breath hits hot against my cheek, then abruptly, he curses and stands.

“And that”—a low, amused voice cuts through the tension—“is a demonstration of a new powerset I hope can be made available in the coming months, if supply chain issues work out.” The crowd parts even further and a teenage Black boy wearing a long red jacket steps through. “Applause for our performers tonight!”

The boy is tall enough to partially block Alonzo when he steps between us and proceeds to clap in big, convincing slaps of his hands. The audience responds hesitantly, then with growing applause.

He speaks to us both through gritted teeth, gives an order in a sharp tone that brooks no argument whatsoever. “Smile.”

Alonzo flashes his teeth unconvincingly but obeys. A shaky smile spreads across my face, and I tuck my trembling hands behind my back. Fury and fear cycle through Sel’s features.

The boy turns back to us as if to applaud our “performance,” but as soon as the crowd is behind him, his pleased grin disappears. “Get. Up.”

As Alonzo stands, I get a closer look at the newcomer who commanded the entire Lounge.

If I’d seen him from far away, I’d have called him a Merlin on sight. A young one, maybe Sel’s age. Gold-and-red light reflect off his warm brown face in the dim light of the Lounge. There’s an unnaturally beautiful, inhuman grace in his stride and movements. Hair shorn close on the sides, but rising in thick, tight curls from his crown. Where others are in dark jeans and leather and denim, he wears dark-charcoal pinstripe suit pants, a gray button-down, and a tailored burgundy vest under his bloodred jacket. A gold watch is tucked in his vest pocket, with a delicate braided chain looped up from its hiding place over a vest button. As soon as the newcomer steps closer to Alonzo, I see his eyes sparkle like wine-red gems under dark brows.

Goruchel demon. Like Rhaz. Like Kizia.