But it didn’t matter how many of these shadow creatures they killed, Cordelia knew. The Mandikhor could make an infinite number of Khora: it was the source of them, and the source had to be destroyed.

“Christopher!” she heard Thomas shout. She spun and saw that a group of Khora were starting to circle Christopher. Even as Christopher tried to fight his way free, the circle tightened. Lucie and Thomas raced toward him—James and Matthew leaped down from the railing—but Cordelia, raising her sword, raced the other way, toward the Mandikhor.

It had been watching Christopher and the others, licking its lips as the Khora closed in. Now it reared back as Cordelia approached, but too late—she hurled herself forward, Cortana sinking deep into the creature’s torso. Hot ichor spilled onto her hand, and the world seemed to tilt around her, the color rushing out of it like blood from a wound. She stood on the bridge among black-and-white shadows and twisted, gnarled trees—the suspension cables hung like rotting vines, blackening in the night air. She yanked Cortana back, gasping, and fell to her knees. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm. She was wrenched to her feet and looked with surprise at Matthew, staring at her, his face very white. “Cordelia—”

“She’s all right!” It was Lucie, spattered with blood and ichor, clutching the Pyxis box. The others had fanned out around Cordelia: James had his blade in one hand, his gaze trained on the roaring, bleeding Mandikhor.

The bridge was empty of Khora. Cordelia had distracted the Mandikhor just long enough for the others to kill the shadow creatures; but the Mandikhor was growling now, another lump already beginning to swell on its back. “Now!” Lucie cried. “We must get it into the Pyxis!”

“Put the box on the ground!” It was Thomas, vaulting up onto the railing, his bolas in his hand. “Christopher, say the words!”

Christopher stepped closer to the Pyxis. The Mandikhor, realizing what was happening at last, charged.

Christopher shouted, in a voice that cut through the noise of battle: “Thaam Tholach Thechembaor!”

The alchemical symbols carved on the Pyxis box lit as if the lines on the wood were burning: they seemed to bloom on the wood, glowing like coals.

A spear of light shot from the Pyxis, and then another, and another. The beams of light arrowed along the bridge, wrapping around the Mandikhor in a bright cage. It gave a howl—the cage of light flared up one last time and was sucked back into the Pyxis, the Mandikhor vanishing with it.

There was a long silence. James mopped at the blood on his face, his golden eyes burning. Matthew’s hand was still wrapped around Cordelia’s arm.

“I don’t mean to put a damper on things,” said Thomas at last, “but—did that work? Because it seems rather—”