The Mandikhor vanished. Instantly James let go: the wind quieted, the earth stilling under his feet. Debris pattered softly to the ground. He wiped sand and blood from his eyes, casting around desperately. The whole landscape had changed: the dunes had shifted, the sand had flattened out in front of him. He saw Cordelia then: she was lying motionless, her red hair like a splash of blood against the sand.

“Daisy,” James said hoarsely, and started forward.

He barely took a single step. Belial appeared in front of him, though he had not been there a moment ago. There were no tracks in the sand to show that he had crossed it to get to James. In his left hand, he clutched Cortana, its deep golden blade shining against his gray skin.

“Well,” Belial said, his face twisting into an approximation of a smile. “How very, very clever you are.”

James only stared. He could feel the exhaustion, the poison in his veins, waiting to rush back, to claim him. He was desperate to get to Cordelia before he collapsed. “Get out of my way,” he snarled, his voice rasping out of his dry throat.

Belial chuckled. “ ‘Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’ It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? From the book of James, too.” He leaned toward James, and James could smell the burnt-chalk scent of him. “I see that you begin to understand a fraction of the power you could have if you embraced your true heritage,” he whispered. “The blood you share with me is far more powerful than the blood you share with Raziel. What power do you think you will have, if you remain what you are now?”

“Let me be,” James said hoarsely. “I won’t let you—”

“Enough!” Belial roared. It was as if the demon had lost control of the features of his face: his eyes appeared strangely elongated, as did his mouth, stretching and stretching across his chin in a snarl of terrible rage. “You think I would allow you to let this body die? You have no choice, you—”

Belial’s left arm jerked backward. James’s eyes widened as Cortana flew from Belial’s hand, ripping free of his clawed fingers. Belial cried out, twisting around to see what James himself had only just seen: Cordelia standing behind them, her gear shredded from the knees down. Cortana flew to her like a bird: she reached out for her blade, and it thumped home against her bloody palm.

“It’s very rude to take someone else’s sword without asking,” she said.

Belial’s eyes narrowed; he raised his hand, and the ground under Cordelia’s feet began to crack open. James staggered forward blindly, meaning to catch her before she fell—but Cordelia was steady on her feet. She sprang toward Belial, driving Cortana into the demon’s chest in a single, smooth motion.

Belial threw back his head and roared in agony.