James used his right hand to brace himself on the chess table and lever himself upright. It took longer than he would have liked. Pain made him breathless as he said, “Daisy. You’re all right—?”

She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know about Magnus.” She started to pick her way through the tumbled furniture toward the warlock. “He just reappeared here and collapsed—and then I heard you calling—”

James puzzled at that, but there was no time to ask. “Magnus,” he said. “If Belial did something to you, we’ll have to call the Silent Brothers—Jem, maybe—”

Magnus had risen painfully to his feet. He held out a hand, shaking his head firmly. “I’m fine. Just stunned. I didn’t realize Belial would be blocking the entrance to Edom.”

“Belial was—” Cordelia swallowed down her questions, looking from James to Magnus and back again. “What do we do now?”

Magnus moved stiffly toward the door. “This is much worse than I’d thought. Do nothing, do you understand? Take no more risks. I must reach the Spiral Labyrinth and speak with the warlock council.”

“Let us at least help you,” said James. “You could take our carriage—”

“No.” Magnus spoke sharply. “You must trust me. Remain here. Keep yourselves safe.”

Without another word, he was gone. In the distance, James heard the front door slam. Bewildered and more than a little dizzy, James turned to Cordelia, only to realize she was staring at him in horror.

“James,” she said. “You’re bleeding.”

To Cordelia’s relief, James’s wound was not as serious as it looked. He had stripped off his jacket with uncharacteristic obedience, making her wince—the sleeve of the shirt was soaked through with blood. She unbuttoned the shirt with shaking fingers—it seemed moments ago that James had helped her with her coat in the entryway—and hissed through her teeth. Something had dug a shallow groove along James’s bicep.

“And Belial did this?” she demanded, reaching for a damp rag to sponge the blood away. It was generally better to get a look at a cut before using a healing rune on it, lest the iratze close up skin over dirt or debris in the wound. “By throwing a bullet at you?”

“Seems so,” said James. “Oddly, not a power of his that was mentioned in the Monarchia Daemonium.”

He’d told her what had happened in the shadow realm as Cordelia had gotten bandages and water, and somehow found her stele. She set the stele to his skin now, carefully etching iratzes onto the skin below the cut. James flinched and said, “And the bloody gun’s gone. I lost it there. What a mess.”

“It’s not important,” Cordelia said firmly. “You’ve other weapons, just as good.”

He looked at her quietly for a moment. “How did you—come to me where I was?”