And this time, Belial did not flinch. He began to smile—a manticore’s smile, as if his jaw were not properly hinged, and the grin might take over his whole face, turning it to a mask of teeth.

“Cordelia, no.” James flung out his hand, his arm across Cordelia’s body. He was suddenly very pale. “The runes,” he said. “When Jesse lost the pithos, you had to send an Eidolon to retrieve it from Christopher, even though it risked discovery of your plan. You needed it that badly. You’ve been making Jesse a warrior. Demon and angel, dead and alive. You think he can defeat Cortana. That’s why you made him. To get Cordelia out of the way—to get at me—” He spun to face her. “Daisy—run—”

And leave you without protection? Cordelia shot James a single, incredulous look before she raised Cortana high above her head. “I said,” she repeated, “you will not touch him—”

Belial charged at her. One moment he was lounging with the Blackthorn sword dangling from his hand. The next he was a streak of fire, a blaze tipped with silver.

James lunged at Cordelia, knocking her out of the way. They rolled across the packed dirt of the pathway; Cordelia somersaulted up and into a standing position, slashing out with Cortana. Her blade clanged against Jesse’s—Belial’s. She registered the pattern of thorns winding around the cross guard of the Blackthorn sword even as he spun, stabbed out at her again—the blade’s tip parted the fabric at her collar with a whisper. She felt the burning sting, a hot spill of blood.

She heard James shout her name. But he seemed distant; the gardens and everything in them were far away. She was facing Belial as if on the vast chessboard James had described to her from his vision. There was nothing there but the two of them, and the next moves they would make.

She charged at Belial, leaping onto a nearby bench and pushing off it, spinning like a top as she whirled through the air, coming down with the sword. He sprang out of the way, but barely fast enough: the sword slashed a cut across the front of his shirt.

He bared his teeth.

Wound him, she thought. Three mortal wounds from Cortana—

Belial hissed and leaped at her, the Blackthorn sword dancing in his hand. Distantly, Cordelia was aware that she had never seen sword work like this before. She should have been cut to ribbons. A week ago she would have been, despite a lifetime of training.