Through the shadows, figures darted, illuminated by witchlight. There was Ariadne, standing over a crumpled body, holding off something Cordelia couldn’t quite see—something that looked like a massive rubbery limb clustered with vicious suction cups. It was a tentacle, she realized, the waving appendage of something huge, and hidden.

And in among the tentacles were their family and friends: Anna, high atop a broken section of wall, intercepted a tentacle headed for Christopher with her whip. Henry, his chair backed up against a slab of rock, laid about him with a sanjiegun. Alastair clambered onto a pile of rubble, spear in hand, turning to help Thomas up after him. The windows of the Institute, full of faces—

Belial dropped his hand. The window blinked out of existence. Cordelia could hear her own panicked breathing.

Alastair.

Beside her, James was very still. She knew what he was thinking, his mind darting from name to name: Will, Tessa, Gideon, Gabriel, Sophie, Cecily. Cordelia hadn’t seen Lucie, but she was almost certainly there as well, probably inside the Institute. Nearly everyone James loved in his life was there, facing obliteration.

“Your brother,” said James, his voice barely recognizable. “Leviathan, the sea demon. You have called him up out of Hell.”

“He owed me a favor,” said Belial, his old insouciance returning. “And he enjoys this sort of thing. So you see, James, you really have no choice at all, regardless of Cortana.”

“You are telling me that if I do not give up my body willingly, let you possess me, then you will have Leviathan kill them,” said James. “All of them.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll make sure they all die,” said Belial. “It’s your choice.”

“James,” said Cordelia. “No. He’s a liar—the prince of liars—no matter what you do, he’ll never save them—”

The smile vanished from Belial’s face. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “If you do not consent to what I want, your family and friends will die.”

“Cordelia is right,” said James. “You will kill them anyway. I cannot save them. You are only offering me that illusion to compel my agreement. Well, you cannot have it.”

Belial huffed out a sound that was almost like a laugh. “Spoken like the grandson of a Prince of Hell,” he said. “How practical, James. How logical. Do you know it was logic and rationality that resulted in our casting out from Heaven? For goodness is not logical, is it? Nor compassion, nor love. But perhaps you need to be able to see the situation more clearly.”

James glanced quickly at Cordelia. She knew what he was thinking, hoping—let Belial not realize that Charles is still alive, that the sigil is not complete—but feared her expression would give away her thoughts. She glanced down at the blade in her hand, smeared with Belial’s blood.