Numerius’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes Lucius’s power has joined mine. Together, we trap him in something that’s half rosebush and half ice sculpture, and I hate the sight of our powers combined, but together we are unstoppable. Numerius’s calm finally breaks, and he roars. Bits of ice flake away, but the structure holds. Stepping forward, I force the ice to shatter around his heart and the vines to part, leaving a perfect path. He stills. He looks confused, like this shouldn’t be possible.

“This is for my mom.” It feels like what I should say, but it also feels wrong, now that I know how hard she tried to keep me from this life, to stop me from coating my hands in blood and ash.

I don’t get the chance to plant my stake. His head slips off and falls at my feet. It still has that vaguely alarmed expression on it, like he can’t quite believe he lost.

Lucius stands with his sword still in the air.

Silence falls as the last bit of Numerius’s head turns into dust and dissipates into the blood on the ground.

Lucius breaks that silence with a laugh as he flexes his fingers. All that power went to him.

One side of his mouth curves as he watches me. I’m not a threat to him anymore—at least not right now.

Even with my troupe at my back. Not all the magicians were with me.

“Ava.” Roman chokes on my name, and I spin. I forget about killing my father when I see fresh blood dripping from Roman’s mouth, and for a second I think he’s killed someone, but his hands are on his neck. Blood leaks through his fingers. He drops to his knees.

I’m with him in an instant, sinking next to him, ignoring the bite of the gravel. “Who did this?” I snarl, twisting, bracing for an attack.

But other vampires are dropping too—not all of them, though. It must only be the ones whose curse traces back to Numerius. And apparently Roman was one of them.

“A shame,” Lucius says as he comes to stand over my shoulder.

“Did you know this would happen?”

He shrugs. “It was a possibility, but magic is unpredictable.” He eyes Roman with the clinical detachment of a surgeon. “It appears his original wound that made him a vampire is opening up.”

Roman’s hands drop from his neck as blood trails down onto the very ground he never wanted to feed. I press my hand into his neck, pushing my magic, demanding it to heal him.

Nothing happens. I’m not strong enough to stop the collapsing curse that’s pushing the blood from his body.

“Nononono.” The words run together.

Roman’s mouth moves, but no words come out, only more blood.

His eyes close. His breath is shallow.