“What the hell?” Jonathan murmured. Surprised, he sent his own shower of magic into the air.

This wasn’t the same as the gate, at least not that I could see or hear from several blocks away. No green, no ghosts, no howling. But it was another bout of big magic. Was it a ward? Had the demon made its way into the city and triggered another defense?

“Call the CPD,” I told him, “and stay here.”

“Where are you going? You can’t run toward that. It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, that’s my job and the point.”

I took off at top speed. After a moment’s delay, I could hear him pounding behind me, despite my orders that he stay at the house. I had no idea if he could take care of himself in a situation like this, but at least he was calling 911 as he ran.

I started a terse message to Theo: magical event west of prairie ave hist dist. demon? ward? i’m moving closer.

And then I stopped short when lightning burst from the pillar of light, forking as it reached toward the sky, illuminating clouds and buildings.

If this was a demon ward, it had moved far beyond stone-throwing ghosts. Far, far beyond. Fear clawed at me but didn’t seem to bother monster this time.

Safe inside you, it told me, apparently thinking I was a strong enough shell to keep it safe.

I die, you die. I guessed, but had no idea if that was true, mostly because I had no idea—or not a certain one—what monster was. But the sentiment had it coming to attention, and I could feel it stretch inside me like a protective layer, offering me what strength it could.

Much nicer, I complimented as the earth shuddered with magical thunder that rolled across the neighborhood, bringing humans to front porches and lights to windows.

I realized when Black reached me that I’d stopped running to stare at the sky and looked down at the unsent message on my screen.

look for lightning, I added, sent it, and started running again.

* * *

Prairie Avenue Historic District was only a few blocks long and wide; west of the neighborhood was an artsy community of small shops, artisan coffeehouses, and dive bars. And on a night like tonight—with the Sox playing only a couple of miles away and the weather perfect—the area was full of patrons, many of whom now thronged sidewalks and stopped traffic to stare at the seemingly infinite beam of light and the lightning it had spawned.

I pushed through the humans, Black behind me, to get closer.

The beam had sprung from an old brick warehouse, one of the few buildings in the area that hadn’t yet been renovated. Its banks of windows had been shattered, presumably when the light had burst from its belly like an alien. Something roared machinelike in the building’s innards. It was presumably the source of the light and the film of old magic.