“Melt the links with your fire.”

She winced. She was liable to set his whole body on fire, and then she had no doubt he’d tear her limb from limb. “I don’t, um, exactly have very good control of my fire.”

“Of course. I almost forgot that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Ursula picked up a link of chain, testing the metal with her fingers.

“I only just learned I was a hellhound a few days ago. I have no memory. Kester just showed up in my kitchen—”

“Kester? The Headsman? He lives?”

Grief flooded her, and she forced back the tears. “Not anymore. Not since a few hours ago.”

Bael growled. “You lie. I killed him at the great battle of Mount Acidale.”

“What? No. I’ve been with him the whole time. Abrax just murdered him.”

Bael’s eyes blackened again, the horns once again appearing. He thrashed on the bed, the chains around his body smoking. He screamed in frustration, but his face had returned to its beautiful, human form. Against his skin, the iron links sizzled and hissed. The room filled with the smell of burning flesh. Through gritted teeth he spoke. “Release me. Now.”

“I’m trying to, but you need to stay still.”

The chains were white hot. Whatever spell Henry had worked into the iron, it was fighting back, burning the demon. She paused, her hand inches from the smoking metal.

“It won’t burn you. Hellhounds are immune to fire,” said Bael. The only clue that he was in agony were a few clipped vowels.

Ursula closed her eyes. She needed to channel her fire. Draw just enough to melt the chain. Her stomach clenched a little. This time, if she lost herself to the flames, Kester wasn’t standing by with a fire extinguisher.

She thought of Rufus’s smug face—her old standby for calling up the hellfire—and heat began to kindle in her fingers. It’s working. Her fingers glowed, and a thrill of excitement raced through her.

On the bed, Bael lay perfectly still, probably enduring intense agony as she gathered her flames. He hadn’t taken a breath for a minute or two. Was he alive? She glanced at him, at his beautiful face that stared at her with anticipation. It was like she was trying to solve a math problem with the teacher standing just over her shoulder—an exceptionally handsome teacher. The fire in her veins sputtered and died.

“Bollocks.” She unsheathed the kaiken dagger. This, at least, she was good at.

“You know you can’t kill me with that.”

“I’m not going to kill you. I do hope you’ll return the favor.” She flipped the knife in her hand. With all her strength she stabbed downward, thrusting the tip of the dagger into the gap in one of the links. Then, with a twist, she snapped the chain in two.

Chapter 37