“What have you done?” The question comes out on a choked sob. The lamp flickers, and I feel the ends of my hair rise. Doug shoots to his feet as I stalk toward him, until I’m standing eye level with the red sprays blending into the patterns on his tie. Tears stream down my cheeks as I kick and throw punches at him.

There’s too much blood. Everything about it smells like Jack’s.

Doug stumbles back, tripping against the sofa as I shove him. He reaches out, catching my fist as it swings. With a sudden sharp wrench of my arm, he spins me around, trapping me against him, pinning my hands as I try to claw and scratch him.

“Stop it!” I feel the blood soaking into the back of my shirt, and a scream explodes from me.

The floor begins to shake, making the crystal decanter rattle on its tray. Doug grips me tighter as I thrash to get free. The chandelier above us swings, threatening to break loose, but I don’t care. I want to bury him under it.

“Calm down!” he shouts, watching the ceiling. I bite down on his arm, tasting the blood on his sleeve and the tang of his magic as my teeth break skin. He barks out a curse.

There’s a sudden, dizzying whirl of motion as Doug picks me up and throws me down onto the couch, his face livid. “The blood isn’t Jack’s, dammit! I said stop!”

The tremors still. He stands over me, his chest heaving, his one eye glittering and wild. His eyepatch has slipped off, and the sight of what remains where his other eye should be steals my breath. The empty socket is black, the burnt flesh surrounding it withered and sunken. I swallow, fighting the urge to be sick. Doug turns away from me, letting his hair fall over it as he snatches his eyepatch from the floor and slips it over his head. He adjusts it to cover his missing eye before brushing back his hair and watching the slowing swing of the chandelier.

“Believe me,” he says through his teeth, “when I find Jack, I have no intention of killing him quickly.”

“Then whose blood is it?”

“None of your business.” He unbuttons his shirt cuffs, tugging up his sleeve. Blood trickles from the bite in his arm, and he frowns at it, then at me, before stripping off the shirt and tossing it in the trash can. “Get your coat. We’re leaving as soon as you’ve pulled yourself together.”

I swipe at my lips, surprised by the smear of red on them but not guilty enough to acknowledge any remorse. If he’s looking for an apology, he won’t get one from me. I stalk to the bathroom and splash water over my face, spitting out the vile taste of him as I rinse my mouth in the sink.