“Surely not.” Brixia was annoyed. “He’s only trying to sound important.” She waved her hands at the smoke and it quickly reshaped itself, forming the appearance of a head clad in a knight’s helmet.

“He is important,” Ket stated reasonably. “Mac Bethad mac Findlaích, Mormaer of Moray, King of Scotland. He leads the country—for now.” She waved her own hands, and the smoke reformed again in the shape of a small child.

“Until the forest comes to Dunsinane.” With that cryptic conclusion, Brixia made a ring of miniature trees sprout around the child’s feet.

“Until he joins our sisters in death for another life.” Sulis snapped her fingers and the fire leaped upward, swallowing the apparition whole before subsiding again.

“Is this what you three do?” The Corrupter gestured. “Thousands of years spent in this realm, performing puppet shows to entertain yourselves?”

“Mac Bethad mac Findlaích is the only puppet on this stage,” Sulis purred.

Ket gave a nod. “And the show is hardly entertaining.”

“We only watch because we enjoy the ending.” Brixia stoked the flames. “We watch to make sure it always ends the same.”

“One of these times, it won’t,” the Corrupter promised darkly. “Be it in a hundred years or a thousand, the Ascension will come. One of these times, the stars will be on my side, and everything will change.”

Sulis shrugged, unconcerned. “Perhaps. But not this time.”

“This time,” Ket continued, “the blade you swung swings back.”

“The stars don’t take sides,” Brixia chided him. “But Death will take you, gladly.”

“Death has gobbled me up before, but it always spits me back out.” The Corrupter smiled again, flexing his grip on the hilt of his sword. “And I don’t intend to be dogged by you three forever.”

“Ah.” Brixia clasped her hands. “Now we are getting somewhere.”

As in ages past, he reached for them with his mind—and as in ages past, an unseen wall crafted of magic kept him out. But Mac Bethad mac Findlaích was a very talented swordsman—a trained warrior who had led armies into battle—and his body handled a blade with natural intuition. The metal sang as he swept it up, smoke cleaving around its gleaming edge.

Which was as far as his advance got. Ket flung out her hands, something invisible rippling across the empty nave, a coil of air that tangled around the sword and wrenched it from his grip. Before he could run after it, Sulis gestured, and flames jumped from the pit. Streaking across the ground, they encircled the man and blazed up, forming a deadly curtain that trapped him in place.

“You waste our time and energy, Azazel.” Ket narrowed her eyes. “We are not on Death’s menu. Not tonight.”

“Tell us your purpose here,” Sulis demanded imperiously, a golden light gathering in her eyes, “before I decide to cut this puppet’s strings myself.”