He makes another languid gesture, and one of the vampires that pushed the circus cart reaches into the leather bag that hangs from his shoulder—and pulls out a blowtorch. A spear of blue flame leaps from the nozzle with a hiss, and my mother yelps as she and my father jolt away from the bars, huddling together. Like they know it’s meant for them … like they’re already familiar with it.

Rage dissolves my reason, a red filter passing over the world, and I plunge my will straight into Blowtorch Guy’s body. The Corrupter’s gravity stirs his blood, and shock flares in his eyes as heat spills through him. Balefully, I growl, “Careful when you play with fire.”

This isn’t a smart move. This confrontation has barely started, and I’m already throwing the first punch—I’ve already let Rasputin destabilize me, and I don’t know what the fallout will be. As the vampire’s face turns pink, I hesitate, caught between the urge to stop and the urge to finish what I’ve begun.

And that’s when the next domino falls.

“Grigori Rasputin!” Eyes blazing and cheekbones canted, Jude Marlowe bursts from a cluster of evergreens on the eastern edge of the picnic grounds. He’s dressed in black and looks every inch a debonair killer. “You have violated the codes and precepts established by the Syndicate of Vampires, and on their authority you are ordered to stand down!”

The undead cleric rolls his eyes, his shoulders sagging in annoyance. “Oh good. An interruption.” Dismissively, he answers, “I appreciate theatrics as much as anyone, but as you can see, we are busy here. Go play cops and robbers somewhere else.”

“You led an unsanctioned raiding party that took numerous lives—mortal and vampire,” Jude continues, his voice booming. “Your group’s actions were reckless and unprovoked, and now our entire community is threatened by human retaliation.” He avoids looking my way. I didn’t put him up to this—the Syndics absolutely want Rasputin’s head on a platter—but he only knew to be here because of me. “The Syndicate will not tolerate contempt for its directives, and as the self-declared leader of the Order of the Northern Wolf, you will answer for its crimes.”

Anger finally tightens Rasputin’s features, his brows pulling together. “You pretend to have authority over me? Your ridiculous organization makes a mockery of what our kind can be, what we are destined for! You crawl in darkness when we might all march in the light, and I reject your petty restrictions.” He waves his hands, and eight of his minions turn toward Jude with a guttural hiss and a flaring of their eyes. “You may go. I am in a good mood, so I will even allow you thirty seconds before my children hunt you down.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Jude returns darkly, his teeth stretching longer.