Swiveling around, Viviane meets my eye for just a moment. At the center of a magic circle, ringed by powerful witches, I sway to my feet—my body acting of its own accord. I’m a hostage in my skin, the Corrupter pressing upward with an ineluctable force, and terror washes my skin in a cold sweat. Viviane hesitates, her transformed face hard to read—but past the fangs and sharpened cheekbones, the golden eyes and angled brows, I catch a glimpse of Daphne Banks.

And then she whirls around, springing for the hole in the outer wall. Smoke trails behind her as she makes her choice—leaving behind the Dark Star and her vision for the future in order to chase after Rasputin. In order to protect me.

She isn’t even out of sight before Azazel turns my head, directing my attention, using my eyes to examine the witches around us. He recognizes Brixia, Ket, and Sulis, and his sense of alarm sends adrenaline pumping through me. A memory that isn’t mine disrupts my scattered thoughts—six witches, a barren landscape, unendurable pain—and I feel the moment that he steps over me.

I feel the moment that he Rises, at last.

I’m pushed down, sinking in my own body, a bit of flotsam caught in the swell of a bottomless ocean. The Corrupter opens my mouth to draw his first breath—the one that will end me, the one that will end the world … and then, as one, the coven speaks.

“Kulamāje maljo draugo!”

Instantly, my body is pinioned, magic snapping fast around me. Muscles lock in my legs and arms, my chest constricting so tightly my lungs can’t expand. Azazel fights back, electricity licking the underside of my skin, and my heart thunders.

“Skaro anmenndho draugo!” the witches chant together, and my insides give a violent twist. Pain shears through me, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s a blade slamming through my neck, fire eating my flesh—a hundred gruesome deaths at once. My immobilized lungs burn and Azazel rages … we’re trapped together, he and I.

“Steigoawa nāmante draugo!” Their eyes closed, the coven lift their arms, and sparks tear through me. The circle sputters to life with a gas-blue shimmer, flickering, pulsing, growing stronger. My body still can’t breathe, and the lack of oxygen sends panicked signals on a cannonball run through my nervous system. Dark spots freckle my vision, and it takes a moment for me to realize the unearthly glow is coming from me.

From us.

“Kulamāje maljo draugo!” the witches repeat, the air beginning to stir in the gutted factory, moving in a lazy spiral. “Skaro anmenndho draugo!”