I stiffened as a torrent of line energy flooded me. Groaning, I dropped to one knee. His aristocratic face going slack, Al drew himself upright. He saw my intent in my eyes. “No!” he cried, lunging forward as I reached to touch the circle and say my word of invocation.

A gasp slipped from me as, with the feeling of being poured out of myself, a shimmering wave of translucent gold swam up from the ground, bisecting rocks and slumped rubble, arching to a humming close high over my head. Staggering, I fell back, my mouth gaping open as I stared up at it. Holy crap, I had closed Fountain Square circle. I had closed a circle thirty feet across that had been designed for seven witches to set comfortably, not one. Though apparently one could do it if properly motivated.

Al skidded to a halt, arms swinging to avoid running into the circle. A faint bong of reverberation echoed in the dusky air, crawling over my skin like dust. My eyes widened and I stared. Bells. Big, deep, resonant bells. There really were bells, and my circle had rung them.

Adrenaline shook my knees, and they rang again. Al stood to look peeved a mere three feet from the edge, head cocked and thin lips pressed tight as he listened to the third peal die away. The power of the line running through me ebbed, settling into a soft hum. The silence of the night was frighteningly profound.

“Nice circle,” Al said, sounding impressed, bothered, and interested. “You’re going to be grand fun at tractor pulls.”

“Thanks.” I twitched when he took off his glove and tapped my circle to make rippled dimples waver across it. “Don’t touch it!” I blurted, and he chuckled—tapping, tapping, ever moving, looking for a weak spot. It was a huge circle; he might find one. What had I done?

My hands tucked into my armpits for warmth, I looked at Lee, still in his circle, doubly safe within mine. “We can still get out of here,” I said, hearing my voice tremble. “Neither one of us needs to be his familiar. If we—”

“How stupid can you be?” Lee edged his foot across his circle, dissolving it. “I want to be rid of you. I want to pay off my demon scar. Why, on God’s green earth, would I save you?”

Shivering, I felt the wind bite at me. “Lee!” I said, turning to keep Al in my sight as he moved to the back of my circle, still testing. “We have to get out of here!”

His small nose wrinkling at the scent of burnt amber, Lee laughed. “No. I’m going to beat you into a pulp, and then I’m going to give you to Algaliarept, and he’s going to call my debt paid.” Cocky and self-assured, he looked at Al, who had stopped pushing at my circle and was now standing with a beatific smile. “Is that satisfactory?”

A lump of fear settled heavy in my belly as a wicked, contriving smile spread over Al’s chiseled face. An elaborately detailed rug and a maroon velvet chair from the eighteenth century appeared behind him, and still smiling, Al settled himself, the last of the sun making him a red smear among the broken buildings. Crossing his legs, he said, “Stanley Collin Saladan, we have an agreement. Give me Rachel Mariana Morgan, and I will indeed call your debt paid.”