Quiescent, but not numb; bound, but not imprisoned; the Phoenix had dwelt in Walden’s flesh for years, and neither of them had wasted the time. It had her understanding of magic. It was sophisticated, technically fluent, and as up to date as any magician could be who was not actively part of a research institution. And along with that expertise, it had its own nature, which was to be magic, and come from magic, and eat magic. The siphons on Walden’s left arm were burning again, though bearably now. The Phoenix could handle the raw power of the demonic plane much better than she could. It was having, in fact, a perfectly wonderful time. Like Walden, it enjoyed success.

Old Faithful was outmatched.

Walden saw the moment when it realised. It braced itself to flee. “No,” she said, and the Phoenix, with its hunter’s intelligence, its predatory instinct for the kill, agreed with her.

They caught it the same way Laura had tried to, with a flurry of physical spells that targeted the exploitable weaknesses of a human body. What about the strengths—the power of blood and bone—What blood, said the Phoenix, when the fool killed its host years ago? Blind, dizzy, deafened, Charlie’s lanky figure stumbled over its own feet and then collapsed and did not get up again.

The Phoenix was delighted. It was a demon. It had won a fight. Now it wanted to feed. It wanted to grow: to gorge itself on Old Faithful’s centuries of power and become bigger, stronger, cleverer, deadlier than Old Faithful had ever been.

Walden’s spell-tattoos had been designed with very precise tolerances. The Phoenix nearly doubling in size would overwhelm them. She would be possessed at once—if she did not simply burn alive, releasing a new monster into Chetwood’s magical environment in the process. “No,” she said firmly, and activated the leashing element written into every strand of the spell. Her body, her power, her authority. She left no openings.

Not fair! howled the demonic firebird as its cage slammed closed, and perhaps it wasn’t. But Walden had seen its mental picture of taking chunks out of Charlie’s helpless body with Walden’s nails and teeth, and her stomach was already turning at the thought. No, thank you. The red and golden feathers splashed across her arm went still. Walden went to her knees beside the body and turned it over.

She did nothing else for a moment or two. Just looked at him.

A shadow fell over her. Walden had somehow forgotten all about Laura Kenning.

“We could try an exorcism,” Laura said. “Drag it out of him, cut it into pieces, banish the remains. It’s been done. Not on anything this big, but it’s been done.”