“The man is alive,” Trent said, that same wild glint in his eye. “He’s alive, and Rachel’s mother is alive. Morgan’s children will survive carrying the ability to kindle demon magic. And I can make more like her.” His smile grew ugly. “Let go of me.”

Minias’s gaze flicked to me. With a shove, he let go of Trent and took a step back. “The mark stands as it is.”

Ceri was crying silently, tears trickling down her face as she stood and watched Trent find his composure. Had Trent just assured him that in a few generations they’d have a crop of highly desirable witch familiars available? Ones that could invoke their curses so they wouldn’t have to? God help me, he was slime. Utter slime. He had put demon hit-marks on my potential children before they were even born.

I stood where I was and fought to keep from throttling him. He had spared Takata only because he had found a way to hurt me worse. “Can we go now?” I said, hating him.

Minias nodded, and Trent stepped back. The elf set the inner circle to trap him, and when Ceri dropped hers, he retreated to stand beside us. The scent of burnt amber caught at my throat, and Trent reeked. Knowing Trent’s circle would fall when we left, Ceri reinstated the second circle about Minias.

The rising and falling bands of power were making me ill. Minias smiled from behind the two different arcs of reality as if he didn’t care that he was going to be trapped in a small circle for thirteen hours until the rising sun freed him. Trent’s words must have pleased him to no end.

I picked up my satchel and stood ready. My eyes flicked from Ivy to my mom, and my heart pounded. It was going to be over one way or the other really soon. Afterward, Trent and I were going to chat.

“Be careful,” my mother said, and I nodded, gripping the straps of my bag tighter.

And then Trent tapped a line and said a word of Latin.

The breath was pushed out of my lungs, and I felt myself fall. The curse seemed to shred me into thoughts held together by my soul. A tingling washed through me, and my lungs rebounded, filling with a harsh gritty air.

I gasped, my hands and knees slamming into the grass-covered ground and my hat falling off. Beside me I could hear Trent retching.

Stumbling to my feet, I swallowed the last of my nausea and looked past my blowing curls to the red-stained sky and long grass. I wanted to give Trent a swift kick for putting my future kids on the demon’s radar, but figured I could wait until I knew I had a future.

“Welcome to the homeland, Trent,” I muttered, praying we all got back to where we belonged before sunup.

Twenty-six