The old man had backed Cyte into a corner. He kept his distance, wary of the reach of her rapier, but shock and pain were catching up to her, and she was visibly flagging. On the other side of the room, the giant slammed Winter’s desk out of the way with one hand, coming toward her with strides she swore made the floor shake. Bobby, who had been wrestling to free Winter’s sword from its scabbard, found herself directly in the monster’s path. The giant aimed a casual backhand cuff at her head, and Bobby’s hand came up and grabbed his wrist. Both of them seemed surprised when she halted the blow in its tracks, leaving the huge man stumbling and off-balance. He brought his other hand around in a wild roundhouse punch, and Bobby caught his fist in her palm. Winter distinctly heard the crunch of breaking bone, but Bobby’s arm didn’t even waver. She leaned forward, matching the giant strength for strength, and the huge man gave a roar of anger and disbelief.

Then Winter had no attention to spare for anything but her own fight. She was backing into a wall, increasingly desperate sword strokes cutting nothing but air. If I can only lay a hand on him . . . She drove him back for a moment with a wild horizontal cut, then lunged. He slipped aside, as she’d expected, drawing the knife across the back of her hand. Her fingers spasmed and the sword fell from her grip, but she was already turning, grabbing for the Penitent’s arm. Almost, almost, her fingers brushed against his sleeve, but he danced sideways and behind her, one arm raised for a strike that would bury his dagger in her kidneys.

The sound of a musket going off, only a few paces in front of her, was shatteringly loud, and the muzzle flash was almost blinding. Winter saw blood explode from the giant, high on his right shoulder, and he took a staggered step backward. She was already twisting away from her own opponent, skin tingling in the expectation of a blow that hadn’t fallen. But he was backing away, hands pressed to his eyes, face contorted in agony. His knives lay discarded on the floor.

Jane stood in the doorway, breathing hard, the dead Royal’s musket in her hands. Winter barely had time to register her presence. She threw herself forward, wrapping a hand around the Penitent’s wrist, and sent her will down into the pit of her soul where the Infernivore dwelt. Now. Now!

The demon surged forth in answer, rushing through her hand and into the young man. Winter could feel his demon, a wispy, insubstantial thing, and feel its panic as Infernivore began to devour its substance. Energy crackled and sparked between them. Back in the physical world, she heard the Penitent scream.