It wasn’t a very accurate throw—she probably wouldn’t have done much more than bounce the sack near her feet. But, as she’d hoped, the flaming orb snapped across to intercept it with all the speed of instinct. The powder charge went off with a roar, blowing the flaming sphere apart as though it were made of burning oil. Fragments of flame went everywhere, scattering across the warehouse like from a flint. In the center of it, wreathed in flame, the old woman had gone to one knee.

“Go!” Raesinia shouted, running for the door at top speed. Andy was already out, and Marcus needed no urging. He dropped his pistol and ran.

It’s all going to go up. The warehouse was full of powder—packed securely, to be sure, but no one had anticipated the kegs being splashed with liquid fire. God Almighty. It’ll take out half the Docks. She wondered, idly, what it would feel like—if she would be literally blown to bits, or just badly burned. If I get blown to bits, which part of me does the binding stick to? The heart?

Every step toward the door seemed to stretch. When she finally reached it, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. The old woman was back on her feet, face dark with concentration. All around her, bits and pieces of flame were rising into the air, falling inward toward her hand like an explosion in reverse.

Well, thanks for that.

Uhlan had the boat against the dock, though there was no sign of the two men who’d been with him. Andy was the first over the side, and Marcus wasn’t far behind, shoving frantically against the bank. He held out his hand as the boat wobbled out into the current, and Raesinia grabbed it, clasping him wrist to wrist. He swung her into the boat, tumbling over himself, so they ended up side by side in the bottom, along with a half inch of scummy water.

“Away from the bank!” Marcus gasped. “Now!”

Uhlan had the idea already, shoving the little craft deeper into the current. Raesinia hauled herself to the rail, watching the shore and waiting for a figure escorted by a ball of fire to emerge. But none did, and within a few minutes the gloom of night swallowed warehouse 192.

Lieutenant Uhlan pushed the boat so far into the middle of the river that his pole lost touch with the bottom, and they were obliged to row. He and Marcus took the oars, driving the boat across the dark water and toward the dim lights of the Island.

“A Penitent,” Raesinia said to Marcus, no longer caring whether Uhlan and Andy overheard. “That was one of them. The Penitent Damned.”

“It seems like it,” Marcus said, panting with the effort of rowing.

“Maurisk must be working with the Priests of the Black.”

Marcus gave an assenting grunt.