And that wasn’t all.

Lon stood in the same place I’d left him, but his green-and-gold halo danced like a crown of gilded flames over his head and spotlighted the two spirling horns that jutted from his hairline.

He looked devastatingly menacing and shockingly demonic—

And Jupe had never seen him transmutated.

“Dad?” he croaked.

“It’s okay,” I assured Jupe, squeezing the back of his neck. “He’s still your dad, it’s—I can’t explain now. I need to help him. Stay behind me.”

I raced my heartbeat across the shadowed lawn with Jupe dogging my heels. When we got closer, Lon, without taking his eyes or the aim of his gun off Chora, yelled, “Stay back!”

We came to a sliding stop.

Chora was staring at Lon, sizing him up. “The mage told me of this magick, this transmutation. He chose vessels for the ritual who were born with this magick inside them. He believes this will help them live long enough for the doors to open between the planes. Their blood is sweeter.”

“Why doesn’t he just summon seven demons from the Æthyr?” Lon asked.

“They must originate on this plane for the doors to open from this side.”

Chora looked weary. I guess if I’d spent thirty years trapped in some crazy gap between the planes, I’d be weary, too.

“The ritual matters little to me,” he said. “I only wish to fulfill my contract with the piggish mage and return home.”

Chora held one palm up, as if he were asking for a handout, and used a finger to trace an invisible mark over his open palm as he mumbled something foreign. The air crackled. A pink glow lit his hand from the inside out. Then his skin turned translucent and I could see veins and bones beneath it. Jupe made a wary noise behind me. I could feel his labored breath against the top of my head. I tugged him closer.

Chora floated down and landed on the grass. “If we were back in my homelands, I would not chose to battle you, Kerub,” Chora said, referring to the class of demon from which Earthbounds are descended. “Nor you, Mother.” He looked at me with the same familiarity that I had glimpsed in the Silent Temple. “But I do not have that choice. I am sorry.”

The demon’s scaly tail flicked as he held out the hand glowing pink with magick. He pushed back the cuff of his colonial coat, exposing his wrist, then sank two fingers into the flesh there. Slick, sucking noises made me grimace as he dug around inside his own skin. He extracted something skinny and straight. Once he was able to get several fingers around it, he tugged with more force.

A thin, whispery blade the length of a small sword glinted in the moonlight. He unsheathed it from the scabbard of his forearm. The grip of the weapon was ivory, and might’ve been constructed from bone, but the dripping blood made it hard to be certain. The blade was metal, though. And he wielded the disgusting weapon with determination as a new noise stole my attention.

Merrin was on his feet. Shoulders dropping, head lowered, he bowled toward us, only slightly impeded by his awkward limp. He was disoriented and pained, and his glasses were gone—lost in the fall. But he squinted into the dark and his eyes caught mine.

Chora raised the bloody blade, murmuring under his breath. It sounded calm and peaceful. Maybe a prayer. Lon racked his shotgun and fired. Chora jerked to the side. The shot hit his free shoulder, he cried out in fury, and dark blood flowed over the gray fabric of his coat. His tail whipped furiously around his legs.

Lon groaned and cracked his jaw. Despite the shot, he wasn’t happy. He’d been aiming for the heart, I realized, and missed his mark, not expecting the demon to move so fast. Worse, that was his fifth shot. Four rounds plus one in the chamber makes five total. He lowered the gun and held it by the barrel as he fished inside his pocket. More shells, I thought, thank God. When he pulled out his phone instead, I wondered if he’d gone loopy. His fingers danced over the screen. He spoke a single word into the phone, then tossed both it and the shotgun on the grass beside him. Maybe he was calling Dare. Or the police. I’d take either at this point.

Chora groaned and tilted his neck to inspect the damage Lon had inflicted. Just a glance. His eyes refocused on Lon, who held up his hands in surrender. I silently called out for the Moonchild power. Not a request, a command. The telltale pinpoint of blue light manifested in my vision. It was ready, waiting to be used. But, like Lon, I might have only one shot to change things, and I didn’t want to miss.

I could either conjure up the Silentium seal I’d used in the cannery to negate Merrin’s knack-stealing magick, or I could bind Chora.

Merrin was now halfway across the yard.

Chora repositioned his blade to strike, ignoring the weeping wound in his shoulder.

Jupe’s hands were shaking on my back—from fear? Or was he readying his own power? If he used his knack, he’d use it to help his dad. A guess, but I was willing to gamble, and there was no time left to do anything else.

Merrin’s mouth opened and began to form a command.

Silentium.

The pinpoint of light flattened into a disk. The lines of the magick seal formed in blue light. Heka and moon energy zigzagged in and out of me and poured into it, then I used every ounce of willpower I had to thrust the seal at Merrin’s galloping body.

Blinding white light whooshed around the magician. He hollered and tripped, thudding to the ground as Jupe yelled, “Stop!”

Chora’s eyes darted in our direction. He’d heard Jupe’s persuasive command, but it didn’t come fast enough. Though he faltered, his blade was already arcing through the air. As Lon ducked, the blade’s tip sliced, nicking Lon’s neck where it met his jaw.