“I’m sorry,” Smith says at last. “Are you trying to threaten me? Because you’re about as scary as a golden retriever puppy.”
Chester’s temper spikes. “Listen, demon?—”
“My name is Obadiah, not ‘demon,’” Smith bites out. “And do you really want to know what Cass and Ez ‘did’ to your friends, Locke? They gave them a home. They showed them how to build a better future, asaferfuture, for themselves. And they loved them unconditionally for probably the first time in their entire lives.”
“Weloved them!” Chester snarls. “Bryant and I always had their backs, just like they always had ours. I’m not giving up on them.”
Smith considers Chester critically. “I’ve been in your head,” he says, and Chester’s stomach lurches at the reminder. “I know that you sincerely care about them, and I know that this entire episode is coming from a well-meaning place. That’s the only reason why I’m even entertaining this conversation right now. But if you truly want JJ and Roma to be happy, then you’ll leave them alone. The Sanctum was—is—a poison. It was killing them. We’re their family now.”
Chester’s throat feels tight. “You really expect me to believe they wrote us off that easily?”
He braces himself for the worst when Smith’s eyes flicker. Chester has always treasured the quiet loyalty between him and Roma, and he’s loved JJ like a brother since the very first day they met. He thought those feelings were mutual, but?—
But what if it really was that easy for them to forget about him and Bryant?
“Not quite,” Smith says eventually. To Chester’s irritation, a tight band of tension in his chest eases at the words. “But I think they’d bepretty happy if you joined them on the outside. What do you say? The fugitive life is more interesting than it looks.”
Chester smiles savagely back. “Not on your life. I’m getting them back, Smith. I’m getting them back, and we’re going to undo all of your brainwashing, and we’re going to take them home. Back to theirrealhome.”
Smith’s eyes are as black as an abyss in the moonlight. “You know that the Sanctum killed your family, right?”
Chester is almost startled into laughing. Looks like Councilwoman Nasir was right, not that he ever doubted her. “Okay, serious question—how did you manage to convince JJ and Roma of that?”
Smith goes still. “What?”
“You know. That ludicrous story about the Sanctum being responsible for the Jackson–Locke murders.” He raises his eyebrows. “The Council mentioned that your people have been spreading that around. Apparently, the Sanctum adopting the survivors of demonic massacres means that they… caused those massacres in the first place? You really couldn’t think of anything better?”
Smith’s jaw works. “They managed to spin it, huh? Clever. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised by how far the Sanctum will go to bury their evidence.”
“Uh-huh.” Chester leans forward. “Last chance, Smith. Where. Are. My friends?”
Smith scoffs. “Cut the crap, Locke. You’ve got nothing, and we’re done here.” Sighing explosively, he snaps open a rift. “So this has been—what’s the opposite of ‘fun’? That. Stay out of my way, lackey, and stay away from my bowling alley.”
And there’s Chester’s chance. As Smith turns away, Chester yanks up his sleeve to reveal the binding spell he pre-cast on his forearm earlier today, hovering his palm over it. He’s been practicing the spell for days now, spent hours working through the quirks of the pre-casting process, checked the final incantation against every magic textbook he could find?—
Time for the grand finale. “I bind your will tomine,”Chester snarls, slapping his hand onto his arm to trigger the activation.
It goes wrong, of course.
It always does.
4
Heat and pressure blast into Obie like an oncoming train, forcing his rift closed and sending him sprawling onto the blacktop. He rolls once and bolts back up to his feet, rage clouding over his vision.
That was a binding spell. That was a goddamnbinding spell,just like the one that was used on him all those millennia ago, just like the one that left him helpless to protect the people he loved?—
He’ll be damned if he lets that happen a second time. JJ will be sad about his best friend’s untimely demise, but Obie is sure he’ll get over it. “Wrong move, hunter,” he snarls, and he brings his wrists together, aims a magic offensive at where Locke is gasping for breath on the pavement?—
Obie’s magic dies just past his fingers, vanishing like it was never there in the first place. His stomach drops. “What the hell?” he stammers, stumbling backward. Hastily, he aims another magic strike at a nearby tree, but this one doesn’t falter, slamming into the trunk and leaving singed bark in its wake.
That doesn’t make sense. Locke’s binding spell didn’t sound like the same one that summoners use to enslave newly summoned demons, so there shouldn’t be anything preventing Obie from lighting Locke on fire and leaving him to burn as an offering to the bowling gods, wherever they might be.
So why didn’t Obie’s magic work against him?
No time to think about that now. Locke is staggering to his feet, an escrima stick appearing in his hand. “Tell me where JJ and Roma are,” he snaps, his voice ringing with cold authority.
Obie tenses, waiting for the command to roil through him and force him to betray his friends against his will, but to his surprise, he feels nothing. No inexplicable urge to obey, no internal struggle of will.
