"Don't move."Raven's voice had changed. The tired woman with the takeout was gone. This was the other one, the one who ran toward ambulances.She was on her knees beside him before Marcel could sit up."I said don't move.""You said it nicely," Marcel croaked. "I just wasn't listening.""Look at me."He looked. A penlight clicked on and swept across his eyes, left, right, left.Her hand was steady. Her breathing wasn't."Follow the light. Good. Can you swallow?""Technically.""Marcel.""It hurts. A lot. Is that the answer you wanted?""It's the first honest one you've given me tonight.""I told you to run," he said quietly."I know.""Why didn't you?""Because you were on the floor." She said it like it was obvious. "I walk toward things, Marcel. It's how I'm built."She tilted his chin up with two fingers and went very quiet.He knew what she was looking at. He could feel it, a ring of heat around his throat that throbbed with every heartbeat.The penlight moved slowly across his s

Marcel had always pictured his father with horns.Instead the Devil wore cream linen and a silver beard, and he stood at the foot of the stairs like a man who owned a vineyard.Warm brown eyes. A kind smile. Nothing about him was on fire.That was the horrifying part."There he is," the Devil said. "You've gotten thin.""You've gotten old," said Marcel."Rude. I missed it."Behind Marcel, Trigon had gone rigid. His knuckles whitened on the desk, and a muscle jumped in his jaw."Listen to me," Trigon breathed. "Whatever he offers, you do not say yes. Not once. Not even to the salt.""What happens if I say yes to the salt?"Trigon didn't answer.Marcel turned. The office window stood open to the night, curtains stirring, and the chair where Trigon had sat was empty.Of course. The only ally he had, and the man ran at the first sign of Dad.Marcel went downstairs alone, still holding the warm knife like a dead bird.The club had changed.The glass was gone from the floor. The ash was gon

Raven had always been good at triage.Triage meant deciding in three seconds who could be saved and what it would cost.Marcel's lips were going blue. The thing's hand was locked around his throat. And the thing had a body, which meant it had rules.That was why she stepped toward it.Not because she was brave. Because it had said the seams hold, and she was a doctor."Walt," she said, calm as a pulse oximeter. "I'm going to help you. Stay still."The ring of teeth turned toward her, delighted."Come closer, Doctor."She did.She unzipped the trauma bag with one hand, pulled out the portable defibrillator, and slapped both pads onto Walt's chest through the gray suit."Seams are for sewing," Raven said. "Hearts are for stopping."She hit the shock button.The room cracked like a whip. Walt's body arched, every muscle locking at once, and the hand on Marcel's throat spasmed open.Marcel dropped. He hit the tile, sucked in air like a drowning man, and croaked, "Did you just defibrillate

Marcel stopped walking."Please," the thing said, in Walt's voice. "Please. I have a granddaughter."It could be a trick. It was probably a trick. Everything in Hell was a trick.From the last cracked pane of glass, Kessa's voice slid out, thin and furious. "He is still in there, little heir. They all are. Burn him, or save him. You cannot do both.""Watch me," Marcel rasped.He had no idea how. He only knew that the fire ran on what he refused to lose, and he refused to lose Walt too.So he pulled it in.The black and gold tide shrank off the floor, up his arms, down to his fingertips. It narrowed to a single bright thread.Not the man. Just the splinter.He pointed, and the thread slid into Walt's chest like a needle.Walt screamed.Something screamed with him, a second voice, high and furious. A black shape tore loose from his shoulders like wet tar, writhed in the air, and burned to nothing.The gray suit crumbled to ash. Underneath it, a gray haired man in a wrinkled security shi