Page 128 of Reap & Sow

Thirty-three

It couldn’t rightly be called a mere punch. The ferocity with which Kit struck his brother made Eda flinch—the crunch of bone, the spray of blood. Mr. Night’s head snapped sideways. He actually stumbled.

For a moment, he stood immobile, face concealed by snowy hair.

Then he turned his head, and his eyes burned. “My, my.” He spat out a tooth. “The little lordling is vexed. I almost felt that one.”

Kit stood with feet planted apart. His tail whipped back and forth, but his shoulders were taut and still as mountain peaks. Claws curled into fists so hard that blood seeped between his fingers. His ring was conspicuously absent.

“Long you’ve sought your chance to kill me, Baelion. Here it is.”

Mr. Night would have a chance, Eda realized with horror. Kit must have observed that the glyph and alchemists alone were keeping his brother in: a trap designed for a demon. And now he’s trapped too.

Mr. Night shook his hair from his face. Blood stained his mouth—he licked it away. “Kill you? No, Kit’rath. I want to turn you inside out.” His pupils bloomed, a mad excitement transforming him into something Eda did not recognize. This was not the Mr. Night she thought she’d known. This was the truth of him. This was Baelion. “I want to tear you limb from limb. Hear you beg for our mother like the sniveling babe she so adored. Then, perhaps, I will grant you death. Ah, but you know this. That’s why you hid from me.” His magma gaze slid over Kit’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me some human gishrat is the source of your newfound mettle?”

Whatever gishrat meant, it did not sound complimentary.

Kit said nothing.

“You would take everything that is rightly mine. But she is not for you.” Fixed upon her like a hound on a rabbit, Baelion took a step forward.

Kit snapped, “Do not touch her!”

Baelion paused. Blinked. Slowly, he began to laugh. “No. No! It cannot be.” He laughed harder. His mouth stretched about his fangs in a strange puppetlike grimace. His brow lowered as if in pain. But his mirth was very real. “You stupid little wretch. You’re in love with her.”

Eda stopped breathing.

Kit was living stone and far more brittle. Even his tail fell still, as though a single knock might shatter him into a thousand pieces. She dearly wished she could see his face.

You’re in love with her.

Baelion cracked his knuckles. “You always did have an obscene interest in this world. Fitting, that you’ll die here. I’ll kill sweet Eda first, shall I? That way you can watch.”

“You will not.”

“And who means to stop me? You? I remember how you pissed yourself when we took your horn, crying like an infant.” He paced. “I smell your fear even now. You are scared of me, brother.”

“Not as scared as you are of me, brother,” Kit said quietly. “You know that if the courts had their way, they’d install me as archduke. You could have left me to the human world forever. But you couldn’t bear the thought that I might one day challenge your authority. You’ve always felt threatened by me, Baelion.” His voice dipped. “Now you fucking should be.”

Baelion lunged with a snarl.

“Get away,” Kit barked at her, leaping to meet his brother’s attack.

Eda scrambled to get her legs beneath her. She crawled around the back of the Gateway; her foot hit something. The hammer! She grabbed it in a clammy palm and held it to her chest. But where’s the chisel?

She peered around the mirror.

The two demons were a whirl of black and white, moving faster than she could follow. Terrible animalistic snarls echoed off the templehouse walls. Kit transformed into a huge snake and lunged—his brother knocked him aside, sending his coiling body sliding across the floor. Kit transformed again just as Baelion brought a fist down where he’d been, cracking the stone. He swooped away in his bird form. Baelion followed in a furious surge of midnight smoke, twining and twisting.

And there, still painted with demonic blood, the chisel glinted at her from across the dais.

Eda gritted her teeth and made a break for it.

The dark torrent above changed course at once, descending on her in a writhing fury. The bird swerved and flew directly into its path. Eda ducked with a yelp as they fell past her, close enough to stir her hair. She heard them crash to the ground. A pained cry. A vicious roar. She dared not look, snatching up the chisel.

Ben grabbed her. “Leave it, Eda.”

“He’s weaker if we destroy the mirror.”