Michael’s eyes were busy, roaming left and right, looking for Nicodemus. He turned so that I could see the wound. It was a thrust, narrow but deep. There wasn’t an inordinate amount of blood staining the leg of his jeans, and I didn’t think it had gone into the artery.

“What happened there?” I asked. “Is he gone?”

“I’m . . . I’m not sure . . . ,” Michael said. “I’ve never seen him forced to run before.”

“We should finish him.”

“Agreed,” Michael said. “How? He just flew away.”

“Gimme a minute,” I said, and felt myself baring my teeth in a grin. “How does the leg feel?”

“I’ve had worse,” Michael said, his voice strained. He shifted his weight, testing the leg, and made a hissing sound—but it supported his weight. “Only a flesh wound.”

“Yeah,” I said. “’Tis but a scratch. Come on, ya pansy.”

He blinked and looked at me. “Pansy?”

“Oh,” I said. “You weren’t quoting the movie. Sorry.”

“Movie?”

“Holy Grail?”

“Nicodemus still has it.”

I sighed. “Never mind.”

From the other side of the amphitheater, there was a roar of collapsing stone, and I looked up in time to see a couple of sets of Corinthian columns falling, to the accompaniment of Ursiel’s furious roars.

“So,” Michael said, “to be clear, Grey is on our side?”

“Yeah. I hired him before this started.”

“But he killed Miss Valmont!”

“No, he didn’t,” I said. “He lied to Nicodemus. She must be outside the vault somewhere, waiting for us.”

Michael looked nonplussed. “Oh. Still. I don’t care for the man.”

“Hey, we’re alive right now.”

“True,” he said. He drew a deep breath. “And if he’s kept faith with you, we should help him.”

Just then, Ursiel went up on its hind legs. Grey was still in that same monstrous form, and still hanging on. The Genoskwa’s physical eyes were a bloody ruin, but Ursiel’s glowing green orbs were furious and bright. The giant bear-thing roared, a sound guaranteed to haunt my nightmares, should I live long enough to have any, and toppled over backward, into another Corinthian column, attempting to smash Grey upon it. They went down with another huge crash and a spray of glittering gems. The sound of the impact was . . . just freaking huge. The kind of noise you associate with the demolition of buildings, not with a brawl.

I swallowed. “Yeah. I guess we sh . . .”

I paused, as cold that had nothing to do with the movement of molecules crawled up my spine.

I knew the feeling. I’d gotten the sensation before, when surrounded by hostilespecters, back when I’d been mostly dead. It was a creepy, thoroughly nasty sensation that gathered around them like body heat.

Which might not be a big deal in the physical world. Specters often could not interact with the material realm, or could do so only in specific and limited ways. But we weren’t in the physical world. This was the Nevernever, the Underworld, and down here spiritual forms would be every bit as real and as deadly as physical foes—actually, much more so.

In fact, given how many truly horrible monsters the various Greek heroes had slain, Hades might have a very, very nasty crew of guardians indeed. The guy might, in fact, be the only one in the universe who could actually give the order “Release the kraken.” But why would they be coming toward us? I mean, the guy had wished me well. Sure, he hadn’t interfered, but . . .

I looked up at the moving lips on the statues and winced. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” Michael asked.

“I think we’ve tripped some kind of automatic fail-safe,” I said. “I think there’s a load of dangerous spirits on their way toward us right now.”

“Then we should leave.”

“Posthaste. Let’s go get Grey and boogie.”

We both turned and started moving toward Grey—Michael’s best speed was a trot—but I hadn’t gotten a dozen steps before a cry of pure fury rose up behind me.

“Dresden!” howled Lasciel through Ascher’s mouth. I looked back to see a form rising up from the small inferno consuming the garment display, violet glowing eyes blazing. She planted her feet and seemed to inhale—and the flames all around her suddenly burned low, and blazed the same ugly shade of purple as her eyes. The smell of brimstone filled the air.

“Oh, crap,” I breathed.

And then a lance of pure Hellfire roared toward me.

Forty-six

There was no time to think. I ran on instinct.

I couldn’t shield a blast of flame infused with Hellfire, the demonic version of soulfire. Hellfire enormously increased the destructive potential of magic. When Lasciel’s shadow had been inside me, I’d used it. If I’d had my last shield bracelet, I might have parried most of it, but even that wouldn’t have been enough to stop it cold.

Couldn’t counter it with Winter. If I flung ice out to stop the fire, they would form steam, and the Hellfire would flow right into that, and continue on its way. Same result, only I’d be steam-cooked instead of roasted.

Once or twice in my life, I’d been able to open a Way in front of me, fast enough to divert an incoming attack away from me, into the Nevernever or out into somewhere else in the mortal world. But from here, in the secured vault, there was no way I was going to be able to open a Way—not until I got back out beyond the first gate again.