“Jonah!” Olivia screamed. “Look out!”

Chapter Fourteen

Shadeslayer

Jonah swung around, to see shades swarming over the sides of the bridge deck from all directions. They lined the edges of the bridge, cadavers of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of crowding in behind. They encircled him, all rotting flesh and protruding bones, resembling the cast of a high-budget horror movie.

The children crouched and covered their heads with their arms. It looked kind of like a preschool disaster drill. With zombies.

Jonah assumed a fighting stance, but Brendan held up his hand, and the shades settled in place, making no move to attack.

And then, ludicrously, Jonah’s phone buzzed. He looked, and saw that he had a screenful of texts from Alison. Where the hell are you? Swiveling, he took photographs of the shade army and the bridge and texted them back.

“Shadeslayer!”

The voice came from high above him. He looked up, and there, on the rusting framework of the railroad bridge, stood a woman . . . rather, an apparition in the form of a woman, lighting up the entire riverbed. Her garments writhed around her like brilliant vapors, and her arms trailed streamers of light.

“Or would you rather I call you Jonah?”

“You must be Lilith,” Jonah said. “But I still don’t know exactly what you are.”

Unlike the rest of the shades, Lilith did not occupy a corpse, but she didn’t resemble a free shade either. Even to a slayer with an amulet, a free shade looked more like a wraith than a person. But this one was remarkably detailed, fully formed, and stable in outline, with silver-blond hair that rippled past her shoulders.

“I’m a Thorn Hill survivor. Like you. I believe the term you use is ‘shade’?”

“If you’re a survivor, you’re not a shade,” Jonah said.

“Oh, is that how you justify killing us? The excuse that we’re already dead?” Lilith asked. “I’m as alive as you.”

“If you’re fine the way you are, then why are you constantly stealing other people’s bodies?”

“I didn’t say we were fine,” Lilith said. “I said we were alive. I suppose you could say we view bodies as prosthetic devices.”

“Think of Kenzie,” Brendan said. “His body is damaged, but he uses adaptive equipment to interact with the world.”

“Leave Kenzie out of this,” Jonah said.

“Kenzie is in this, whether you like it or not,” Lilith said. “As are you.”

Jonah’s skin prickled. He didn’t like their easy familiarity with details of his life. They were cutting too close to his heart. “Brendan said you have a plan,” he began, eager to change the subject.

“Indeed. That’s why I asked him to fetch you.”

“You brought me here on purpose?” Jonah looked around, at the circle of shades, feeling foolish. The legendary Slayer, Jonah Kinlock, had walked right into a trap.

“Brendan said you were fond of children,” Lilith said. “Given your history as a slayer, I didn’t believe him, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” Jonah said. “What do you want, then? Why am I still alive?”

“I wanted to talk to you about alternatives to this road we’re going down now.”

“I’m listening,” Jonah said.

“We would like to partner with the Anchorage. We’re hoping you can use your persuasive skills to bring Gabriel Mandrake on board, too.”

“If your plan involves killing mainliners, he’ll never sign on for it.”

“Even if he doesn’t, we’re hoping you will,” Brendan said. “We know you and Gabriel don’t always see eye to eye.”

“I still don’t know what your plan is,” Jonah said. “Or what the blood magic is for.”

“And you won’t know until you commit to us,” Lilith said.

“By killing children.”

“Something you seem to be incredibly good at,” Lilith snapped. “How many of us have you killed so far? My own daughter died at Thorn Hill. I’ve been looking for her ever since. But maybe you’ve already killed her.” She paused. “Tell me, Shadeslayer,” she said softly. “What would you do if you ran into Marcie?” Jonah’s palms were sweating, his heart thudding painfully. Lilith seemed to know exactly how to find his open wounds. “I’d want to save her from . . . from this,” he said, gesturing at the assembly of decaying corpses.

“Then we are allies,” Lilith said. “Why do you think I’m doing this? Why are these children . . .” She gestured toward the preschoolers on the bridge. “Why are they more important than my daughter, and your brother and sister?”

“I never said they were.”

Brendan took a step toward Jonah, extending the bottle toward him. “Then do it, Jonah. Take the gloves off. Free these children,” he said. “I’m told that being killed by you is a very pleasant experience.”

“Why do you insist that I murder children?” Jonah asked. “Is this some kind of hazing ritual?”

“This way there’s no turning back,” Lilith said. “We’re trying to help you, but we won’t allow you to keep killing us. All of us have a chance at a new life—except for the ones you finish off. Either join us now, with the body you have, or . . . what’s that term you use? Once you’re freed, you’ll join us anyway.”

“No,” Jonah said.

“Can you at least convince Gabriel to leave us be? To remain neutral in this fight? Negotiate a truce?”

“And in the meantime, you keep on killing mainliners?” Jonah nodded toward the children. “He won’t go for that.”

“These are mostly wizards,” Lilith said. “Why shouldn’t they give back to us, to make up for what they did?”

“I might agree, if you went after those that did the killing,” Jonah said. “These children weren’t even born yet.”

Lilith sighed. “It’s a shame,” she said. “You—by design— are the perfect predator: strong, quick, agile, with exceptionally acute senses and an uncanny beauty that draws people in. Someone with your gifts . . . you would be extremely valuable to the cause.”

Something that Lilith said echoed in Jonah’s ears. By design, she’d said. What did she mean by that?

“And your cause is taking revenge? That’s it?”

“My cause is the survivors of Thorn Hill. The cause that Gabriel tries to claim for his own while he conspires to kill us off. Gabriel has given up, but I have not. I can’t. Just because he has failed doesn’t mean that I will. I’m a much better sorcerer than he will ever be.” Lilith laughed. “You should see your face. Poor Jonah. Gabriel likes to keep you in the dark, doesn’t he?”

That truth vibrated through Jonah like a plucked string.

“One thing I don’t get,” he said. “What do you have against the other guilds? Besides wizards, I mean? We were all mainliners, once.”

Lilith snorted. “They ridiculed those of us who went to Thorn Hill, seeking a better life. Called us misfits and dreamers. When the massacre happened, they said we got what was coming to us. Do you know how many children were slaughtered, right after it happened? That was mainliners who did that. They justified it by calling them monsters.”

“Not all guildlings are like that,” Jonah said. “Many of them contribute to the—”

“Ah, yes,” Lilith said. “They love helping Gabriel’s kids. It makes them feel virtuous. Just don’t show them any of the ugly ones. Tell me this: Do you have any guildling friends? Ever had a mainliner over to your house?” When Jonah said nothing, she laughed. “I thought not. This life is all we have, Shadeslayer. Would you rather we simply dissipate, like a stench on the breeze? I want something better for them . . . for us.” The wind stirred her clothes and hair, so she resembled a goddess in a painting.

Jonah’s gaze swept over Lilith’s shade army. He glanced back at the children, huddled together, whimpering on the bridge.

He turned back toward Lilith. “No,” he said. “Can’t do it.”

“Then we will destroy you,” Lilith said. “Whether you join us or not, you’ll be blamed for the deaths of mainliners. See what kind of justice you’ll get from them.”

She gestured to Brendan. He opened a plastic bag and dumped the contents over the bridge deck. Jonah flung his arms up to protect his head, but there was no need. The contents floated down, all around, littering the cement like flower petals or ashes.

Jonah had no time to investigate, though, because Lilith called out to the waiting army. “Kill the guildlings. Leave the Slayer alone unless he gets in the way. Bring their blood magic to me.” She blinked out.

With a roar and a rattle of bones, the shades attacked.

Jonah charged forward to meet them, his makeshift staff a bright blur in the darkness, knocking down four at a time. They fell in a jumble of bones, some of their limbs still twitching. He had to beat them up into little bits of parts before they left off trying to attack him.

He wished he had Fragarach. A sword was much more efficient when it came to dismemberment. And he needed efficiency, because more shades kept coming, foaming over the edge of the bridge, an army of dead on the move. There was no time to finish them off, only to deprive them of their physical hosts.

They aimed for the children. It took all of Jonah’s strength and speed to intercept them.

“Don’t run!” he shouted desperately. “Don’t go near the edge. That’s what they want.”

Just as he said this, a little boy broke away and ran, screaming, from a corpse that reached bony arms toward him. Jonah just managed to block his way and herd him back to the center. Then he turned and smashed the corpse into five smaller pieces that still jumped and vibrated on the asphalt.

It was a remarkably silent battle, save for the hiss of Jonah’s staff, the whimpering of the children, and the clatter of bones. Like a deadly game of Whac-A-Mole.