𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓭

Chapter 8

Silas held onto the rune-structure he'd called around the demon with all his will and both

hands. Somewhere behind him was Darien, who'd given everything he had— and maybe more

— to power this spell. Silas ached to have one second, one instant, to turn and make sure

Darien was all right, but banishing a demon was like trying to hold onto a greased pig, if the

pig was on fire and could kill you. If he slacked off for a millisecond, they'd all be dead.

The demon pushed at the spell surrounding it, probing with little tendrils and heavier

blasts of power, looking for a weak spot. For now, it was still animating Crosby's corpse. Its

balefire gleaming behind a man's dead eyes made Silas shudder but he kept control of his

runes.

It's trapped. Open the hellgate.

He reached inside his containment spell and tweaked the runes that would thin the barrier.

A necromancer's true power lay there, in the walls between worlds. He pushed more energy

into his Gate, feeling the strain drag through his muscles and speed his breathing. The barrier

thinned, stretched, then popped like a soap-bubble tearing wide across the containment wall

to wall. A rush of dark energy came through, spattering up against Silas's walls.

The demon shed Crosby's body like a snake's skin to stand clothed in flame. "You fool.

You've made me stronger."

There was no way to avoid that. He could only hope his barriers held. He raised one hand,

visualized the rune-structure in his mind and began closing his fingers. Slowly, inch by inch,

the walls around the demon closed in.

The demon threw a blast of energy that slammed into the barrier on all sides. The spell was

built to withstand that. Silas's fingers and arm ached, but he closed down tighter. A second

lightning-bolt scorched a single spot, trying to burn though. The heat seared his ring finger,

but he ignored it. Close up. Smaller. By my will, I command it.

The walls narrowed until the demon could put out both hands and touch them. Now Silas

could feel it in his palm, the squirming, wriggling, pressing fight as the demon struggled to

test his grip.

"I will not be constrained!" the demon shouted. "I am Azimothandurin!" A vast rippling

wave of force hit the barrier around it, each syllable a harder blow.

Silas staggered, barely holding on, stunned by the number of syllables, a measure of the

demon's power. But it's desperate enough to conjure by its name, and let me hear it. He

forced his hand tighter. "By your name, Azimothandurin, I banish you." He wove the name

into the runes in his head. His fingers moved an inch closer together.

"You can't." The demon's arms were pressed close to its sides now, the walls closing in on it.

Its body blocked the gap, so the fear of another demon using the breach to escape was