She didn’t have time to watch what happened next. She dove for Silas, falling to her knees beside him. Her hands roved over the chains that bound his wrists behind his back, encircled his chest, his waist, his legs. Wherever they touched his bare skin, they left raw, steaming welts. He stirred beneath her touch, but didn’t seem in full command of his senses. Her heart skipped a beat when his cuffs rode up, exposing blackened marks on both sides of his arms, as though they had been impaled on an iron spike.

No matter how frantically she searched, she couldn’t find a weak spot, a join, or even a lock holding the links in place. It was as though the chains had wrapped themselves around his body and seamlessly fused together.

Silas drew in a labored breath. “Miss Scrivener,” he rasped. “Behind you.”

Elisabeth spun. An elegant figure was draped over the rail, leaning against an arbor lush with late-blooming roses. A stray beam of moonlight revealed leisurely fingers dangling from a knee, their lacquered claws the color of blood. The rest remained indistinct, veiled by blossoms and shadows, but Elisabeth knew who this was, even before she spoke.

“Do you take my master for a fool?” Lorelei’s voice dripped with satisfaction. “He would not leave Silas unguarded. Though I confess, I enjoyed watching you struggle.”

Elisabeth raised Demonslayer between them. Nearby there came the crack of Nathaniel’s whip, and shortly afterward a choked-off cry of pain. She couldn’t tell whether it had belonged to Ashcroft, or Nathaniel. She didn’t dare take her eyes from Lorelei.

“Lay down your sword, darling,” the demon said. “We don’t have to fight. If you surrender yourself, my master will take you back. You’ve already had a taste of how well he treats his guests. New gowns every evening, chests full of jewels, and as many plum dumplings as your heart desires. Doesn’t that sound tempting?”

“No,” Elisabeth said. “He would use me to reach Prendergast, and then he would kill me.”

Silk slithered against stone as Lorelei slid from the railing and emerged into the moonlight. She wore an obsidian dress that shone with jeweled undertones, like a starling’s feathers. The flickering green of Nathaniel’s sorcery, intertwined with the gold of Ashcroft’s, reflected in the depths of her crimson eyes.

“Not now that he understands your value,” she breathed, her gaze fixed hungrily on Elisabeth’s face. “A girl who can resist magic—how special. Just imagine how useful you could be to him: able to see through any illusion, impervious to the influence of demons. That will be an advantage in the coming days.” A smile curved her scarlet lips. “And if you stood at his side, he would reward you. I promise.”

“What do you mean, the coming days?” Elisabeth shifted her hold on Demonslayer, and felt sweat slicking the pommel. “What does Ashcroft want from Prendergast?”

“Oh, dear.” Lorelei’s lips curved in an enigmatic smile. “Did I say too much?”

It was no use listening to demons, Elisabeth told herself. They were liars. Deceivers. Untrustworthy to the core.

Except when they weren’t.

A scraping sound came from behind her: Silas attempting, in vain, to rise. She adjusted her stance, putting herself between him and Lorelei.

“What are you doing?” Lorelei’s eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle out Elisabeth’s actions. Shock registered on her face, followed by dawning delight. “You foolish girl! You care for him!”

Elisabeth answered not with words, but with her sword. Demonslayer’s edge whistled through the air, passing within a hairsbreadth of Lorelei’s stomach as she took a dancing step backward, her long black hair streaming around her.

“This is even better than I had imagined,” she said, alight with glee. “Silas doesn’t return your tender feelings, you know. You will understand that one day.”

Elisabeth swung again and again, relentlessly driving Lorelei back against the railing. The demon laughed, a tinkling, rapturous sound, as she dodged each strike. She was baiting Elisabeth, toying with her. But not for long. She underestimated the strength of Elisabeth’s resolve—and the next moment she gasped, her hand flying to her cheek. She stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at Elisabeth. A single rivulet of blood trickled out from beneath her fingers. Demonslayer had cut her face.

And now, its point rested at the hollow of her throat.

From this angle, Elisabeth could see the other battle raging across the pavilion. Black streaks charred the marble where Nathaniel’s whip had scored the ground. Both men were out of breath, but still standing. Relief flooded her. Although Nathaniel’s sleeve had been sliced open, and his collar clung to his neck with sweat, he didn’t appear injured. Above the unraveling cravat, his face was a mask: fixed with concentration, dark hair tangled, his eyes and the streak at his temple the same shade of lucent silver.

His whip snaked out again, the tongue of emerald flame licking toward Ashcroft, who struck the spell aside, then cried out and fell to one knee, catching himself with his demonic hand.

The strike had been a feint. While Ashcroft had been focused on Nathaniel’s whip, the rose vines climbing across the balustrade had come to life and lashed themselves around his ankle. When he moved to tear through them with his claws, more vines snapped out, binding his wrist. The thorns squeezed tighter, pulling his arm taut. Grimly, Nathaniel advanced.

Demonslayer rested at Lorelei’s throat, unfaltering. A heartbeat passed. And then, impossibly, Lorelei was no longer there.

Elisabeth stumbled forward. She whirled around. Lorelei stood balanced on the railing several yards away, petals swirling in the breeze created by her preternatural speed. As Elisabeth watched with a sense of dawning horror, Lorelei brought her fingers to her lips and whistled.

An answering growl echoed across the pavilion. Elisabeth ducked just in time. The arbor exploded as though struck by a cannon, spraying torn blossoms and slivers of painted wood in every direction. A fiend hurtled past her and skidded to a stop on the marble, shaking loose the leaves tangled in its horns. Then it exhaled a steaming breath and fixed its red eyes on Elisabeth. Several more fiends loped up the stairs, bone and sinew rippling beneath their scales.

She spun, trying to anticipate which of the demons would attack first. She aimed Demonslayer first at one target, then another, the sword’s point wavering with desperation. She couldn’t face the fiends and Lorelei at the same time.

Seeing Elisabeth cornered, Nathaniel paled. He hesitated midincantation. This was the reaction Ashcroft had been waiting for.

Time seemed to slow as a seam of golden light appeared in the air in front of Ashcroft, and as he thrust himself into it, through it, vanishing from the place he had knelt to appear behind Nathaniel instead. The vines that had bound him unraveled to the ground like cut ropes.

Nathaniel turned. Elisabeth screamed. Ashcroft’s clawed hand swept through the air, each talon as long as a knife. The blow struck with enough force to knock Nathaniel a step backward.

At first Nathaniel appeared unharmed, and Elisabeth entertained the mad hope that the blow had somehow missed him. He wore an expression of surprise, almost puzzlement. Then he stumbled back another step. He looked down, where spots had appeared here and there on his shirt, small at first, but spreading, blooming like poppies, soaking through the fabric until his entire chest was slick and red. The whip in his hand fizzled out. He dropped to his knees.