Wil’s fist slammed against the side of the pyre’s platform. The singed wood cracked and crumbled under his knuckles, and he ignored the bite of pain as the skin split.

The smoke had begun to clear, as well as the fire. The blaze was surely magic—it had burned longer and hotter than any fire Wil had seen.

Godsdamned witch. Not only had she matched his skill in combat, but she’d managed to escape both him and Dixon. Two trained Venandi should have been able to take down one witch.

Dixon crouched down to pick up a bit of shrapnel left behind from the pyre. It fell to ash between his fingers. He wiped his hands clean and stood, turning to Wil.

Wil paced in front of the seared pyre, his hands white-knuckled on his hips. Godsdammit, he signed. We almost had her.

Dixon shook his head. “Aye.”

We need to find her, Wil signed. His face was twisted in anger, his expression dark. He hadn’t seen where she went, but he picked a direction and began to storm off.

Dixon stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Hold on, mate,” he said. “The woman just got the best o’ both of us. We have no idea where she went, let alone if she’s workin’ with others.”

Wil glowered at his friend. I’ll tear the city apart if I have to.

“I ken it better than ye think,” Dixon said carefully. “But we havtae be careful about it.”

Wil’s eyes drifted closed, and he counted to ten in his head. Dixon was right, of course. They needed to prepare better if they hoped to catch the Ghost. His rage finally cooled a little, and he opened his eyes to see his friend waiting patiently.

“I’ll see what my birds can gather on her,” Dixon said. “Give me a few days at most.”

Wil nodded. Thank you, he signed. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. I’ve got to tell my father what happened here.

Dixon frowned. “If he hasno’ heard about it already,” he said. “He willnae be happy.”

No, he won’t.

*

“What?”

The king whirled on Wil, his face red and his teeth gritted.

Wil stood at attention, his hands folded behind his back as he fought the urge to run from the throne room. The ceiling was high and vaulted, tall pillars lining the room on either side to create a wide concourse. The king’s voice echoed in the hall, and Wil was grateful he couldn’t hear his father’s sharp snarls.

“How in the hells could you have let this happen?”

Wil shook his head. I’m sorry, he signed. She’s more powerful than I anticipated.

The king rolled his eyes. “You’re a trained Venandi,” he snapped. “You should be able to take down one godsdamned witch!”

I know that, Father—

“And yet you failed,” Lysander snapped, stepping close to Wil. “What are you going to do about it?”

Wil’s jaw worked. Dixon is gathering information on her, he signed. We’ll find her again and catch her the next time.

Lysander frowned. “For your sake, I hope you do,” he snapped. “I want that witch found and brought here alive.”

Wil nodded. I will, Father. I swear it.

Lysander cleared his throat and straightened the lapels of his embroidered jacket. “Good. Now go.”

With that, Wil was dismissed. He turned to leave the throne room, staring at his feet as he walked. He thrust his hands into his pockets, clenching his jaw so hard he feared he might crack a tooth.

The Ghost’s crooked smirk flashed in his mind, her blue and brown eyes glinting in the light of the fire, and rage flared in him again. It made his blood heat in his veins.

And though he didn’t want to admit it, there was something about her that… impressed him. She was cocky, to be sure, but powerful. Effervescent.

Something in his veins sang to her. Something in his very bones.

It terrified him.