Like a breeze, I said to myself. Like a breeze. Maybe I was no longer immune to glamour, but I was still stubborn. Those words became my mantra, and I repeated them over and over as the barrage continued.
As suddenly as it had begun, the magic dissipated. In apparent shock that he hadn’t managed to move me, Julien had dropped the glamour, stepped back.
I opened my eyes again, breathed deeply, and found his magic had fouled the air with bitterness.
“Bitch,” he said, chest heaving from the effort. “You bitch. I own you, just like I own him.”
“I’m not a bitch for saying no, Julien. You’re just an asshole.”
Fury rolled across his face. “I am Balthasar.”
“You are Julien Burrows.”
We both glanced back, found Ethan behind us. His expression was utterly blank, but his body was primed and ready for battle.
“You bastard,” Julien said.
“I’m not,” Ethan said. “And as Merit explained, we already know who you are. We know the Circle is paying for you to be here. We know about the Memento Mori, your time with them. And we know about Reed.”
To his credit, Julien took a step back, breathed deeply, and reassessed. He’d been discovered, his lies realized, and he looked to be considering his next steps.
“He talked about you often,” Julien said. “How he loved you. How you were his proudest creation. How you’d betrayed him. He knew that—that you’d betrayed him. That you’d given him up to the relatives of the woman he’d fucked.” His smile was reptilian. “He never said her name. Just called her ‘the girl.’ She was human,” he said, as if the implication was obvious—that, her being human, her name wasn’t worth remembering.
“But he mentioned you frequently,” Julien continued. “Your betrayal. His capture and torture. The fact that Cadogan House should have been his. That it certainly shouldn’t have been held by a deceiver. So I’ll do what you failed to do—protect your Master—and I’ll take it back for him.”
“You won’t,” Ethan said, then casually removed his jacket, tossed it aside, began to roll up his sleeves. “But would you like to try it?”
“I have power you can’t imagine.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
Julien belted out his glamour again, its claws snatching like rabid animals. Catcher and Canon were fond of repeating that vampires didn’t really make magic, we only spilled it. It was just a byproduct of who and what we were. Glamour, by that theory, was a fluke.
But this was no fluke. It was powerful and unrelenting, and it demanded an answer.
Julien might have managed to glamour Ethan the first time around, but this time Ethan had known it was coming, and he was prepared. And he wasn’t exactly a psychic slouch. His expression was mild, but he let his own glamour spread, clean and bright and sharp as newly honed steel.
Their magicks mixed, mingled, flowed through each other like two storms meeting, growing as their energies collided, burst, spilled tingling ions into the air. Julien growled in frustration, screamed as his magic erupted forward again. Sweat beaded across Ethan’s face, but he pushed back with his own glamour, a swell that flooded forward over Julien’s and slowed its surge.
They pushed their magicks back and forth until their clothes were damp with effort, until their faces streamed with sweat, until the air vibrated with power, drawing a crowd that gathered on the edges of the carefully sculpted grounds to watch the battle.
No, vampire magic was no fluke, and these men were masters of the craft.
A fountain of sparks followed another volley, and Ethan paused to wipe sweat from his brow.
“I believe we’ve reached a stalemate,” Ethan said. “If you really want to fight me, you’ll have to fight me with muscle, not show.”
“I resent that remark,” Catcher muttered through the earpiece.
“Fine by me,” Julien said, and pulled off his jacket, tossed it aside. “I will destroy you with my own bare hands.”
Ethan’s answering smile was fierce. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”
They faced each other, Julien’s chill against Ethan’s fire.
Julien ran forward like a raging animal, aiming low for Ethan’s waist and torso, clearly intent on throwing him to the ground. But he’d foreshadowed the move, giving Ethan time to prepare. Ethan set his feet, spread his weight, and when Julien hit him, redirected the force upward, throwing Julien’s body over his head.
Julien managed to land on his feet, looked back at Ethan with silvered eyes and gleaming fangs. He used his superspeed and rushed forward, a blur of black silk and wool. And then the sound of flesh and flesh connecting, and Ethan’s answering grunt.
His head snapped back from the force of Julien’s blow, blood spraying through the air.
I jumped to my feet, lurching forward until Jeff’s voice resonated in my ear.
“This is his fight, Merit.”
I looked up, found his face in the crowd, his expression solemn and somehow older than his years. “He fights for his honor,” he said, “and for yours. Let him fight it on his own.”
Ethan spat blood, wiped a smear of it from his face, and stared Julien down with swirling silver eyes.
This, I realized, was the closure he hadn’t gotten. The fight he’d never been able to have with Balthasar, might never get to. At least he’d get closure here.
I nodded to Jeff, took a step backward. Sometimes I had to let Ethan fight his own battles.