I hung back at the edge of the crowd as I waited for the site to be declared a crime scene. I’d told Tamara what I found before I cal ed John. The revelation that there was a body—or real y, part of one—on the scene garnered a low groan from her, but she rol ed her shoulders back and went to talk to the officer in charge.
John had been at home when I cal ed him, but by the time I finished tel ing him where I was, what I’d sensed, and what Lusa had uncovered, he’d already been on a second line, waking up a judge for his warrant. He, the warrant, and cadaver dogs were on their way. Now al that was left was to wait.
A scream rang through the darkness and the crowd around me went silent as dozens of heads turned toward the sound. I couldn’t see the screamer, but the voice was masculine, though pained, and distant. One of the skimmers? I squinted even though I knew I had no chance of spotting him—after my brush with the land of the dead under the bridge, the shadows were even darker.
“What happened?” someone beside me asked.
“Not sure,” another said.
“Can we get closer?” asked a third.
That question seemed to reflect the sentiment of the entire crowd. Shoulders brushed against mine and a hot hand pressed into my back as people shoved forward. The crowd surged toward the fence, carrying me along with it as everyone jockeyed for a better view.
Somewhere ahead of me the scream mutated into a ful throated howl of pain, and suddenly I could see. Not from ful throated howl of pain, and suddenly I could see. Not from a spontaneous reversal of years of damage, though until that moment I would have said that possibility was only slightly less likely than spontaneous combustion from magical overload. No, I could see because one of the skimmers ignited, the blaze casting the scene in grim light.
The flame engulfed the man in a single heartbeat, the raw Aetheric energy he’d gathered acting as fuel for the unnatural fire. It il uminated the group of skimmers surrounding the tear, splashing them in color as the fire spit out sparks of green, purple, and red.
I’d heard that drawing too much Aetheric energy could burn up a witch from the inside out, but the few cases of overload I knew of had resulted in madness or the inability to access the Aetheric after overexposure. I’d never heard of anyone actual y combusting.
The skimmer’s scream broke, his voice hoarse from his howls. He flailed, but the other skimmers never looked away from the rift. They didn’t even appear to notice their burning companion.
“Let me through,” a woman wearing an official OMIH tag yel ed as she charged the gate. A second official flanked her. “We can help.”
A contingent of Bel ’s guards blocked the entrance, but the redheaded lawyer threw out his arms, motioning the guards to move.
“Get that gate open. Let them through,” he yel ed at the guards, and then to the OMIH officials he cal ed, “Hurry.”
The two officials and the lawyer ran for the burning skimmer. Forming a semicircle around the man, they pul ed the raw magic brimming under his skin, drawing it out and dispersing it harmlessly into the air. I cracked my shields.
Different planes of existence snapped into focus before my eyes, making the night around me both crystal clear despite the darkness and almost too chaotic to perceive.
The skimmers glowed with mottled light. Most witches resonated with only one or two colors of Aetheric energy, resonated with only one or two colors of Aetheric energy, but the skimmers had been drawing down every wisp of raw magic that had escaped the rift. They swel ed with a noxious mix of magic, each quite possibly in danger of being the next to ignite.
The skimmer who had ignited dimmed as the witches drew the magic from him. The Aetheric flames died as his broken scream faded to wracking cries. But it looked like he’d be okay.
Until the soul col ector appeared behind him.
“Too late,” I whispered.
The witches didn’t know that yet, though. They continued drawing and dissipating the magic, their faces cut with hard lines of concentration and their shoulders stiff. Then the col ector I’d first seen in Lusa’s footage reached forward, his hand passing through the skimmer.
The skimmer’s knees locked, his face freezing in a silent scream as sound failed him. His body col apsed facefirst, the empty husk crumpling to the ground. His soul remained standing upright, caught in the col ector’s fist. Anytime I’d seen Death or the other col ectors take a soul, they pul ed it free and then flicked their wrist and the soul went wherever it was souls went. This col ector didn’t.