My trench coat settled over the victim’s legs, and I could see his eyes were blind—filmed with gray. A fine tracery of overloaded veins crawled away from the corners of his eyes, right where laugh lines should be. They were gray as well, pulsing as if thin threads of mercury were running under his skin.

Now that was interesting.

Let’s see what we’re dealing with here, shall we? I leaned down, examining him closely, my gaze avoiding his blindness. My aura quivered, sea-urchin spikes almost visible, my blue eye turning hot and dry.

The victim kept twisting against the restraints. I shifted my weight, the cot groaning. Waited. The blind eyes wandered, back and forth in random arcs. He didn’t respond to my nearness, which could have meant anything.

Seconds ticked by. Avery was breathing high and hard, tension spreading out from him in waves. Saul was a quietness by the door, watching. I settled, my heartbeat picking up just a little. I forgot what I smelled like, crouching there, my attention narrowing to stillness.

The mirror jabbed forward just as his gray-filmed eyes wandered across the precise, unavoidable point in space that would force him to look at himself. The reflection caught and held, my blue eye straining to pierce layers of etheric interference—like fine-tuning a radio dial to catch the familiar bars of an old song—and I caught a glimpse of it before the mirror’s surface disintegrated with a sharp horrified sound and the bed itself heaved and bucked three different ways at once.

The mirror went flying, jerked from my grip; restraints creaked and the bed jolted. I moved quick as a striking snake, my hellbreed-strong right hand flashing to close around the victim’s throat as leather groaned, restraining a force it was never meant to bear. The chanting rose, the victim’s mouth loose and sloppy, and I knew what I had hold of.