Kirilli’s a natural coward, but he came good when we last fought the demons in their own universe. He was a hero that day, surprising even himself. He hasn’t been called into action too often since, but has handled himself capably when required. I think he’s over the worst of his cowardice, though he’ll never be an out-and-out warrior.

I push the door open. Kernel is smiling at whatever tall tale Kirilli’s spinning. The pair have become good friends. Kirilli helps Kernel forget about his missing eyes. I should really set the Disciple more demanding tasks—he’s too important to waste on babysitting duties—but guilt over what I did to Kernel stays my hand.

There’s a growl to my left. It’s Larry, crouched in the corner. I leave one of my most trusted werewolves with Kernel whenever I’m not around. Officially they’re here to protect him. But the truth—as Kernel knows—is that I don’t trust my blind companion. I’m afraid he’ll create a pair of eyes when a window is open and slip away. Larry’s instructions—hammered into him with difficulty—are to watch over Kernel and disable him if the teenager ever starts fiddling with his sockets.

Kernel and Kirilli glance up when Larry growls. Kernel’s expression instantly changes, even though he can’t see me. I guess the smell gives me away.

“Here comes our triumphant general,” Kernel sneers. “Kill many demons today, Grubbs? Blind any of them?”

“How is he?” I ask Kirilli, ignoring the taunts.

“Blind!” Kernel snaps before the Disciple can answer. “In agony. A doctor had a look at me earlier, before the window opened. Infection has set in. I used magic to clean it—carefully, so as not to arouse my guard’s suspicions—but the rot will return. I’ll probably drop dead of some disease of the brain any day now. Give me back my eyes, you son of a wolfen hound!”