Page 108 of Roguefinder

On the table, Caleb frowned.

Carlo thumped his fist against his chest. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. His jaw worked. He tried to speak and ended up wheezing.

Then he clawed at his throat. His face went tight with frustration.

And fear.

“What about Caleb?” I pressed. “How does stealing werewolf blood bring back your wife? Did you discover that magic, too?”

“Not—” Carlo managed, coughing. Red climbed up his neck. “I made— Bargain—” He gagged.

“Signore!” Alonzo cried, springing toward him.

Carlo’s knees folded, one hand grabbing at a rolling tray and missing. He crashed to the ground, taking the tray with him. Metal instruments spilled over the stones. His legs jerked, and his face turned purple.

A charge built in the air like a storm gathering. It pressed against my eardrums. The taste of copper covered my tongue.

Carlo’s body burst into flames.

Alonzo scrambled backward, knocking into a table as he went. A candelabra tipped over, and candles tumbled onto a blue paper napkin. It caught fire, the edges curling at once.

Distant shouts filtered from behind the door.

Carlo burned on the ground, his clothes melting from his body. The pet with the buzz cut raced to the door and flung it open.

“Fire!” someone screamed outside. Crashing sounds followed, and smoke rolled into the operating room. Something was burning outside. But how?

Alonzo and the pet looked at each other. They bolted from the room.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Release us!”

But they were gone, their footsteps already fading. Screams and sounds of chaos poured into the operating room. More smoke rolled inside and curled around dead monitors and the IV pole with its empty, waiting bag.

On the table, Caleb’s eyes were wide with terror. “Jesse! What do we do?”

Carlo burned on the floor. The screams outside grew louder. Fire spread from his body and licked at the operating table’s legs.

No.

Caleb was not dying here. Not in this room, not in this city, not in this century.

I gathered every scrap of strength left in my body, braced my heels against the wall, and tugged at my right arm.

“Jesse?” Caleb lifted his head. “Jesse, what are you doing?”

I roared—and pulled.

The manacle didn’t give.

My wrist did.

Pain. Terrible and absolute. It snatched my vision and stole my breath. Blackness swam toward me in a hot, thick wave. For a second, I almost let it pull me under. But a scent hit my lungs.

Apples and chocolate.

Caleb.

MINE.