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The demon opens its mouth, drawing in a great breath of air as Ashur’s force magic shoves it roughly toward the magister. That breath comes out in a deafening bellow as it rushes forward, piggish red eyes fixed on the magister’s bright robes and glittering gold decorations. Perfect!

Dorian, who is never content to leave well enough alone, pops up from his incredibly unsubtle hiding place in the bushes and tosses a casual taunt the demon’s way, just enough to really make it angry—and, when the evil mage is thoroughly occupied with self-defense, you snatch Tarquin by the heavy fabric of his collar and run.

The last thing you hear as you race through the gardens is the magister screaming. He’s almost as loud as the demon’s roars.

“Let’s get back to headquarters,” Ashur pants. “I’ll notify the Magisterium to come and retrieve whatever’s left of him in the morning.”

“And the demon,” Tarquin adds, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“And the demon,” Ashur agrees.

• THE END.