I frowned and half turned, my gaze searching the emptiness around me. There was nothing—nothing except the sensation of air recoiling. It wasn’t from Taylor, but rather from something else. Something that was approaching really fast.
Then I remembered that Taylor could alter the way I saw the astral plane.
I ducked and flung Amaya upward. She connected with something so hard the force of it reverberated down my arm and made imaginary teeth rattle.
White ash, she screamed. Hate!
White ash was used by witches to repel all manner of darkness, demons included—which meant that Taylor knew what my sword was.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I dropped her away from the invisible ash staff and scrambled backward. Taylor laughed, an eerie sound that came out of the emptiness surrounding me.
I didn’t bother hanging around to see what he was going to do next, but lunged forward, using the tremor of recoiling air as a guide as I attempted to slice him in half. Azriel might have said it wasn’t actually possible to do that on this level of the astral plane, but I had hurt him last time I’d called Amaya into action, so it was worth a shot.
It was a shot that proved futile, because her blade hit nothing but air. I paused, Amaya held at the ready, my gaze searching the immediate area as I tried yet again to pinpoint his position.
And in doing so, I realized the beach was different. It was fading. Or rather, a fog was devouring it—the same sort of fog that had greeted me when I’d first stepped onto the plane. But why? What advantage did it give him when I couldn’t see him now under the fierce sunshine I’d imagined?
The thought died as awareness prickled my skin.
He was behind me.
I raised Amaya and spun around. Caught a glimpse of Taylor’s wickedly pointed staff swooping toward me before the fog whisked him from sight. I lunged forward, under his blow, attempting to skewer him with Amaya’s point. Once again I stabbed nothing but air. I swore and caught my balance. Felt the wash of movement against my skin and jumped back.
But nowhere near fast enough.
Taylor’s staff whacked my left arm with such force that it knocked me sideways. The pain of the blow reverberated through every fiber, as sharp and as real as if I was wearing flesh. Warm stickiness flowed from the impact point and I glanced down quickly. There was no blood, no indication that I’d even been hit, nor should there have been since I wasn’t here physically.
And yet the blood still flowed.
Imagination, I reminded myself fiercely. He was playing with my mind.
The fog crept over the remnants of my beach, obliterating it completely. Again I had to wonder why. Was it something to do with his blindness in real life? Did he think the fog gave him some advantage over me? It wasn’t as if he didn’t already have enough of those—The thought stopped as I suddenly realized what he was doing.
Taylor wanted me dead, and to do that he had to get me up into the umbra. He had no idea how skilled or not I was at astral traveling, so he was using the fog not only to disguise his movements, but to hide which level we were on.
I swished my sword back and forth. The fog boiled away from her flames, and I caught a glimpse of Taylor moving to my left. I imagined standing behind him, unseen, unheard. Moved in an instant, and swept Amaya left to right. Made contact, though where or what I hit I couldn’t say. It could have been Taylor; it could have been his staff. He made no sound to give me any indication either way.
Yet the smell of blood suddenly seemed to permeate the air.
His or mine?
And how was something like that even possible, given that Azriel had said a soul could be killed only in the umbra?
Killed, yes, a voice inside me whispered—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Azriel’s—but remember Adeline’s warning. What happens to you on the plane can become reality if the illusion is powerful enough.
Taylor’s illusion was certainly powerful enough.
To repeat a favorite phrase, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Which meant it really was time to stop playing the game his way. I needed to start moving up the levels, but I doubted he’d follow easily. He wanted to play, and I very much suspected he’d want me far weaker—bloodied and bleeding and on the edge of exhaustion—before he stepped onto the umbra and attempted to finish me off.
I had to convince him that I’d reached that state—that I was scared and on the run—long before I actually reached that point. And that meant I had to take far more blows than I already had.
Not something I really wanted to do, but I had little choice.
I gripped Amaya a bit tighter. Her hissing ramped up a couple of notches, an echo of the tension that gripped me. I swung her back and forth and watched the recoiling fog, trying to catch another glimpse of Taylor. For several heartbeats there was nothing; then air caressed my skin.