"Temper, temper," I said through my teeth.
"Aren't mood swings a sign of early senility?" Derek's strained voice said from beyond.
The awesome pressure ebbed for an instant and I gathered my magic, summoning every reserve I had. Strike against the kid, Nate. Strike so I can kill you.
The pressure fell abruptly and I was hurled back from a long black tunnel into the real world. Nataraja backed off, sensing the danger. Damn it.
I glanced at Derek. His face looked bloodless. His hands clenched into fists.
Nataraja was once again playing an amused host.
"I see you brought a pet," he said.
"He talks like you." One day, his face promised. One day we'll settle this.
"My bad habits rubbing off." Any time.
A whisper announced a new arrival. Pulisic came through the arched doors, carrying a briefcase and wearing khaki pants and a black T-neck sweater. He looked so absurd against the backdrop of Nataraja's vulgar throne room that I almost laughed.
