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... otice. His fingers — he had seven on each hand — tightened a fraction, and the ensuing groan of stressed metal and pressure against my lungs made me go still. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.

We did not have to wait long. It began with a bubbling sound, like a pot left on too long. It came from the altar’s basin. Chamael studied the stone bowl a moment, then approached it while still holding me. He moved by gliding, his bird-like foot hovering just off the ground and his four wings dr ...

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