Archive of Our Own

There was a sharp chill in the evening air as Phil and Clint walked away from the subway stop, towards the library. It made their breath steam, and Phil noticed that Clint was hunching his shoulders and trying to bury his entire face in the scarf wrapped around his neck. When this was over, they needed to talk about demon-human hybrids and winter. If Clint was used to the kind of heat that had almost made Phil faint in Hell, it was no wonder he was cold all the time.

The street was busier than usual. It was only after the third bag of pointy-edged shopping caught Phil's legs that he realised why: Christmas was coming and people were shopping hard.

Phil brushed past another shopper laden with brightly coloured bags, suppressing a wince as something in her bag bounced off his thigh. He usually did all his shopping online. It was easy to forget that some people hadn't embraced technology and still did it the hard way.

"Too many civilians," Clint said.

Phil only nodded and forged ahead, sighing with relief when the familiar facade of the library came into view. Every window was blazing with light, even though it was their early closing night and the upper floors should have been in darkness. Whatever Fury was up to, it was big.

At least if he died without ever getting past second base with Clint, it wouldn't be in a tiny, pointless skirmish. Or, that's what he tried to tell himself, anyway.

It didn't help much. They'd been so close. If he'd ignored his phone for a few more minutes, there would definitely have been sex. Really amazing sex, he was sure of it. Clint's tail alone had been doing things that would have made the sex pretty fantastic, and the rest of Clint...

Phil shut that thought down firmly. They were going to get out of whatever Fury was about to throw down, alive, and then they were going to have sex. A lot of sex.

He was going to have sex with a demon.

A part demon. A demon-human hybrid. Was the species really that important, though? He was going to have Clint, in his bed, making more of those amazing noises he'd barely had a taste of, and then they'd figure out how to make everything else work to keep Clint there for the rest of their lives.

They just needed to survive whatever was going to happen next.

Phil took the steps up to the main entrance in two long bounds, but he hesitated at the door, looking back. Clint was still standing in the street, oblivious to the irritated tutting from shoppers forced to divert around him.

"Why aren't we using the staff door?" Clint asked.

Phil shrugged. "Fury has it locked down. One way in, one way out."

"Oh." Clint's blue eyes were still wary. "It feels weird."

"I know," Phil said. "Trust me, I know. But if we try to sneak in through the staff door tonight, we'll be burned to a crisp, according to Fury."

Both of Clint's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, and he whistled under his breath.

Phil nodded. "He's not messing around."

"Those must be some powerful wards."

"I think he skipped the 'defensive ward' concept and went straight to offensive-everything-dies fields on the doors."

"I'm never making him mad at me," Clint said fervently. "Warlocks pack serious heat."

"I've always stayed away from them," Phil said. "Or at least, I thought I had."

Clint finally, reluctantly, started climbing the steps. "Good choice. Shame it didn't work out for you. Fury's a sneaky, devious bastard, and he's got some major stealth skills there. I didn't have the first clue."

"Can you detect magic users?" Phil asked as he held the heavy door open.

"Some," Clint said. "You're pretty much a brightly lit beacon. I kind of had a feeling Thor was something, and Steve's worse than you, but Darcy? She's sneaky and stealthy, too."

The tiny lobby was empty. Someone had put up the sign that they used on staff training days, when they kept the front doors open to allow people to use the book drop while the rest of the library was closed to the public. The lack of external book drop was one of the prices they paid for using an old building with restrictions on the changes they could make to the front facade.

Normal closing time was half an hour ago, at five o'clock, which explained the empty lobby. The library was too brightly lit to be closed, though.

Phil pushed open the doors into the main part of the library and stepped through, with Clint so close on his heels he could almost feel Clint's body heat. He was unsurprised to find Thor behind the returns counter.

The sparking blue electricity forming a halo around Thor was new, though.

And the three puppet frogs in front of him, waving little spears threateningly, were definitely not a normal part of the library's security measures.

"Oh, shit," Clint muttered. "I hate possessed puppets."

***

The puppets weren't possessed, but Clint edged past them warily anyway. Phil supposed there wasn't much difference between possessed and animated puppets: at the end of the day, they were toys that moved and wielded weapons when they shouldn't. The fact that Steve controlled where they pointed the spears, not some kind of malevolent spirit, should have made them less creepy.

It really didn't.

Particularly when Phil overheard Steve chiding Billy Frog for being too enthusiastic with his spear waving as they walked away. It didn't give him much confidence in the level of control Steve had over his puppets.

To Phil's surprise, they were directed to the occult room, rather than the staff room. Thor appeared to have been waiting specifically for them, because he led the way and left Steve to continue guarding the main door with his puppets. Clint kept Phil between him and Thor, his shoulders so tense they were almost around his ears. Thor kept shooting frowns at Clint and the air around him crackled with electricity.

It was a miracle Phil hadn't noticed his power before. Although maybe Thor was better at concealing himself when there wasn't a supernatural threat around.

Phil didn't recognise most of the people sitting around the conference table in the occult room. Fury had squashed into one of the chairs on the opposite side from the door, where the table was so close to the stacks it was impossible to pull chairs out, and Darcy was a few seats away from him, but the rest were strangers. Barely suppressed power sang in the air, making Phil's teeth itch and his skin tingle.

Clint sneezed four times in quick succession as soon as they stepped into the room. He tried to smile apologetically, but he was defeated by two more violent sneezes before his lips could do more than twitch.

"That's the demon?" one of the strangers asked.

Fury glowered. "Yes. Clint, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Clint sneezed once more, before pinching his nose. He sounded like he had a cold when he spoke. "Sorry. Magic overload. Gets me right in the sinuses."

There was a muffled snort of laughter from Darcy's corner of the table, but she looked suspiciously innocent when Phil glanced at her.

The stranger's gaze was sharp as she looked Clint over, head to toe. She had a streak of hair that was such a bright shade of red, it almost seemed to glow.

On second thought, there was no almost about it.

"Is he really going to be any use to us, if he's allergic to magic?" she asked.

"Hand, shut up," Fury said. "He's going to be useful. Barton, you're not allergic to magic, are you?"

"Fuck no," Clint said quickly, still sounded stuffed up. "Just need to get acclimated. We don't spend much time around this much human magic." Another violent sneeze shattered the air. His eyes were streaming when he looked at Phil. "Sorry, boss. Got any allergy pills?" He sniffled. "And maybe a tissue?"

This time, the laughter was more widespread and less muffled. Hand glared at Clint, her eyes narrow and angry, but everyone else appeared to find the sneezing demon funny, and the heavy crackle of magic in the air seemed to lessen slightly.

Phil pulled a pack out of his pocket and handed it to Clint, who smiled more gratefully than a few tissues really warranted.

Fury nodded, looking satisfied, and waved Phil and Clint to the two free chairs at the end of the table. Phil sat gingerly, unsurprised when Clint scooted his chair closer and leaned against Phil's shoulder when he sat. The warm press of Clint's arm against his settled the nerves that had been churning in Phil's stomach ever since they walked into the library. It was illogical and ridiculous that he found a demon so comforting, but nothing had made much sense since he summoned Clint, so why should this?

"Now that we're all here," Fury said, shooting a glare towards Phil, "maybe we could begin? I--"

A man halfway down the table stood up and leaned forward, only his fingertips touching the table. Unlike most of the other people at the table, he was wearing jeans and a Henley instead of a suit, which showed off the heavy muscles rippling across his shoulders and arms. He didn't look much like a caster of any breed, but then again, neither did Steve, and apparently he controlled a puppet army.

"What I want to know," the man said, "is how your librarian managed to summon a demon and hide him in your library, without you noticing. We all want to know that."

Fury tilted his head. "Who are you and how did you get into my library?"

Phil was fairly sure Fury knew exactly who he was, but the question made a muscle in the speaker's jaw twitch, which was probably exactly the response Fury was looking for.

"Mack," the man said. "Mechomancer. You invited me."

"I did," Fury said, tone completely flat.

Mack shrugged. "You invited some friends of mine, and I happened to be there. Same thing."

"Not really," Fury said, "but I suppose that I can't un-invite you now that you're here."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"No," Fury said. "I'm not. It's not the important part right now."

"And what is the important part?"

"That would be the part where we wouldn't know about any of the shit that's about to go down if Phil hadn't gone demon summoning," Fury said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've allowed a cancer to grow in our city. We've sat back for years and pretended that demon summoning isn't real, or that it's a minority interest that nobody actually does anymore. The last time I tried to get any of you interested in looking into the summoners, you laughed. Told me they didn't have any real power and I was being a paranoid fucker. Then you got on with your own special interests, and ignored the abscess rotting in our midst. Now it's grown too big to ignore and it's coming back to bite us on the ass. It's going to bite us hard if we don't do something. Immediately. We need to lance this abscess tonight, before it's too big for us to fight."

Mack had sat down during Fury's brief speech, looking unhappy but resigned.

Hand sat leaned forward and glared, her red hair glowing brighter. "How dangerous are they? A few summoners in a dingy house--"

"They've allied with a big name," Clint said, his voice completely clear. "Duquesne. You must have heard of him? They think they'll be able to control him when they summon him, but they won't. He's only one step down from Lucifer himself. When they summon him, all Hell is going to break loose up here. Literally."

Hand frowned. "Why would they do something that stupid?"

"Interesting fact," Clint said. "People who summon demons? Not usually that smart. Except Phil, obviously, but even he made a mistake when he tried it. You're not dealing with people who think through all the angles and figure out their best options. You're not dealing with people who are careful about their demon summoning. If you were, Duquesne wouldn't have them enthralled and ready to yank him up here. He's promised them fuck knows what, but they want it and they're not thinking about what happens next. They're just thinking about their rewards."

"How do you know so much about it?" Mack asked.

Clint shrugged and sat back in his chair. To anyone watching him, he looked easy and cheerful. Phil could see the strain around his eyes and feel the tension knotting the muscles in his arms, though.

"I've worked for him a few times," Clint said. "He's been looking for summoners stupid enough to get conned like this for a long time, and now he found some."

"Can we really trust anything this demon says?" Hand asked. "For all we know, he could still be working for Duquesne."

"I trust him," Phil said. "And I've seen Duquesne. He was gloating about his plans."

Hand shot an ugly look at Phil. "Why should we trust you, for that matter? You summoned a demon."

Phil nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I did. I was trying to prove that it was impossible. I'd heard the same rumours Nick did, but I didn't ignore them."

A man at the other end of the table sat forward. He looked slightly familiar. Possibly from a library fundraiser? Phil though his name might be Blake. Or Drake. No, Blake. Probably.

Blake looked like he'd sucked a lemon. "How powerful is your demon?"

Clint tipped his chin up. "Very powerful."

"And yet we were told before you arrived that you had to be rescued from Hell." Blake's smile was not friendly. "Forgive me if I have some concerns."

"He's half human," Phil said. "It caused some inconveniences for him when they took him back."

"You didn't send him back?" Blake asked.

"I couldn't," Phil said. "He's half human; he could resist the spells I tried. But once he was down there, he couldn't get out on his own due to his demon half."

"Huh." Blake cocked his head. "A hybrid. I had no idea that was possible. I'd love to study him, when this is all over. If you could lend him to me--"

"Clint isn't my property to lend," Phil said sharply.

"But you have him controlled, surely."

Phil shrugged. "He won't kill you unless I tell him to, if that's your concern. He can make his own choices about other things."

Both of Blake's eyebrows shot up. "That's...risky."

"I don't think so," Phil said.

Fury cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, we don't have time for pissing contests tonight, so shut up and start thinking."

"Think about what?" Hand asked.

"About anything that will help us to shut our demon problem down." Fury shot a look towards Clint that almost looked apologetic. Almost. "Present company excluded."

Clint inclined his head wordlessly. Under the table, his knee pressed hard against Phil's, as though he needed the reassurance of physical contact. Surrounded by so many powerful magic users, Phil could sympathise. He wasn't feeling comfortable himself.

Magic users could be unpredictable and prone to allowing their egos to rule the rational parts of their minds. There was nothing more dangerous than a dick-measuring contest devolving into magical duels at moonrise. The two dicks weren't usually the only people who got hurt.

The crackle of latent magic was making Phil's skin feel too tight. Clint had stopped sneezing, but he sniffled into a tissue every now and again, and his eyes still looked red.

Not demonic red. Ordinary, man-with-a-cold red.

Somewhere outside, Phil caught the muffled sound of a voice. He frowned and listened. It came again, sounding closer, followed by the low rumble of a deeper voice. They were arguing, but the higher voice seemed to be winning, judging from its progression closer to the room. It sounded familiar, but Phil couldn't identify it. There was something out of place about it; a voice he knew well, but it should be somewhere else.

All eyes in the room were fixed on the door. Phil didn't remember closing it behind him, but he must have. Or Clint did, which seemed unlikely.

Or maybe someone in the room--Fury, for example--had done it. Magic users of all types were sneaky bastards sometimes.

The door flew open, and Phil felt his mouth drop open when Simmons hurried in, Fitz on her heels. He seemed to be protesting about something, but his words were too jumbled to make sense. Steve followed in their wake, one of his puppet frogs waving a spear and almost dancing with agitation.

"I'm sorry, I tried to stop them," Steve said. "They didn't look evil, though, so I couldn't kill them."

Fury's sigh was deep and heart-felt. It seemed to rise up from his boots and whistle around the room, conveying every drop of weary frustration he'd been holding back. "No, I suppose you couldn't."

Hand snorted. "I still don't see how a few puppets are going to be any use against an army of demons."

"Just wait," Fury said.

Simmons and Fitz's eyes were going wider and wider. Phil was slightly afraid they'd pop out soon.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Simmons's smile of gratitude was almost as worrying as her wide eyes. "I knew you had to be here. Well, not knew-knew, but I hoped you'd be here. I guessed this was where you worked, and Fitz tried to tell me we should wait until tomorrow, but you often seem to stay late so I hoped you'd still be here." She frowned. "I wasn't expecting all of...this."

"Who are these people?" Fury asked.

"They're the proprietors of The Shielded Moon." At the blank faces surrounding him, Phil frowned, trying to resist the urge to rub his right temple, where an ache was starting to pound. "The magic shop a few blocks from here. They run it."

"And own it," Fitz said. "It's all our hard work."

"That's very interesting," Hand said, "but we're not in the market for trinkets tonight."

Fitz straightened. "Trinkets? We don't just sell--"

"Not important right now," Simmons said quickly. "Mr Coulson, sir, you know what we do. You know you can trust us."

Phil nodded. "I do. What do you need?"

"It's not what we need," Fitz said. "It's what we know."

"Someone bought two barrels of red sand today," Simmons said. "Two barrels. Nobody needs that much, unless..."

"They're summoning demons," Phil finished for her.

"Which is clearly nonsense," Fitz said. "Demon summoning is impossible."

Simmons didn't say anything. Her expression said it all.

Phil tilted his head. "You knew?"

"Only when I walked in here," Simmons said. "But I remembered how interested you were in the last big sale of red sand, so I thought you'd want to know about this one right away. Demon summoning is possible, isn't it?"

Phil nodded.

"And we just sold enough ingredients to allow someone to summon...how many demons?"

"A lot," Clint said. "Or one really, really big one."

"Oh."

Fitz looked almost as worried as Simmons. "Should we not have done that?"

"They would have found somewhere else to buy it," Phil said. "You're not the only supplier in the city."

"They must be planning something tonight," Fury said. "Otherwise we wouldn't be getting this kind of warning."

"But where?" Mack asked. His frown had been deepening with every new piece of information. "This is a big city."

Fitz shrugged. "There aren't that many places they could be working, if they're summoning something big."

"Do you have any samples left?" Phil asked.

"For a like-to-like spell?" Simmons asked.

Phil nodded, trying not to feel stupid. Even non-practicing theoretical casters knew more than he did about magic. When everything calmed down, he was going to go back to the books and learn all the bits he'd missed over the years.

"They bought the lot," Fitz said. "They even took the barrels, which means I've got to make some more before we can stock the sand again."

"You make your own barrels?" Mack asked.

A hint of pink appeared on the tips of Fitz's ears. "I do. Some of our stock can be a little bit...touchy about what it's stored with. Making my own barrels prevents explosions. I can tailor them to what they'll store, damp down any odd resonances, put a few runes inside if I need to."

"Huh." Mack looked impressed. "Do you have any materials from the barrels left over?"

Fitz frowned. "Maybe. I'd have to check the workroom. Could you work with wood? Or some of the leftover nails?"

"Nails, yes," Mack said. "Mechomancer."

Fitz's eyes lit up. "Really? I've always wanted to--" He broke off, rubbing his side where Simmons seemed to have elbowed him. "Right, yes, not the right time. I'll need to get some supplies."

"I'll go with you," Mack said quickly. "Security."

"Oh, I don't...I mean..." Fitz took a breath. "Maybe that would be a good idea."

"Did they pay by card?"

Phil looked up, and found Skye leaning over the bannister of the gallery overhead. She grinned, and Phil didn't have to glance sideways to know that Fury was probably covering his eye and shaking his head.

"Hey guys," Skye said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. There was a book I needed, and you were all talking about magic crap before I could get out. I can go, if you want."

Phil sighed. "What are you?"

"Cybermancer," Skye said.

"Did you know about this?" Phil asked, glaring at Fury.

"No, I didn't," Fury said.

"Can you track them if they paid by card?" Simmons asked.

"I can track the card owner," Skye said.

"Magically?"

"Nah, that's just hacking," Skye said. "But if I can get into their phone or their computer, then I can mess them up magically. I'm just saying, I can do that if you need me to."

Simmons shook her head, looking regretful. "They paid cash."

"Damn. I'd been hoping they were really stupid."

"Not stupid enough," Simmons said.

Phil resisted the temptation to put his head down on the table and throw a tantrum. Barely. "Is there anyone working in this library who doesn't use magic?"

"Sitwell," Skye said.

Darcy nodded. "Definitely Jasper."

"I already told you about Sitwell," Fury said.

"You didn't know about Skye," Phil said, lifting his head to glare "Forgive me if I don't believe you about Sitwell until I'm given proof."

"You can't prove a negative," Skye said.

"This is all very entertaining," Hand said, "but do we have any form of a plan yet?"

Fury nodded, looking grim. "Fitz and Mack get us a location. We storm it before they raise a demon army."

"That plan lacks details," Blake said, and several other people around the table nodded.

Fury smiled tightly. "There will be more details when we have a location."

"We'd better get on that, then," Mack said. "Fitz, lead the way."

"Should I stay here?" Simmons asked, but nobody answered her.

Fitz and Mack's departure seemed to be some kind of signal for everyone to stop paying attention. Most stood and drifted over to the shelves in little groups, conferring in low voices while they flipped through books a lot less carefully than Phil was comfortable with. Even Fury stretched back and plucked an old diary off the shelf behind him, glaring at it with an intensity that warned everyone to keep away.

Clint leaned closer to Phil, so close that Phil could smell the hint of sulphur and smoke still lingering on his skin. "Is that it? Do we get to go home now?"

"Probably not," Phil said.

Clint pouted. "I'm hungry. Do you think they'd mind if we ordered pizza?"

Phil simply looked at him, and Clint deflated slightly.

"Yeah, I guess getting pizza delivered isn't the best idea right now," Clint said.

"Did you say pizza?" Darcy asked from behind them. Phil was proud that he only jumped an inch. "I would kill for double pepperoni right now. Want me to go and get some?"

"Would you be safe?" Phil asked.

Darcy wiggled her hand, letting the bangles marching down her wrist clatter together noisily. For the first time, Phil noticed sparks flickering around them as they moved.

"I'm juiced and ready to go," Darcy said. "Go on, boss. You know how Clint gets when he's hungry. I'll take Thor if it makes you feel any better. We can totally bring back pizza for everyone between the two of us."

Phil glanced around the room. A few eyes were on them, probably waiting for Clint to do something horrific and demonic, but everyone else was standing around aimlessly. There would be nothing to do until they had somewhere to go, something specific to attack. And magic, whatever the discipline, required strength both magically and physically. Going into battle hungry would not be wise.

"Do it," Phil said. "As much as the two of you can carry, but if you have to choose between food and escape, pick safety."

"I love pizza," Darcy said, "but I'm not ready to die for it. Not yet, anyway. Any special requests?"

"Get a selection," Phil said. "Some people don't like pepperoni."

"Crazy people," Darcy said. "Does this go on expenses?"

Phil glanced over to Fury, still pretending to be absorbed in his book, and shrugged. "Yes."

"Sweet," Darcy said with a grin. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

"Don't take any risks," Phil said.

"I am so not the risk-taker around here," Darcy said. "Don't worry about that."

She hurried away before Phil could say anything.

Under the table, Clint twined his fingers with Phil's and squeezed. He didn't have to say anything. The tight grip and the tension twitching in his jaw told Phil everything he needed to know about Clint's mental state.

Phil squeezed back and settled to wait for whatever was coming next.

***

The smell of cheese and tomato was mingling with the dusty scent of books in the occult room by the time Fitz and Mack returned. Fitz looked flushed and happy as he grabbed a slice of pizza while Mack dropped a bag on the table that clanked when it landed.

"Can I assume you've got good news for us?" Fury asked.

Mack looked up from the map he was carefully pinning to a board. "Maybe."

"You're not filling me with confidence," Fury said.

"I'm not trying to. You know that locator spells aren't always reliable."

Fury grunted but didn't add anything further. He watched intently, though, abandoning the book he'd been pretending to study on the table by his elbow. He put it down open, pages flat to the table, and Phil only resisted the temptation to snatch it away and pet its spine because Fury unnerved him more than ever now that he knew how powerful the warlock was.

He and Clint had been allowed to have an entire pizza to themselves. Nobody had touched the double pepperoni after Clint tore off a slice. Clint wasn't talking and he stared defiantly around the room as he ate. The pointed way that everyone refused to look at him made a small ball of anger burn in the pit of Phil's stomach, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say.

A few months ago, he might have reacted to a demon in the same way.

He probably still would if the demon was anyone other than Clint, who had proven over and over that he wasn't the bloodthirsty monster that his brethren were.

The other magic users slowly gathered around to watch Mack, putting books down anywhere they found a spot instead of reshelving them. At least Phil wouldn't spend the next few months trying to reorganise books that had been put back in the wrong places. It was easier to pick up and shelve a few dozen volumes than try to find something that had been put on a shelf across the room from where it was supposed to live.

Assuming he still had a job as head librarian after all this was over, of course.

The device Mack was building looked a little like a hangman's noose suspended over a map. He stepped back to survey his work and Fitz moved to his side, holding out a small paper bag.

"Will this work?" Fitz asked.

Mack shrugged. "Maybe."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a nail. It didn't look particularly magical, just an ordinary nail. With sure, confident fingers, Mack pushed the nail through the noose and tightened the string just below the head.

When he put the nail down on the board, it balanced on its point.

Phil felt his eyebrows rise. The magic was good. Subtle. More refined than anything he'd managed yet.

There were a few other raised eyebrows around the group, so he wasn't the only one who was impressed. At least that confirmed this wasn't another simple piece of magic he should have learned years ago.

Mack frowned down at the nail, and it twitched. There was a soft gasp from somewhere in the room, but Phil didn't want to look away to find out who it was.

The nail seemed to shudder, rattling against the board, before skipping across the map in jerky little steps. Phil stood and leaned forward to see where it was going. The nail traced a line through the streets, from Fitz's shop to a neighbourhood further north, where it paused for a moment, quivering. There were a few mutters around the room, and Fury opened his mouth to speak, but the nail jumped and began moving again.

It cut through streets and entire blocks of buildings, and Phil realised what it was doing a moment before Darcy said, "Are they on the subway?"

"I'm retracing where the barrel went after it left The Shielded Moon," Mack said. "They're not on the subway anymore. Look."

He was right. The nail paused again at what Phil recognised as the 81st Street stop, before skittering across the street and probably hopping over a few flower beds and low walls to strike out across Central Park.

It followed one of the paths that meandered around the park before taking a sharp right and jumping into the middle of the Great Lawn, where it stopped. This time it didn't quiver, it didn't seem to hesitate. Its point dug into the map, as if it planned to stay there for a while.

There was silence in the room as everyone stared at the nail, firmly embedded in the map.

Blake cleared his throat. "That should be a large enough area for raising a demon army."

"Won't someone notice a demon summoning in the middle of Central Park?" Darcy asked.

"They're summoning one of the most powerful demons in Hell and probably bringing his minions, too," Hand said. "I don't think they care about the attention they bring."

Fury nodded. "They're not bothering with a low profile anymore. That means this is it, the big push. They're bringing out everything they can. Doesn't matter if a few evening joggers notice them. If they succeed, they'll raze the city to the ground, and a few civilians noticing what they're doing won't matter."

"Holy shit," Darcy murmured.

"Duquesne won't stop with the city," Clint said. "He wants the world. It'll give him the power to challenge Lucifer."

"Didn't you already try that?" Phil asked.

"And we failed," Clint said. "We didn't stand a chance. None of us had enough power. Duquesne could harvest all the souls up here and feast. He'd have way more power than he needs."

Hand raised both eyebrows. "You tried to overthrow Lucifer?"

"It was a bad idea," Clint said. "But my brother needed me, and you can't say no to family, right?"

Fury rapped the table, and the muttering that had broken out abruptly stopped. "Phil, as our only demon summoning expert, how long will they need to get ready to start the spells?"

"Not long," Phil said. "They'll need to set up the circles, get the candles lit and in place. No more than a couple of hours, I'd guess. It took me longer, but I didn't know what I was doing the first time."

"Mack, how long have they been there?" Fury asked.

Mack touched the nail. "A few minutes. Fifteen, maybe."

"Then we haven't got long," Fury said. "Everyone, grab your gear and get ready to move. We leave in ten minutes."

"How are we getting there?" Blake asked.

Fury smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I've already arranged that."

"What can we do?" Fitz asked, indicating Simmons with a wave.

"Stay here," Fury said. "Monitor the locator spell. Call us if they move. That goes for you, too, Skye. There's nothing a cybermancer can do out there."

Skye looked like she was going to protest, but she subsided under Fury's glare.

Darcy lifted a hand. "Do I get to stay here?"

"No," Fury said. "You're too useful."

Darcy nodded, looking unhappy but resigned.

"What about the demon?" Hand asked. "Do we bring him?"

Phil felt Clint go tense next to him. He brushed his hand against Clint's, wishing he dared to do more, but painfully aware of all the attention on them. People didn't trust either of them. He suspected they'd be even more wary if they knew the depth of his feelings for Clint.

"The demon comes with us," Fury said. "We're going to need his firepower."

"You trust him?" Hand asked.

"No," Fury said, "but I trust Phil, and he has the demon under control."

Phil thought about protesting that he didn't precisely control Clint, not anymore, but he rethought that quickly when Fury glared at him. They didn't have time to explain the complexities of his arrangement with Clint right now. Maybe there would never be a good time to explain it to the magical community.

"Time to move, people," Fury said. "We've got an apocalypse to prevent."

***

Phil was in his office, packing the last few supplies, when Clint found him. He'd last seen Clint talking to Darcy behind the returns desk, both looking intent, and he'd decided it was probably best to leave them to it. Out of everyone in the library, Clint had grown closest to Darcy over the months. The revelation about his true nature had probably been a shock.

At least they were talking. If Clint was going to make any kind of life up here, he needed more friends than just Phil. He needed people to ground him that weren't tied up with all the complicated feelings surrounding their relationship.

And if they didn't survive the night, Clint needed to be at peace with the people he'd reluctantly started to care about. Phil could appreciate that. If there had been more time, there were a few people Phil would have wanted to talk to before they set out.

Phil wrapped a last layer of electrical tape over the silk handkerchief he'd bound around one end of a willow wand. Two more wands were lying on the table. The half-finished spells crackling around them made the hair on the back of Phil's neck stand up. Each wand only needed the last word of their spell spoken aloud, and they would become the scorching hot blades he'd wielded to break Clint's chains.

What cut through solid metal should cut through flesh easily enough.

Phil didn't know the kind of heavy-duty offensive magic that Fury appeared to, but he could think of plenty of ways that his more domestic spells could be turned into weapons.

He slid two of the wands into his backpack--on opposite sides, with plenty of gear between them--and stuck the last one through his belt.

"Is that a good idea?" Clint asked. "You wouldn't want that thing activating and cutting off anything important."

Phil turned, rolling his eyes. Clint was leaning against the door frame, arms across his chest, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

It was impossible to keep an answering smile away in the face of that. They might be about to die. Phil figured he deserved the right not to hide his appreciation of the scenery for once.

"I'll be very careful," he said.

"You'd better be," Clint said. "I've got plans for some of the things you might chop off. Don't go ruining them for me before I get a chance to use them."

"You seem very confident that we'll win."

Clint shrugged one shoulder. "I don't plan on being around if we don't. We'll stop them or die trying. Kind of have to stay positive, don't I? Otherwise I might as well lie down and let them kill me right now."

The words were muddled, but Phil understood the sentiment behind them. Going in with the belief that they'd win might tip the balance in their favour. Maybe.

It sometimes worked in sports, anyway.

"Did you work things out with Darcy?" Phil asked, as he filled his pockets with bags of powder that spat and hissed in his mind.

"I think so," Clint said. "She says me being a demon explains a lot. I have no idea what she means."

Phil bit his lip to keep his smile from widening. "I can't imagine."

"I was really good at faking human, wasn't I?" Clint said. "I didn't offer to eviscerate anyone for her, not even as a joke."

"You were very good," Phil said. "Fury didn't guess, did he?"

"Exactly," Clint said. "She asked if Barney was a demon. I guess maybe he didn't do so great with the fake human thing."

"I don't think he could pretend to be human," Phil said. "The demon in him leaked out everywhere."

Clint frowned. "But I don't have as much demon to leak out."

"No, you don't," Phil said.

"It's going to take a while to get used to that."

"I know."

"Maybe it's not so bad, though," Clint said. "Some humans are pretty great."

His smile had turned almost...shy...and he wasn't looking at Phil's face anymore. His gaze was focused somewhere near Phil's left foot.

A ball of warmth unfurled in Phil's chest, chasing away the icy knot of fear that had been lodged there ever since Fitz and Simmons arrived with their news. Clint wasn't very good at feelings, not yet, but Phil could read between the lines. He could see the things Clint was trying to tell him without words.

Phil crossed the room in three long strides and gathered Clint into a tight hug. Warm air brushed his ear as Clint exhaled with a soft "oof". There was a momentary hesitation before Clint's arms wrapped around him, uncertainly at first, and then squeezing him so tight, it knocked the air out of his own lungs. Phil buried his face in Clint's neck and held on, the familiar mixture of sulphur and spice that he'd grown to love filling his nose. It shouldn't have been a comforting smell, but over the months it had become as necessary to him as Clint's distracted muttering at books that didn't end the way he wanted them to, and the half-finished bowls of Froot Loops and chocolate milk that always filled his sink.

They made him feel safe, in a way nobody else had.

A demon--a half-demon--made him feel safe. The world was clearly screwed up somewhere, and Phil didn't care anymore.

When Clint's arms loosened slightly, Phil started to pull back, but he didn't get far.

Clint kissed him.

Not hesitantly, not as a half-hearted distraction tactic.

Clint kissed him with so much unbridled greed and passion that Phil's breath was taken away for the second time.

Phil leaned into it and kissed him back, trying to put everything he felt into the wet slide of lips and tongue that was slowly shutting down every rational thought. He was barely aware of Clint turning them and pushing him against the wall, of scrabbling at Clint's sweater until he had warm flesh under his fingers. Phil needed this kiss, this moment, more than he'd needed anything before in his life. He needed to feel the life and heat radiating from Clint.

He needed to show Clint how much he was wanted.

How much he was loved.

A piercing whistle sounded, and Phil reluctantly tore his mouth away from Clint's. They were both breathing too fast, and Phil could feel a firm ridge against his hip that matched the hardness making his own cock ache.

"Rain check," Clint said, his voice wobbling.

His skin was redder than it normally was when he looked human, and there was a hint of horn poking out of his spiky hair. Phil very deliberately did not look down to see whether the tail was in evidence. He wasn't sure he had the willpower to refuse that right now.

He nodded jerkily. "Rain check."

For a long, long moment, Phil couldn't move. Couldn't look away. He knew he should, that they were out of time, but Clint was looking at him with so much want and he couldn't drag his eyes away.

"Think Fury'd notice if we were, like, five minutes late?" Clint asked. "Three. I could do you in three. Seems a shame to risk dying without getting to see your orgasm face, right?"

Another whistle made Phil wince, and Fury's voice boomed around them, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "Front door, people. Now. Or we leave without you."

"Ready?" Phil asked.

Clint sighed. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

Phil pressed one last, hard kiss to Clint's lips, before pushing away to grab his backpack.

It was time to save the world.

***

Fury's transportation solution was a fleet of black SUVs, lined up in front of the library. Phil decided not to ask where he got them from. He was starting to suspect that there were a lot of things about Fury that he didn't want to know about.

The most powerful warlock in the city probably had a lot of resources to call on. It was becoming fairly obvious to Phil that this was what Fury was, and that put him at the top of whatever loose hierarchy there was around magic users. Phil had never paid much attention to any of that before, content to keep out of the way of the power games and politics and get on with his life undisturbed.

When this was all over, he should probably change that. All the things he hadn't wanted to know about before were coming back to bite him on the ass.

And possibly kill him.

He ended up in an SUV with Clint and Steve. Phil didn't recognise the driver. Steve's puppets were stacked in the trunk, apparently lifeless for now.

Clint called shotgun in the front with one quick, unhappy glance in Steve's direction. Phil would have preferred to sit in the back with Clint, but he didn't say anything out loud. Clint really didn't like animated puppets.

For the first five minutes of the journey, the SUV was quiet. Tension filled the air, making Phil's stomach churn and setting up a dull throb at the back of his head. Every time he turned, he caught Steve staring at him with an unhappy look in his eyes.

Eventually, Phil sighed. "Is it the demon summoning that makes you uncomfortable, or is there something else?"

Steve winced, and a hint of pink stained his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't...no, it's not any of that."

"Really?"

Steve shook his head. "Sir, it's not. I understand. We all get curious, and I was always told demon summoning was impossible, too. I heard the same rumours about people trying it. I even checked out a couple of books for patrons that, on reflection, probably shouldn't have been allowed out of the library."

"We're going to need to do something about the occult section," Phil said. "When this is all over."

"Yes, sir," Steve said. "I'd be honoured to help you, if I can."

"I'll keep that in mind." Phil offered him a reassuring smile. "So, if it's not the demon summoning that's the problem, what is it?"

"I wanted to apologise," Steve said, so quickly the words almost ran over each other. "I should have told you about me, about what I can do, as soon as you arrived at the library."

Phil felt his eyebrows rising. "You knew I was a...caster?"

"I did," Steve said. "It's one of my gifts. Animating toys and sensing other magic users. I knew your predecessor was doing something, too, but he wasn't exactly an approachable kind of guy. It was easier to keep my head down and fit in."

"Do you know what happened to my predecessor?"

"No," Steve said, and there was genuine regret in his voice. "I knew he was casting some big spells. He practically vibrated some days. But that's it. One morning, he didn't show up for work, and after a few days, Fury told us that he'd resigned very suddenly and they were advertising for a replacement. I figured he got into something too deep and couldn't pull back. Magic can take people that way, sometimes."

"He was summoning demons," Phil said. "He left some of his apparatus behind in my office. There's a casting room behind a false wall. I found it a few days after I started the job."

Steve's eyes widened. "You think he was killed by demons?"

"I don't know," Phil said. "But he disappeared suddenly and he'd been summoning. It seems possible something went wrong."

Clint snorted. "If your predecessor was using the same spell you did, something definitely went wrong. You have to set the parameters of what you're summoning, otherwise you plan to summon an imp and end up with...me."

"Is that what happened, sir?" Steve asked.

Phil pretended he couldn't feel any heat in his face. "It's complicated."

"That's exactly what happened," Clint said cheerfully. "The boss aimed for an imp, but he didn't have the parameters set right, so I grabbed a ride instead. It was karma."

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Phil said.

Clint flipped him off, and Phil rolled his eyes.

He could feel Steve watching them and snuck a glance sideways. Steve's eyebrows were furrowed and he seemed to be thinking hard, eyes darting from Clint to Phil and back again. A moment later, his eyes widened comically, and the tips of his ears turned red. A silent "oh" formed and he snapped his gaze to the window, staring out at the passing buildings intently.

Phil thought about protesting that it wasn't like that, he and Clint hadn't really done anything yet, but he couldn't get the words out.

If Fury hadn't called at the exact moment he had, it would definitely have been like that.

And if they got out of this mess alive, he was dragging Clint straight back to his apartment and resuming what the phone call had interrupted.

"We're here," the driver announced as he pulled in to the curb on West Drive.

A cyclist wobbled past the SUV, shaking his fist at the people who had decided to suddenly pull into his bike lane and cut him off. Phil winced apologetically, before realising the tinted windows hid him from view.

It probably wasn't the first time the guy had been cut off, Phil reasoned to himself. If he was biking in New York, he was used to it.

In front of them, Phil could see doors opening and magic casters jumping down from their SUVs, blithely ignoring the cars passing them. Steve opened his door, on the park side of the SUV, and Phil slid along the seat to follow him out on the safer side of the car. Clint hopped out of his door and slammed it shut behind him as he hurried to join Phil and Steve. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to play chicken with traffic or bikes tonight, and Phil couldn't blame him.

Phil helped Steve to grab big armfuls of puppets, while Clint watched from a few feet away. Steve slammed the trunk shut and the entire SUV fleet immediately pulled out and drove off, leaving the magic users lined up beside a deserted hot dog stand. Phil wondered where the owner had gone. Hopefully he was somewhere safe.

Standing on the empty street in the dark, with Central Park stretching out behind them, the group seemed depressingly small.

Fury clapped his hands to get their attention, before leading them down a path into the tree cover, not stopping until they were hidden from the road. A few pedestrians on West Drive glanced at them curiously as they walked away, but nobody stopped them.

Phil sent up a silent thank you for New Yorkers who didn't get involved with things that clearly weren't their business. At least there were no tourists around. The puppets in his and Steve's arms would probably attract some attention if there were.

At Steve's signal, Phil put the puppets on the ground, and they immediately sprang to their fuzzy feet. A small herd of frogs, pigs, cats, and multi-coloured humanoid-ish creatures armed with small spears and swords shouldn't have been intimidating, but somehow it was.

It wasn't a surprise when Phil felt Clint press up against his side. Clint's hand sliding against his, tangling their fingers together and holding on tight, was a surprise, though.

Phil squeezed Clint's hand in return, the warmth reassuring in a way he couldn't describe yet. He lifted his chin and ignored the hard glares Hand and Blake sent his way. They'd just have to live with it. They'd run out of time to argue.

"Last reading we had," Fury said, "put our demon summoning crew on the Great Lawn. It's a large area, it's open--if they're planning to bring through something big, that's the perfect location. Fitz puts them at the south end. They're probably going to tear up one of the softball fields with their shit."

There was a muffled groan from somewhere in the crowd of milling magic users. It sounded like it might be Darcy.

Hadn't she joined a softball team a few months ago?

"I'm going to split us in two," Fury said. "Hand, Blake, you take your people east and circle around the Turtle Pond. Phones on vibrate, I'll call you when my team is in place. Don't leave tree cover until you have to."

"Yes, sir," Hand said.

"And who do we have, sir?" Blake asked.

"Anyone who doesn't work in my library," Fury said. "They already work together, they know each other. Your people know you."

"That works," Blake said.

"Good. It wasn't a request." Fury scowled around the group. "Everyone associated with the library, follow me. Steve, we're going to need your puppets on scouting duty. Can they do that?"

"Yes, sir," Steve said quickly. "I'll see what they can see."

"I have no idea how you do it and I don't want you to explain," Fury said. "Just make it happen. Thor, no light shows until I give the word."

Thor nodded.

"The rest of you, try to keep up," Fury said. "We're cutting through the trees. I hope you're wearing good boots; the ground is wet and muddy in there."

"I hate this," Clint muttered as they set out. He still had a firm grip on Phil's hand. "Cold, wet, and now mud. I'm a demon. We're not designed for cold mud."

"Not even if you get to fight something at the end?" Phil asked.

Clint considered it for a moment. "I guess that's not so bad. Fighting can be fun."

A sharp shush sounded through the darkness, and Phil winced. He squeezed Clint's hand and received an answering squeeze, which hopefully meant Clint got the right message. He didn't say anything else, so Phil assumed he had.

The ground was rough and slippery away from the paths. There had been a damp drizzle falling all day, penetrating between the bare tree limbs to cover everything in a fine layer of wet. Phil was grateful he'd taken the time to exchange his dress shoes for sturdy hiking boots in his office. He would have been sliding and falling on some of the rougher sections otherwise. Even with them, he stumbled a few times on rocks and roots hidden in the darkness under mouldering leaves.

Each time he started to fall, Clint's grip on his hand helped steady him. Demon eye-sight had some advantages. Clint didn't trip or stumble once, even though everyone around them did.

Everyone except Steve. Maybe his puppets also had an eyesight advantage. One of the frogs stayed close to him, walking just ahead, while the rest had disappeared into the undergrowth as soon as they set out.

If Steve really could see through all their eyes, it had to be incredibly disconcerting. Multiple viewpoints, all from about three feet off the ground, would be enough to give anyone headaches. Steve plodded on, though, a fine line between his brows visible in the moonlight the only sign of stress.

Perhaps all those months of wrangling small children during story time had given him an edge on coping with stress and dividing his attention.

Fury raised his hand as they neared the edge of the tree-line, and the group stopped and dropped to a crouch with unexpected speed. Clint released Phil's hand, but he stayed close enough for Phil to feel his presence as they scuttled closer to Fury.

"What can you see?" Fury asked Steve, in a low tone that barely carried to Phil's ears.

Steve closed his eyes, his frown deepening. "Two...three circles. One much bigger than the others. A lot of candles. Chanting. I think each circle has a brazier, but I don't know what they're burning in it. Puppets don't have a sense of smell."

They shouldn't be able to see, either, but Phil decided to ignore that little spark of logic if Steve did.

"Phil?" Fury said, without turning. "You're the demon summoning expert. What does that mean?"

"They're already summoning at least one demon," Phil said. "Can you see if they're throwing sand yet?"

"No...wait." Steve tilted his head. "One handful of sand just went in a brazier, by one of the smaller circles."

The bright flash lighting up the sky beyond the trees, and the low boom of something materialising, didn't really need explanation.

"Did they just summon a demon?" Fury asked, anyway.

"Yup," Clint said. "I can feel it. Nasty little imp. They're not as bad as something like me, but they don't go down easy and I wouldn't let one just wander around up here."

"It's leaving the circle," Steve said.

"Idiots," Clint said.

"They've got a couple of people on it," Steve said. "I guess they left a few people out of the rituals to be guards."

"Like that's going to work for long," Clint said. "As soon as Duquesne comes through, whatever they've summoned already will be working for him. They're inviting in the things that are going to kill them. Do they know that?"

"Most demon summoners are missing a few connections," Fury said. "Otherwise they wouldn't start summoning demons in the first place. No offense, Phil."

Phil shrugged. "None taken. It was a stupid, foolish decision."

"One that's probably going to save this city," Fury said, "if not the world. So don't be too hard on yourself. And don't do it again."

"Demons don't play well together," Phil said. "One is plenty."

He didn't need to see Clint's smirk to know it was there. Clint radiated smugness.

Steve opened his eyes. "They're starting another summoning spell. And I think the other small circle must be getting close to finished--they're getting louder."

"Duquesne will be coming through in the big circle," Clint said. "It's going to take some juice and some time to pull him through. We should hit them now, before they've got too many friends. If we try to go up against Duquesne, we'll lose."

Fury nodded. "Good assessment. Get closer, people, this is the plan."

When Fury finished, Phil thought for a moment, before saying, "That's a really bad plan, sir. No offense."

"Do you have a better one?"

"No. But I thought someone should say it."

"Your opinion is noted," Fury said. "We're doing it. Are you ready to do your part?"

There was a fierce grin on Clint's face. "Just give the word."

"We're ready," Phil said.

"I'm not ready," Darcy said quietly. There was a slight tremor in her voice. "I'm very not ready. I'm too young to be dead."

Fury shook his head. "If we do this right, you won't be dead."

"No battle plan survives the first skirmish," Darcy said. "It's a fact."

"Then you'll improvise," Fury said. "Phil was telling me a couple of weeks ago how good you are at thinking on your feet."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "When I'm trying to organise a book sale or figure out a book from a cover description, yeah. Fighting demons? Pretty sure that's outside my job description."

"If you don't fight them here," Fury said, "you'll be fighting them in your home, when they start tearing the city apart. Which option sounds better?"

"I hate that you make sense right now," Darcy said. "I'm hiding in Central Park with a bunch of puppets and a demon, and it actually sounds reasonable. My life is so weird."

"I am eager for a fight," Thor said, in a surprisingly soft tone. "Life is always strange. It is the strangeness that makes it interesting."

Fury pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. "On my mark, then."

Phil drew his willow wand from his belt and prepared to speak the last words of the spell.

"Mark."

***

The willow wand glowed with a bright, white-hot tip, making sweat break out on Phil's upper lip. Their charge from the edge of the trees, over the path and vaulting the fence around the Great Lawn, had taken the demon summoners by surprise, but the chanters didn't break their concentration. They didn't falter.

Their discipline was unexpected.

Lamplight blended with candles to send shadows dancing and spinning around the summoners. It was only when the two groups met that Phil realised the shadows were more than simple light illusions.

They were real, corporeal. Dark things made from shadow and smoke that bit and tore at any flesh they could reach. Within moments, two of the magic users were on the ground, hidden under a mound of shadow things. Their pained whimpers would have sent shivers down Phil's back, if he hadn't had more important things to concentrate on.

He slashed out with his wand, and someone--something--screamed and fell back. The demon summoners were all wearing dark robes with hoods that hid their faces. It was difficult to tell the difference between them and their creatures.

All around him, Phil could feel the surge and fizz of magic discharging in a dozen different ways. Bright flashes of light signalled Thor's work, sending lightning bolts flying with unexpected precision. Phil caught a glimpse of Fury out of the corner of his eye, throwing balls of fire that immolated the shadow creatures on contact.

Something rushed at Phil, dark and fast, and he slashed again with his willow wand. It was getting hotter, harder to hold, but he didn't want to throw it away too soon. There was no telling how long he'd need to fight for. His attacker fell back with a high-pitched scream, chunks of shadow drifting away wherever the wand sliced, until the creature dissipated into the night.

Phil sucked in a gasping breath and looked around, trying to find the rest of his team. Darcy had been right; battle plans rarely survived the first impact.

Clint wasn't far away. He was crouching and two summoners appeared to be beating him, thrashing him with whips made from more shadow. Before Phil could get to him, Clint roared and sprang up, flames shooting from his hands and setting their robes on fire.

His human appearance flickered, horns and tail showing through for a moment, but Phil blinked and it had stabilised.

It probably wouldn't be a good idea for anyone to get confused about who was a demon and who wasn't tonight.

Steve and his puppets were fighting another summoner, who learned quickly not to dismiss puppets just because they looked fuzzy and cute. Phil chose not to watch what they did to him.

Phil caught Steve's eye, and he nodded. Clint's fierce grin widened as he caught the look. Some of their fellow magic users were breaking through the guard line and rushing towards the smaller summoning circles.

The larger one was beyond those. That was the target Phil, Clint, and Steve had been given.

When the other demon summoners were totally engaged in fighting off the magic users, Phil, Clint, Steve, and the puppets slipped away into the darkness. The bright flashes and flickering flames cast deep shadows outside the main battle arena, perfect for a small force to hide in while they crept towards their target.

They moved fast. At any moment, Phil expected someone to see them and send shadow creatures for them, but the summoners were too busy defending their compatriots, trying to give them time to summon more demons to help them. If they managed to bring any through, Phil would be surprised. Two of the candles for one circle had already gone out, and the brazier for the other was flaring green light, which couldn't be a good sign. They'd been distracted from the chants. The spells were going wrong.

The summoners working to call up Duquesne were not so easily distracted. Their candles were still alight and their brazier smouldered with a sullen red light. There were three summoners walking the circle, their faces hidden within their hoods.

Phil led Clint and Steve as close to the circle as he dared, before dropping to a crouch and stopping. He felt rather than saw Clint and Steve drop down on either side of him. The puppets crowded around Steve.

"On three?" Phil said.

He'd dropped his wand when it had become too hot to hold while they were creeping around the circle. Phil reached back and pulled another out of his backpack.

"On three," Steve agreed.

Phil pulled a bag out of his pocket and loosened the string around its neck.

"One," he said.

He checked that the third wand was still accessible.

"Two."

Phil mouthed the last word of the spell on his willow wand, and sweat broke out on his forehead as the tip began radiating heat.

"Three," he said out loud.

They charged.

The puppets were a few steps in front of them, waving spears and swords wildly and shouting in squeaky voices that sounded more intimidating than they should have.

Phil, Steve, and Clint followed in silence. Bright flames pulsed around Clint's hand and there seemed to be a silvery shield in Steve's hand that Phil didn't remember seeing before.

Two of the summoners looked around, their chants stuttering. The third continued, raising his voice as though that would frighten his companions back into their rhythm.

Steve ran straight into one of the frightened summoners, knocking him flying with his shield.

Clint threw his flames at the other, but they were deflected by a flickering green light that sprang up between them. Phil didn't see what happened after that.

He ran for the summoner still trying to complete the spell to bring Duquesne out of Hell. One moment Phil was charging, willow wand extended, and the next, he was flying back through the air before thumping down on the ground. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and the wand out of his hand. For a minute, he could only lie there and desperately try to breathe.

When he finally sucked in some air, the stench of burning grass filled his mouth and nose. The willow wand was searing a black patch into the ground, even though it was damp from the drizzle. Out of Phil's hand, the spell had lost cohesion and the wand's heat was incredible.

He rolled away from it and staggered to his feet, drawing his last wand. The bag of powder had been knocked away, too. He pulled out another and loosened its ties.

The last wand flared to life as eagerly as the others had when he completed the spell. He gripped it tightly as he strode back to the fight.

Clint and Steve were fighting hard with their summoners, trading blows that burned brightly in Phil's eyes. The other summoner was still pacing around the circle, looking as though he hadn't even paused when he threw Phil through the air. With a growing sense of horror, Phil noticed that both Clint and Steve had been forced inside the circle during their fights.

He had a feeling that would not be a good place to be if the spell worked.

Phil charged forward again, wand extended, and the chanting summoner raised his hand. Before he could make the flicking gesture that had sent Phil flying, Phil threw the bag of powder at his face.

The summoner had been prepared to defend against the full weight of an angry human. He hadn't thought to protect himself from a bag spraying pale green powder at him.

Technically, it wasn't an offensive powder. It wouldn't be classed as battle magic.

It always surprised people that cleaning products--such as scouring powders--could be as dangerous as they were.

The powder hit the summoner full in the face and he screeched. His face was shadowed by his hood, but Phil knew from painful experience that there would be red blisters breaking out over any exposed skin. The summoner's scream broke his chant, and his control of the spell, and Phil felt it like a 'snap' in the air. Power fizzed and crackled around them as the spell lost cohesion and started breaking up. Trying to pull out a demon as powerful as Duquesne required a lot of power, more than Phil had ever used, and it had to go somewhere.

The summoner threw back his hood, and Phil caught a glimpse of the panic in his eyes, even though they were almost hidden in the puffy redness of his damaged skin. He held up his hand and began chanting again, shouting the words as though the volume would make a difference.

Phil charged him, shoulder first, knocking him to the ground. The power in the air was making Phil's skin itch and crawl, and it flared higher as the summoner lost control of his spell again.

The summoner glared up at him. "You idiot! Do you know what you've done?"

"Stopped you from calling up a demon you can't control?" Phil said.

"I could have controlled him," the summoner said.

"You couldn't," Phil said. "I've met Duquesne. Nobody could control him."

The summoner gaped up at him for a moment, before snapping his mouth shut and shaking his head. "You've broken the spell. It's gone mad. All that power is going to kill us."

"Then fix it!"

"I can't," the summoner said. "Nobody can."

Phil glanced aside, to where Clint was still fighting his own battle, and the momentary distraction was all the summoner needed. He kicked out, catching Phil's knee and making it buckle. Phil fell, somehow managing to twist so that he didn't land on his wand, and the summoner scrambled to his feet and ran. He was a dozen yards away before Phil could move, his robes flapping around him in the wind that had sprung up when his spell started to go haywire.

Phil's body was aching, but he forced himself up onto his knees, holding the wand as far away from his body as he could. The heat was incredible and the burning pain in his hand was becoming unbearable, but it was his last defence and he couldn't make himself throw it aside yet.

Except, at that moment, Steve kicked his own summoner in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, straight onto Phil's wand.

The stench of burning flesh and cotton filled the air as the wand went through his chest like a hot knife through butter. It was almost ridiculous how easy it was to slice a gaping hole in the man's body. Too easy. Phil did it by accident as he recoiled.

The summoner didn't scream. He couldn't.

Phil released the wand and scrambled away as the summoner toppled back and fell where he had been kneeling. The wand was glowing white hot, now, the air around it shimmering in the heat. It was almost brighter than the bursts of lightning from Clint's fight.

Steve's mouth was wide as he stared at the summoner. The wand was consuming him, flesh turning black and vaporising before their eyes. Phil's feet slipped on the damp grass as he tried to push himself further back, away from the burning corpse.

Power crackled through the air, singeing Phil's senses with the raw energy pulsing around him. With a dull sense of horror, Phil noted the dark line in the grass that he'd crossed. He was inside the circle, at the heart of the growing maelstrom.

Clint was holding back in his fight. He could have killed the man opposing him in a heartbeat, Phil was sure of it, but he seemed to be trying not to. He seemed to be trying not to even hurt him.

Shit.

"Clint," Phil shouted, hoping he could be heard over the dull whine of magic building in the air. "Clint, I order you to kill that man."

Clint's smile turned into a fierce snarl, lips drawn back, and he threw a bolt of green-black energy at his opponent. It writhed through the air in a way that made Phil's stomach turn.

The summoner shouted as it enveloped his body, and then he wasn't there. A curl of smoke rose from the ground where he'd been standing.

Lights were whipping around the summoning circle above Phil's head, in shades of purple and orange that made his eyes ache to look at. Power was still building inside, a heavy weight pressing Phil down into the earth. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was too much power in here, too much to survive, and he was going to die when the broken spell finally imploded on itself.

He tried to stand, even just to drag himself closer to the edge, but his limbs wouldn't obey him. The last remnants of his willow wand's power streamed up from the crumbling remains of the corpse to join the building storm, stoking it higher. Phil's skin was burning and the edges of his vision were going black. He sank back into the grass and closed his eyes.

Strong arms scooped him up.

Phil still couldn't move, his arms were too heavy, but he could open his eyes. Clint's human illusion had disappeared completely. He was a demon in his full glory, skin glowing red and blue eyes glowing in the bright flickering power surrounding him.

"This is going to hurt," Clint shouted, "but I'm getting you out of here."

His arms tightened, pulling Phil closer against his chest. Phil thought he should probably be horrified at being carried like a princess, but he felt too relieved to worry about that. Clint would keep him safe, no matter what happened.

He'd barely finished that thought, when the world around him dissolved into darkness.

***

It was cold. So cold that his bones might shatter and his jaw might break if anyone touched him. Voices whispered in the distance, muttering horrible things that he couldn't quite hear, but were worse for being unheard. Phil opened his eyes as wide as they'd go, but all he could see was the faint glow from two blue lights just above him.

It was Clint, even though Phil couldn't see him. Clint's arms were still there around him, holding him tight, keeping the ice away with their warmth. Keeping him alive in the terrible between place where humans weren't supposed to go.

Phil waited.

***

They fell out of the darkness and tumbled to the ground. Magic roared in the air, deafening Phil for a moment as his senses returned and the cold retreated from his limbs. He struggled to sit up, and Clint rolled away to let him.

They had only moved a few feet. The circle with its storm of decaying magic was not far away, and it looked even more unstable than it had been a few moments ago. Phil clambered to his knees, but he couldn't get any further. He couldn't stand. There was too much power in the air, pushing him down to the ground. It took everything he had not to fall on his face.

"I can fix this," Clint said. Screamed, really, to be heard over the storm.

Phil shook his head. "It's too much. Nobody can stop it now."

"I'm bigger than I look," Clint said. "I can handle it."

"Can't Fury--?"

"He doesn't have the juice. It'll burn him out in a moment. I can survive it for longer."

Phil noted the way he'd phrased it, and his heart clenched. "How long?"

"Long enough." Clint grinned, bright and wild. "Hey, I'm going to save the world. How many demons get to do that?"

"Don't die," Phil said.

"I'll do my best."

Phil opened his mouth to say something, but Clint cut him off by pressing a hard kiss against his lips. It was painful, too firm, and he pulled away before Phil could kiss him back.

As last kisses went, it sucked.

Clint took a few steps away, out of Phil's reach, and lifted his arms. The storm screamed at him.

He moved closer to the circle, and the storm's frenzy grew. Lightning crackled around it, lancing down to the ground and burning the damp grass. Streaks of bilious green and purple pulsed and crawled across the surface.

Clint's pace slowed and he seemed to be fighting to keep walking. The storm's howls were growing louder with each step he took, as though it knew its end was coming.

Lightning shot out, hitting Clint instead of the ground this time. Phil shouted a warning, too late, and all the air rushed out of his lungs as the lightning surrounded Clint.

Clint threw back his head in a silent scream and his spine bowed until it was a miracle it didn't break. Light surrounded him, growing brighter and brighter until Phil couldn't keep his eyes open and had to shut it out with his arm. He could feel the moment that the storm broke, though. It was like a sudden concussion in the air, a boom inside Phil's head that would have knocked him to his knees if he hadn't already been down there.

Everything stopped.

The storm's howls went silent and the air was still. Phil slowly lowered his arm, blinking in the darkness. He couldn't see anything, not even the lamps on the paths around the park.

He crawled forward, trying to remember where Clint had been standing. Dry, burned grass crumbled under Phil's fingers.

His questing hand touched something warm. It shifted against his palm.

Phil gripped it, not caring which part of Clint's body he was touching, just that it was Clint. He was alive; he could move.

Something thin and warm wound around Phil's wrist.

Clint's tail. Phil smiled.

"Ow," Clint said softly.

The tail tugged at Phil's wrist, guiding his hand up to another warm patch of flesh that might have been Clint's bare shoulder. With the tail's help, Phil carefully wrapped his arms around Clint and held him close for a long time.