Elara stared at the armored column. It kept coming and coming, twenty men to a line, more and more, never ending. They split as they stepped out onto the grass, one line moving left, the next right, forming into two rectangles. There had to be over a thousand soldiers on the field now. The rain drenched them, and still they came, line after line. The mrogs wrapped around the two columns like a shifting dark sea, too numerous to count.

She chanced a look at Hugh. He was watching them with a grim look. He glanced at her, and she saw a savage determination in his eyes, the kind a trapped animal got when he knew he was cornered and escape was unlikely.

Maybe they aren’t here for us. Maybe they are here for Nez. She knew this slender hope was absurd, but she clung to it anyway.

The next line of soldiers emerged, carrying wooden planks nailed together. Another line. Another. A third one, carrying wooden poles. Parts of a bridge, Elara realized. They were going to try to bridge the moat.

On the other side of the field, the Cleaning Crew fell back, taking a defensive position on the edge of the woods.

A man emerged, riding on a large dark horse and wearing ornate golden armor. Another man in regular armor rode behind him, holding a standard and a horn.

The portal snapped closed.

“There you are,” Hugh muttered.

The horn blower blew a sharp note. As one, the warriors in the two columns turned, those in the first to face the castle and the right toward Nez’s forces. The mrogs split in half and charged to the walls and to the tree line, screeching and shrieking. The faint hope inside Elara died. The mrog army was here for Baile. They didn’t expect another army on the field, but they didn’t have capacity to make quick decisions or negotiate, so now they would fight both.

“Artillery!” Hugh called out. “Fire at will.”

Sam blew his horn. The sorcerous siege engines spat bolts at the approaching mrogs. Green explosions tore ragged holes at the advancing mass. The mrogs screeched and kept running.

“To the wall!” Hugh roared. “Defend the perimeter!”

The horn blared.

Hugh turned to her. “Get everyone into the keep.”

“What?”

“We can’t hold the wall. We’re buying you time. Get our people into the keep, Elara, into the tunnels.”

The first mrogs dashed into the moat, swimming across it.

She called out commands, throwing her voice around the castle.

The first furry arm clutched onto the parapet. A mrog pulled itself up onto the wall and crouched. He got halfway through the first scream before Hugh beheaded him.

Elara dragged a bloody hand across her face. The bailey floor was covered with blood and mrog bodies. On the wall, battle raged. Next to her Savannah was breathing hard. All of her people already made it to the keep. The Iron Dogs were withdrawing from the wall, fighting in small groups. Only one section of the wall still held, the one directly above them.

Another six people in black uniforms came running around the corner. A clump of mrogs chased them.

Savannah spat a curse. Magic snapped out of her like a striking whip. The leading mrog fell, covered in boils. Savannah swayed. She won’t last much longer.

The Iron Dogs dashed past them.

Elara thrust herself between the witch and the incoming mrogs. They clawed at her and died at her feet, joining the semicircle of furry bodies.

Savannah stumbled.

More mrogs came over the wall, coming from all directions now.

“Into the keep,” Elara snapped at her. “Now!”

“I…”

“Now!”

Savannah retreated into the keep.

A grotesque creature emerged from the left, hulking, with oversized shoulders and tree trunk-thick arms, splattered with blood and bits of human tissue. Bale’s unconscious body slumped over her back. It took Elara a moment to register the Iron Dogs around her. Not a monster. Another berserker. The group rambled past her into the keep.

All around her the mrogs were climbing over the wall, squirming and shrieking.

“Hugh!” Elara called.

A body fell off the wall and landed on the stones with a wet splat. She saw the dark hair. Felix. Oh no. She dropped by him. Blood poured out of Felix’s head. The scout master struggled to say something.

“Hugh!”

He came running down the stairs, Stoyan and two others following him, covered in blood.

Felix clutched her hand and died.

She saw Hugh’s face, and the pain on it tore her apart.

“Come on!” Savannah screamed.

Hugh grabbed her hand, pulled her up and away from the body into the keep. The huge metal doors swung closed.

Elara stared around the room. Mangled and bloody people stared back at her with terrified eyes, some of them were hers, others Hugh’s. Ours, she corrected herself. All of them are ours.

Sam came forward, pushing his way through the crowd, leading Bucky, Hugh’s helmet under his arm. Others followed with more horses.

What…

She turned to Hugh. “Are you insane?”

“The only way to stop this is to kill the commander,” Hugh said.

“We can hold out. We just need to outlast them until the magic wave ends.”

“They will be back,” he said with a grim finality. “If we wait them out, they’ll just return. We have to break them. If we kill the commander now, they will break.”

She shook her head.

He kept talking. “If I succeed, do not engage them. They’ll stop fighting and stand around until tech returns and takes them out. Until then, mrogs will be your only problem and you can handle mrogs in a narrow space.”

“You can’t possibly go out there. It’s suicide.”

The Iron Dogs were mounting.

“They’re not expecting a charge. I want you to take everyone else into the tunnels. The mrogs will try to come through the top windows. The metal grates won’t hold them off for long. Eventually they will rip through this door, too.”

She couldn’t go with him. She was their best defense against the mrogs. “No.”

“Elara, this is about survival. Either I kill him, or he will kill us.”

“No,” she told him.

“This is what I do,” he said. “This is why you married me.”

“Hugh, don’t go out there.” She grabbed his hands. “Please, don’t go.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, hot and desperate. She tasted blood.

“Bar all of the doors on the way down,” he said. “Slow them down as much as you can.”

He took the helmet from Sam and put it on.

He was going out there. There was nothing she could do. The awful realization hit her, robbing her of the ability to speak.

This is what I do. This is why you married me.

Elara found her voice. “Johanna!”

People looked around. An Iron Dog turned around, reached out to tap someone on the shoulder, and stepped aside. Johanna squeezed out of the crowd.

“Please help us,” Elara signed.

Johanna bowed her head and walked up to the door. Stoyan gave her a wild look from the back of his horse.

“Her power is a one-off,” Elara told Hugh. “When she is done, she is done until she can recover. Stay behind her.”

He mounted Bucky. The huge stallion bared his teeth. Hugh raised his sword and drew it over his left wrist. The blood coated the blade and snapped solid. A blood sword. Roland made blood weapons. She never realized Hugh could.

Something scraped the door. Mrog shrieks echoed through the room, muffled by the wood.

Johanna raised her arms to the sides and closed her eyes. Thin wisps of black smoke spiraled from her hands over her arms. Barely five feet tall, slender, blond hair spilling over her back, she stood there, before a huge door. Behind her, Hugh towered on his huge stallion.

Elara’s heart squeezed itself into a hard rock.

“Come back to me,” she ordered, her voice vicious. “Come back to me, all of you.”

Two Iron Dogs unbarred the door, holding both halves of it.

Johanna leaned her head back. The dark smoke wrapped around her whole body now. She opened her eyes and they were solid black and filled with despair. Her hair streamed, moved by a phantom wind.

“Open the door!” Elara ordered.

The door swung open, revealing a mass of mrogs gathered before it.

Johanna shot up into the air two feet off the ground. The smoke splayed out behind her, trailing her like two wings. She opened her mouth and wailed. Every desperate sound, the shriek of a widowed swan, the howl of a dying wolf, the gut-wrenching cry of an orphaned babe, all of it echoed within that wail. The impossibly high-pitched scream tore through the mrogs. They fell aside, dead. The Black Banshee shot through the gap she’d made and the Iron Dogs rode out after her, breaking into a gallop.

The doors slammed shut. More Iron Dogs barred them.

“Into the tunnels,” Elara ordered.

The Black Banshee’s wail severed the drawbridge chains. It crashed down and Hugh rode across it, Bucky’s hoofbeats like thunder. The stallion aimed himself at the line of soldiers and charged it like he was born to be a war horse.

The Banshee cut a path through the ranks, precise like a laser. All Hugh had to do was follow it. Regular banshees wailed and drove you mad, but black banshees killed with their screams. Another resource he wished he’d been aware of. When he finished here, he and the Harpy would have to have a long discussion about keeping things back.

The first line of soldiers blocked their path and fell, cut down by the wail.

He was still detached from it, watching it as if it were happening to someone else.

The second, third, and fourth lines followed.

She screamed and screamed.

The fifth and sixth lines collapsed.

The Banshee shot upward and right. Her smoke wings vanished, and she plunged down.

Only four lines between him and the commander.

Bucky tore into the armored soldiers like a battering ram, ripping his way through. Hugh swung his sword, slicing skulls. Blood sword met metal and metal gave way.

A moment and Bucky and he were through, out in the open, the commander on his horse in front of them, charging at full speed.

“Kill the other horse,” he ordered.

The stallion screamed and broke into a desperate charge.

The world snapped into a crystal-clear focus. The colors turned vivid, the smells sharp. He saw everything, he was aware of everything, and he knew with one hundred percent certainty that when the two horses collided, the force of it would unseat them both. He knew exactly where they would land.

He stood in the stirrups and pulled his left leg back, riding on the side of the horse.

The two stallions smashed into each other, screaming. A fraction before they collided, he let go, letting the full force of the gallop fling him into the air, giving power to his swing.

Below him, the commander rolled to a crouch and spat fire, but the heated arc of flames was too slow.

Hugh landed sword first. The blood blade cleaved the commander from skull to breast bone. The two halves of the man smoked.

Hugh turned and ran.

He didn’t see the fire, but he heard it, roaring like an animal behind him. He chanced a single look back and saw a tornado of flames coming straight for him. The world became heat and fire. He wrapped his magic around himself, healing blisters as they formed. The concussive force smashed into him, as if Erawan had returned and kicked him with his colossal foot. Magic plowed into him and all went dark.

The light returned in a rush of agony. Hugh blinked at the twin stabs of pain. Broken legs. He must’ve been thrown by the blast and landed badly. He tried to move his arms and couldn’t. The bones and muscles functioned fine, but something was restraining him.

The light darkened as something blurry blocked it.

Hugh blinked until the blurry thing came into focus and stared at the vampire’s face.

The undead opened its mouth.

“Well, well,” it said in Nez’s voice. “Today is not a total loss.”

Fuck.

Elara stared at the door. Behind her, hundreds of people waited. If the mrogs got through, she would stop them.

So much time had passed. It had to be hours. It felt like hours.

Someone pounded on the door. “Open!” a familiar voice yelled.

Stoyan.

Elara grasped the bar. People moved to help her, and the door was pried open. Stoyan ran in, carrying Johanna, limp like a ragdoll. “Help her!”

Savannah put her ear on Johanna’s chest. “She doesn’t need help. She needs time.” She jerked her head and Nikolas ran up to take Johanna from Stoyan’s arms.

“What’s happened?” Dugas asked.

Stoyan stared at him, his eyes wild, his skin smeared with blood and dirt. “Hugh killed the commander. The guy exploded. The mrogs ran away and the soldiers walked off.”

“Walked off where?” Savannah demanded.

“Into the woods. We killed some that were left between us and the castle, but the rest of them are either standing around or wandering off into the brush. As long as you don’t go near them, they don’t attack.”

Elara grabbed Stoyan’s arm. “Where is Hugh?”

“Nez has him.”

Ice rolled over her. “How?”

“He was thrown by the blast,” Stoyan said. “The undead got to him before we could.”

Thoughts rushed through her, coming too fast. “Is Nez still out there?”

“No, he cleared out as soon as they captured the Preceptor.”

She’d been right. This battle was never about the castle. It was about Hugh.

Stoyan bared his teeth. “I need volunteers. We’ll get him back.”

“You won’t,” Dugas said. “Nez has only fielded a small part of his force. He still has most of his undead. There isn’t enough of you.”

“Your job is to protect us,” Savannah said. “With the Preceptor gone, whose orders are you supposed to follow?”

Stoyan clenched his fists.

“We follow his spouse,” Lamar said from the depths of the room.

“There you go,” Savannah said. “We need you here. The Preceptor is a lost cause. You can’t get him back.”

Lamar walked into the center of the room and bowed his head to Elara.

Stoyan swore.

“We were given specific orders,” Lamar said. “He told us that if he died, you inherited command.”

“He isn’t dead,” Stoyan snarled.

Lamar didn’t answer.

Stoyan clenched his fists again and bowed his head.

“I will speak for Bale,” the female berserker called out. “We obey the spouse. We won’t dishonor his last order.”

They were hers, Elara realized. She had the castle and the Iron Dogs. She didn’t have to share authority anymore. Hugh trusted her to take care of his people.

There was only one solution to this problem. It was staring her straight in the face. Fear gripped her, so strong she could barely breathe. She was stronger, she reminded herself. She was always stronger.

She had to get him back. There was no other way.

Her voice came out cold. “Bring the cows.”

A shocked silence fell. The Iron Dogs looked around, bewildered.

“You can’t,” Savannah recoiled. “For him? You would manifest for him?”

“Hugh was abandoned by everyone in his life.” Her words rang out. “His parents, his teacher, his surrogate father. They all threw him away. He trusted us. He sacrificed himself to save us. This is his home. I’m his wife. I will not abandon him. Bring the cows.”

Elara stood on the wall. The fires had been lit, fighting back the night. On the field, remnants of the mrog force mulled about, confused. Stoyan was right. Most of them eventually walked off into the wilderness. She had no idea how long the magic wave would last, but tech would kill them, she was sure of it. There was too much magic in their bodies to survive the tech.

The moon had risen.

In the bailey, sigils were being drawn with chalk and salt. Dugas presided over it. He was wearing his white robe. On the walls and in the bailey the Departed waited, wearing white. A line of cows stood waiting, each decorated with sigils drawn in white, dedicated to her. Fifteen total. That would do.

“Don’t do this,” Savannah said, her voice pleading. “You have everything you want. Just let Nez have him. It solves all of our problems.”

“No.”

“Elara…”

“Do you remember that night?” she asked. She didn’t have to specify which night. It was always the first night, the night she was reborn.

“Of course I remember.”

“You said then that loyalty was the only thing we had. Before friendship, before love, before wealth, there is loyalty.”

Savannah didn’t answer.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Elara said. “I have to bring him back.”

Savannah opened her arms and wrapped them around her. “You poor child,” the witch whispered.

Elara rested her head on Savannah’s shoulder, the way she had done when she was little and for a moment she was ten years old again, frightened and alone on that first night.

“You poor sweet girl. You can do this, you hear? You can hold it at bay. Don’t surrender to it. Don’t let it devour you.” Her voice broke. “You’re stronger than it. You hear me? You grip it and you make it obey. Don’t forget who you are.”

“I won’t,” Elara promised. She believed it. She had no choice. Any doubt and she would lose.

Savannah let her go, looked at her, and brushed the stray hair off Elara’s face. There were tears in her eyes. “It’s time then.”

Elara walked down the stairs to the bailey.

Dugas pulled out a curved knife covered with sigils.

Stoyan and Lamar moved to stand next to her.

“What’s going on right now?” Lamar asked quietly.

“I’m going to manifest,” she said.

“Why does the druid have a knife?” Lamar asked.

“Because tonight he isn’t a druid. Defend the castle while I’m gone. That’s your order.”

Stoyan opened his mouth, but she walked away from them and stepped into the ring of sigils.

A low chant rose from the Departed, gaining strength. She felt her magic stir in response.

“Go inside,” Savannah told the Iron Dogs. “You don’t want to be here for this.”

Lamar began to protest.

“Go inside,” Elara told them. “Please.”

The centurions walked away.

A bare-footed child led the first cow to Dugas and walked away. The beast looked at Elara with liquid brown eyes, trusting. Guilt twisted her. She clenched her teeth and reached deep inside herself, into the place where her magic waited behind a locked door.

Dugas chanted, his face turning savage. The curved knife flashed, catching the light of the fires. Bright red blood splashed across his white robe.

Power punched Elara, catapulting her through the door straight into the depths of her magic to the cold presence that waited for her there. Ancient as the stars, powerful beyond measure, too complex for a human to understand, yet single-minded in its ferocity. It waited for her, no longer a frozen iceberg, but a pool of celestial water.

She sank into it, fueled by the magic of the sacrifice. The liquid closed over her head, submerging her, and she let it flood her with its magic…

The universe opened like a flower, its secrets hers for the taking.

Hanging off a torture rack wasn’t the funnest thing he had ever done, Hugh decided. Nez’s helpers twisted his arms before chaining him and his ligaments whined at him, the pain constant and difficult to ignore.

He hung in Nez’s HQ, a room in a large pre-Shift building, presumably somewhere in Rooster Point, although he couldn’t be sure. They had dragged him here in the dark. The only thing he remembered clearly was passing the shell of a Matador, dented and ripped as if something with big teeth had taken it in its jaws and bit. The Departed’s handiwork. Somehow the cockroach had survived it.

Several metal braziers full of flames lit the room. Most of Rooster Point had been abandoned for so long, nobody bothered to install fey lanterns, and Nez had to resort to an old-school dungeon. Aside from braziers, there wasn’t much to it. Supplies thrown here and there, typical jetsam and flotsam of the Legion on the move. Chains, undead collars, crates of equipment, m-scanners designed to record residual magic signatures, were all pushed against the walls.

Nez was leaning against the table, directly across from him, drinking coffee. He hadn’t changed much. Still lean, his face phlegmatic and arrogant. After a while all of the Legatus’ got that expression. Hugh had seen more than a dozen come and go. Of all of them Steed was the only one he could stomach. His memory brought up Steed in a cage, staring at him with insane eyes, as Hugh fed him bread.

He had regrets. But then he himself was caged now. Turnabout was fair play.

“How does it feel?” Nez asked.

“Well, doctor, it feels sore and tingly.”

“You know what I hate about you?” Nez sipped his coffee. “This idiotic bravado. There are things in this life that have to be taken seriously. At first I thought you were trying to hide weakness behind all the quips, but now I know. You’re just stupid.” He leaned forward. “Has it sunk into your big dumb brutish head yet? I won.”

“Nez, what did you win, exactly? I’m not dead. That’s a telling fact. Are you allowed to kill me?”

Silence answered.

“I take that as a no,” Hugh said. “So, really, what you’re allowed is a little bit of time to do whatever you want to me and gloat. And that’s it. Then you’ll have to deliver me to Roland. Do whatever you’re going to do or grow some balls and kill me. Do it, Nez. I fucking dare you.”

The rage in Nez’s eyes was delicious. If he pushed Nez far enough, he would snap and kill him, which would be the best outcome possible.

“That’s a short leash he’s got you on,” Hugh said.

Nez grabbed a length of pipe off his desk and swung it like a bat. The pipe connected. Bones crunched as his ribs shattered. Nez erupted into a flurry of hits. The pipe landed again and again, each blow a new burst of agony. Finally, he slumped against the desk and let go of the pipe. It clattered to the floor.

Every breath was like sucking fire into his lungs.

“Ow,” Hugh said.

Nez stared at him.

Hugh grinned. “Do you feel better, sweetheart? Do you feel like you won yet?”

“My leash is short, but he muzzles you,” Nez ground out. “Do you get it yet? Do you know what he does to keep you in line? He cooks you like a piece of fried chicken. He fries your mind until there is nothing but a shell left. So I’m going to tell you now, because later on you won’t care. When I’m done and things quiet down, I’ll come back here, and I’ll kill every living soul in that castle. Every man, every woman, and every child. I’ll make your wife watch. She will be the last to go.”

The scumbag would do it. Hugh saw it in Nez’s eyes. “Good speech,” he said. “I’d clap, but I’m all tied up.”

Nez bared his teeth.

“I feel like we’ve had a real breakthrough here, Landon,” Hugh said. “This is the most honest conversation we’ve ever had.”

Nez reached for the pipe.

A careful knock interrupted him in mid-move. Nez turned to the doorway. Hugh craned his neck, but it was too far behind him.

“What?” Nez asked.

“I’m sorry, Legatus. There is fog.”

“What kind of fog?”

“An unnatural fog. It’s coming from the woods.”

Nez swore and strode out.

The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire. He’d have to start over when Nez returned, and he’d been doing so well. Being killed now was his best option. Facing Roland would be the end of the road. He would do anything to keep from walking it.

Magic whispered through the room, familiar and warm.

Fuck me.

Hugh raised his head. Roland lowered the hood of his brown robe. His face was like no other. He had allowed himself to age to about fifty, to look more fatherly for Daniels, and it served him well. He looked like a prophet walking out of the long-forgotten magical cities of ancient Mesopotamia, a living remnant of a different time and different place, when wondrous things were possible and his name had been Nimrod, the Builder of Towers. A scholar, an inventor, a poet, a father god, wise with kind eyes that were all-knowing and slightly chiding. Hugh looked into his eyes and love washed over him. All Hugh ever needed, all he ever wanted or required, was that love. It sheltered and sustained him, it guided him, it took away all pain. It was like seeing the sunrise after a long, dark winter.

The void tore open behind Hugh, scraping at him with its teeth.

Roland crossed the room and looked over Hugh’s shoulder at the void. “Well, that’s not good.”

The sound of his voice, suffused with power and magic, was so familiar it hurt.

“Hello, Hugh,” Roland said.

He managed a single word. “Hello.”

They looked at each other.

“You survived,” Roland said.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here because I need your help, Hugh.” Roland smiled.

“Daniels kicked your ass,” Hugh said. The blasphemy of the words should’ve broken him, but somehow it didn’t.

“We’ve suffered some setbacks,” Roland said. “Nothing that can’t be remedied.”

It hit him then. The battle was never about the castle. It was about him. Nez was ordered to go and get him out of Baile.

“You’ve proven yourself,” Roland said.

You fucking prick. “You watched me at Aberdine.”

“I did. It’s time to come back,” Roland said. “You’ve been gone for too long.”

“It’s too late for that,” Hugh said.

“Nonsense.” Roland glanced at the chains over his right arm. They fell apart and Hugh hung, suspended by one arm.

The immortal wizard reached out to him. “Take my hand, Hugh. Take my hand and everything will be forgiven. Everything will be as it was.”

The world shrunk to the limits of the room. If only he reached out and took Roland’s hand, all the problems would fall away. The void would vanish, taking away the guilt and the nightmares. Life would be simple again.

“Take my hand,” Roland said again. “You’re my son in everything but blood.”

The word pierced Hugh. He’d waited decades to hear it and here it was, freely given.

Roland had expected him to stay a wreck. As long as he was a drunkard trying to commit a slow suicide, Roland was content to leave him as he was. But once he had pulled himself together, he was useful again. He was a threat.

The realization rocked him. He looked into Roland’s eyes and he saw something else, besides wisdom and approval. It hid in the corners of Roland’s soul, a quiet wariness, watching him.

Roland was afraid of him.

Hugh grinned. “No.”

“Hugh,” Roland said, his voice chiding, catapulting Hugh back to when he was a skinny orphan. “Take my hand. You’ve earned it. It’s your destiny.”

“No.”

Roland stared at him.

“It’s not exactly a surprise,” Hugh said. The words rolled off his tongue, amazingly easy. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

“I took you off the street. I gave you shelter, education, and power. And this is how you repay me?”

“You forgot the part where you turned me into a happy idiot every time I tried to do something you didn’t like.”

“That’s what raising a child is,” Roland said. “Encouraging some aspects of their personality, suppressing the others.”

Hugh laughed quietly.

“I made you effective. I freed you from complications that were holding you back. Did I ever force you to do anything, Hugh? Or did you jump on every task I gave you?”

“Explain something to me. Why did you exile me? I did everything you asked.”

“I exiled you because you couldn’t see the bigger picture.” A note of irritation rose in Roland’s voice. “I’m beginning to think you still can’t.”

“That explains nothing.”

“Think about it and it will come to you.”

The pain in his ribs was unbearable now. Hugh pushed it aside. “Here is the bigger picture for you: there are two of us, Daniels and me. Neither of us wants anything to do with you. You’re not batting a thousand. You’re o for two. You need one of your children to fight the other, because Daniels kicked your ass once and she will do it again. Think about that.”

“There are three,” Roland said. “Almost three.”

“She hasn’t given birth yet.”

“No, but soon. Soon I will have a grandson.”

“And you can’t wait to get your hands on that child. Finally, a real son, the one with the right blood. Why the hell do you think anything will be different? Even if you get him from the moment he draws his first breath, he’ll still grow up hating you. Yet here you are, so desperate to get your hands on the new toy, that you send your Legion to capture me, teleport here despite the danger, and call me your son. Take a real good look. Look at me hanging here. If I were your son, what sort of father would that make you?”

“So the answer is no?” Roland asked.

“We could stay in here for the next hundred years and it would still be no. You’ll never get your hands on Kate’s kid. I’ll kill you first.”

Roland sighed. “You disappoint me, Hugh.”

“Get used to it.”

Roland stepped closer. Only a foot of space separated them.

“Without me, you’ll die and soon. Is that what you really want?”

“We all have to die eventually.”

“Alone, abandoned, stripped of your powers. This is the future you want?”

“No powers?”

“None of my blood.”

Hugh pulled on the last thread of magic remaining inside him, a tiny sliver that remained despite the power words and all the healing he had done. He drew the fingers of his free hand across his bloody ribs and sank that magic into the crimson liquid. Magic sparked, and the dark blood snapped into a sharp blood-red needle.

“Explain this to me,” Hugh said.

Roland shied back.

The needle crumbled into dust.

Someone screamed outside the building, the shriek cut off in mid-note.

“Last chance, Hugh!” Roland reached out to him. “Take my hand.”

“Fuck off.”

Mist shot through the doorway, glowing with magic, broke, and there it was, pure white and glowing, too monstrous to comprehend, emanating the kind of cold that rode comets and lived between the stars. Roland jerked back, shock on his face. Hugh just stared at it, mute. Every cell in his body was screaming. And then he saw her among the chaos of teeth, mouths, and eyes. She’d come for him.

She turned to Roland and he took a step back, shock draining all of the blood from his face.

She spoke, and cracks split the walls.

“HE IS MINE, WIZARD.”

“Have him then.” Roland vanished.

The creature of chaos lowered itself to him, and Hugh made his lips stretch into a grin, before his mind split open from sheer terror. His voice came out hoarse. “Hi, honey.”