I blinked my eyes open and slid the back of my hand across the drool lining my chin. With a start, I realized there was soft light shining through the window. I peeled my face off the window frame and adjusted my butt, still asleep, on the chair I’d dragged over to the window.

Some sentinel I was. I hadn’t even properly lain down and I’d still fallen asleep.

With the pad of my finger, I wiped away the crust in the corner of my eyes and pushed closer to the window again to make sure all was clear.

A jolt coursed through me. I sucked in a breath.

On the other side of the street was a figure. His broad shoulders strained the T-shirt stretched across his torso. Tall and built, he emanated strength and power in repose as he stared up at my window.

It was him.

The stranger.

I shrank back. Had he seen me? There were no lights on behind me, and the glare of the sky should coat the glass, preventing the ability to see in. But then again, my face had nearly been pressed against it. He might’ve identified a cheek and some smushed lips.

Leaning closer again, I saw that he was now looking at the corner of the yard. His gaze roamed and his long arms stayed at his sides, thankfully with nothing between them.

A glance at the clock said it was five thirty in the morning. There was no telling how long he’d been standing there.

He stepped forward, into the street. Without looking left or right, he stalked across it with determination. Up on our sidewalk, he stood right in front of the house.

Then glanced up at me again.

Our gazes connected. Something inside of me did a little dance, a remembrance of the time he’d touched me and electricity shocked through my body. That had been fairly awful and painful, but this was more along the lines of pleasure.

Because I was crazy. That was the only explanation.

He spread out his hands in front of him. Rain fell, hitting a bubble around his body like it had the other night. Falling away without soaking him. It had to be some kind of magic, but I didn’t see the weave. Just like I couldn’t see the weave of the ward.

His fingers waggled slowly. A blast of light materialized on our property line, where I’d seen the purple wall earlier, and slapped into his palms in midair.

He stepped back and dropped his hands a bit as a little grin lit up his face.

His gaze hit mine, and though I couldn’t see detail, I knew he thought I’d put up that bit of magic.

After resuming his original place, he lifted his hands once again. A moment later, strings of various colors, textures, and patterns rose from the yards next to mine and the one across the street. They rose from his boots. Twisted out from his clothes. Wafted from the sidewalk. From everywhere. They all met up at his waggling fingers, and were then directed into an extremely intricate weave.

His posture, expression, and the playful drift and dance of the magic made the process look effortless. Beautiful.

The weave plastered itself along the invisible wall my father had created before converging into a diagonal line. Cracks formed along the surface, and then the whole place lit up. What had once been invisible became a gorgeous tapestry of color.

I watched in awe as he called up another weave, this one solely from his pocket. He tapped the wall with his finger. The magic broke like shatter-proof glass, raining down in pieces.

The stranger had cracked the ward. It hadn’t taken a couple days of study. It had taken a couple hours at the most. Ten minutes at the least.

The now-familiar surge of adrenaline ran through me. Fight or flight, and closets wouldn’t help me. I had to fight!

I pushed away from the window and grabbed out the scariest thing I could find: a tennis racket. “I need to try harder.”

I threw open my bedroom door, going for the biggest, loudest, craziest weapon in the house.

“Mother!” Rounding the corner into the stairwell, I took the steps two at a time, missed one toward the bottom, and tumbled down the rest. After a grunt, I picked myself up off the ground and snatched up the racket again. It might not help, but we were in this together now. “Mother, it’s the guy. The stranger. He just got past the first ward. Where’s that shotgun?”

I found her on the couch, struggling up to sit and blinking puffy eyes. Her hand slapped down next to her. Onto the gun. “I’m awake.”

“I’ll get a sword.”

“Get King Arthur. It handles the best.”

“Who are you?”

“A mother that will protect her child at any cost.” My mother straightened her top, paused long enough for a scary sort of determined expression to settle on her face, and started forward.

I ducked into her study, grabbed the sword off its decorative holder on the wall, and ran back out. Probably wasn’t wise to run with a sword, but desperate times, as they said.

My mother threw open the front door, cocked the shotgun, and lowered the business end, leveling it no more than ten feet from the stranger’s large torso. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“Mrs. Bristol, right?” the stranger said in his deep, scratchy voice, his gaze roaming the side of the house.

“Mzzzz Bristol. I’m widowed, which means I don’t have a man to hide behind. That makes me three times as dangerous. You are on my property. I’d suggest you get off.”

His little smile was back. “Yes, ma’am. You are correct, I am on your property. This second ward is expertly done. My compliments to the chef.”

“I’ll call the cops. Right after I shoot you.” My mother moved to get in better position, as though she’d used the gun every day of her life.

Just what hobbies had she been taking up besides knitting?

“You don’t want to do that, ma’am. You’ve had some visitors.” He spread out his fingers like he had before. “Thankfully, you had these wards up. But they would’ve gotten through eventually. I can see you are ready to shoot me. Please don’t. My brother worked for the guild. Trusted them. Tried to change them from within. They killed him three years ago.” He dropped his hands and looked straight at my mother. “The guild is my enemy. I would sooner tear them down to the ground than help them.”

My mother didn’t budge an inch. Then again, she didn’t pull the trigger, either.

“I didn’t think they knew about Penny Bristol yet. But I ran into a member of the guild hiding”—he turned and pointed at Lewis’s yard—“just in that yard there. They are watching this house. I don’t know how much they know, but knowing even a little is enough. Or it is with your daughter, at any rate. If they saw what I did, more of them will descend on your house. They’ll drag her out by her hair if they have to.”

“If they saw what you did?” my mother asked.

I grimaced. “I may have left a thing or two out of the story I told you,” I murmured.

I could just see my mother thinning her lips.

Magic drifted up from the ground again, thicker streams than before, pulling from at least two dozen places within the yard.

“He’s getting ready to break this second ward,” I said in a strangely high-pitched squeak. “He’s pulling magic from the ground right now.”

The stranger’s deep blue gaze snapped to mine. His eyes widened. “Even very little would be enough for them to know you’re special, Penny Bristol.” He sounded impressed. Even proud.

I flushed, then glowered to undermine the effect. This guy killed people. I was not about to develop a soft spot for him because of a few words of praise, however tickled I was to be noticed.

“What do you mean, pulling from the ground?” my mother said, looking at his feet.

I pointed at what I was seeing, which was notably less clear now that I’d vocally made note of it. “He’s about to create the weave to break the ward.”

My mother glanced back at me, her eyes as wide as the stranger’s.

“What?” I asked. “I know a little bit of magic. From New Orleans.”

“I’d like to come in, Ms. Bristol,” the stranger said, his voice solemn. “You can’t let them have her. I can help you protect her.”