All of Bug’s nine screens were on. He sat at his workstation like a wizard cooking potions in his arcane laboratory, glancing at the screens arranged three to a row.

The three monitors on the right showed an aerial view of what looked like a concrete mushroom cap, circled by two rings of walls, the inner being stone and the outer a chain-link fence, probably electrified and anchored by four guard posts. The views slid and turned, as the birds of prey carrying cameras fought the wind gusts. House Harrison had sent their scouts. Even if Bug’s drones could’ve handled the rising winds, Sturm’s people would detect them and shoot them down.

The place was lit up like a Christmas tree. Massive lamps flooded the interior of the compound around the dome with white light, and industrial lights banished the darkness a full fifty yards past the outer electrified fence. It was pitch-black outside, but inside it might as well have been broad daylight. Sturm clearly expected an attack.

His electric bill had to cost a small fortune.

The top two center screens showed the schematics of the same fortress, while the screen under them offered highlights. Outer fence: electrified fence, eight guard posts. Inner wall: barracks, roughly one hundred personnel, fortified concrete, machine guns. The dome in the center: reinforced concrete monodome, twenty-eight steel pilings driven into the ground, over seven miles of steel reinforcements; earthquake, hurricane, and tornado resistant, the kind of home that a storm mage would build to withstand the worst the planet and magic could throw at him.

The place was a damn fortress. Sturm also owned the neighboring ranch and some additional buildings, but they were of little interest. The fight would center on his fortified base.

The two bottom left screens showed atmospheric readings and live feed from Doppler radar. The top left screen showed Lenora Jordan. She was in her late thirties, with medium brown skin that had a rich red undertone. Her dark brown hair, normally pulled back from her face, fell around it in long, tightly curled locks. She looked like a paladin about to ride into battle. If her eyes could shoot fire, the room would be burning. Behind her, people hurried back and forth, some frantically speaking into a phone.

Our room was full too. Both Cornelius and Diana sat on the couch. Rivera, Heart, and three of Rogan’s team leaders, two women and a man, studied the base. My family parked themselves near a wall. Rynda and Edward Sherwood, still pale, sat in the two chairs on my right. We’d all heard the ten-minute briefing. Sturm’s fortress could hold off a small army.

The faint sound of drums floated in the air, underscored by a powerful current of magic. Behind the screens, at the outdoor space where Rogan had performed his Key, Adeyemi danced in a furious rhythm, the lines of the arcane circle around her sparkling with lightning.

“How soon can you get there?” Lenora ground out.

“Twenty minutes,” Rogan said. “Sooner if you stop asking me things every thirty seconds.”

She glowered at him.

“Sir,” Bug said. “I have an incoming call from Alexander Sturm, sir.”

“I want complete silence,” Rogan barked, his voice snapping like a whip.

Everyone froze. The room turned so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Rogan glanced at the doors leading to outside where Adeyemi danced. They slammed shut, smothering the drumbeat.

The entire workstation pivoted on its axis toward the kitchen, the only thing Sturm would be able to see. Rogan strode to the kitchen counter. A coffee mug shot out of the cabinet and landed in his hand. He leaned against the counter, mug in hand, and nodded at Bug. He appeared completely alone in an empty room, just a man enjoying a late cup of coffee.

“Rogan,” Sturm said from the screen. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes.” Rogan’s voice was nonchalant. “I was having the best dream. I was wrapping my hands around your throat, and you were begging. I was embarrassed for you, actually.”

There was a momentary pause. “I had no idea you devoted so much time to thinking about me.”

“Not really. What do you want, Sturm?”

“What I always wanted. Olivia’s files.”

Rogan pretended to consider it. “No.”

“Why do you have to be so tedious? What do you want for them?”

“Nothing you have.”

Sturm sighed. “I have a lot of things you don’t want. History shows that when our Houses fight, yours loses.”

Rogan smiled. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

“Try me.”

“I intend to,” Sturm said. “There will be enormous losses in personnel and property, and at the end, I’ll win. I have one simple advantage, Rogan. I can direct the destruction, while you just emanate it. It’s clear I have the tactical advantage. Why don’t we skip all that and discuss our options?”

“You have no options,” Rogan said, his voice harsh.

“Let me guess, you have a Boy Scout plan. You’ll crack the cypher and then what? Turn it over to Jordan?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Sturm laughed. “Come on. Even if I humor you, and we suppose that I’ll sit on my hands while all of this happens, even you can guess about the caliber of people involved. Nothing will happen, Rogan. They will bury it, and if Jordan tries to hold on to it, they will bury that uppity bitch with it. They’ve been talking about cutting her down to size for months.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, so nothing would escape.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Except my reputation. Which is precisely why I won’t be sitting on my hands. While your geeks are trying to break the cypher, I will be demolishing Houston.”

“And this helps you how?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no city left. Do you know what happens in the wake of a natural disaster of such proportions? There is no law and order. There is no accountability. There is only chaos. By the time they get around to sorting out who may be responsible for what, nobody will be able to implicate me. Weather spells can’t be traced. In fact, credible proof may surface that you were responsible for the destruction of the city. Of the two of us, you’re the one with the cute nicknames, Huracan.”

“I had no idea my powers expanded to atmospheric manipulation,” Rogan said.

“Perhaps you hired a storm mage, and used the storm as a cover to level the city. Whenever something like this happens, people look for a narrative, Rogan. And a former hero, who never came back from the war and finally snapped, makes for a great story. I’ll even shed a tear for you.”

“You do realize that I’m recording this call?”

“Good. Play it back and listen to it until you realize I don’t care. I’m not concerned. I’m not worried about you. Ask yourself why. When you figure out the answer, call me. I’d wish you good night but I doubt you’ll be sleeping.”

“He hung up, sir,” Bug reported.

The workstation turned toward us, the top right screen dark.

Rogan tossed the cup aside—it floated into the sink—and nodded at Lenora. “Did you catch all that?”

“Yes,” Lenora Jordan said, her voice cutting. “I did.”

“He’s playing for time,” Rogan said.

“Do whatever the hell you have to do to stop that tornado from hitting Houston. I can’t evacuate the city in an hour. We’ll see you there. And Rogan? Sturm is mine. I’m the law. Nobody is above the law.”

Her screen went dark.

“Right. We have a base to crack,” Rogan said. “We have an outer wall with eight guard towers. I’d like to get through that wall with the least noise possible. That means taking out four sets of guards.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Diana said.

Everyone looked at her.

“He took my niece,” she said. “And he’s trying to destroy the city.” She rose.

“Thank you,” Rogan said.

Diana nodded. “House Harrison will meet you in the field. We need time to dig.”

She walked out and Cornelius followed her.

“Assuming the outer perimeter is down, we’ll need to get through the inner wall,” Rogan continued, “which houses the barracks and the bulk of the personnel.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Catalina said.

Everyone turned to her. My sister raised her chin, her face pale. “If you get me inside, I will walk them out. As long as you can guarantee that they will be taken into custody and get me out of there before they attack me.”

Rogan glanced at me. I nodded. If she wanted to do it, then I would help her do it in the safest way possible.

“We’ll take care of it,” Rogan said. “Melosa.”

Melosa stepped forward.

“Your team will walk Catalina into that wall and get her out. Once she is outside, she will need immediate evac, by air or car. Gear and safety protocol as for a highly effective psionic or dominator. Noise dampeners, no direct eye contact.”

“Understood.”

“I will handle the dome,” Rogan said. “Heart, once we’re through the inner wall, you will assume command and evacuate all personnel . . .”

“Major,” Bug said.

The right screen zoomed in. On the wide stretch of clear ground between the inner wall and the dome, three huge odd shapes waited. Rogan squinted.

“Zoom closer.”

The three shapes rushed at the screen. Three statues, frozen in mid-movement, built together from pale metal, gears, and oddly shaped plastic parts. One resembled a horse with crocodile jaws filled with metal teeth, the second was vaguely rhino-like, and the third reminded me of a tiger, a massive beast with talons and saber-tooth fangs.

“How large are these?” one of the team leaders asked.

“The tallest is about twenty-five feet,” Bug answered.

“That’s some weird lawn decorations,” Leon murmured.

“They’re not decorations,” Mom said, her voice hard.

Rogan’s eyes were dark. “They’re constructs. Military grade, assembled and animated by a Prime zoefactor.”

“Is that like the construct we fought before?” I asked.

That construct was put together with random pipes, bolts, and small metal things one would typically find at a construction site. Every time Rogan would break it, the construct reformed itself. It nearly crushed Rogan. Afterward he looked like he’d been hit by a car.

“No. These are better,” Rogan said. “That one was made on the fly. These have been designed.”

“Don’t they need a Prime animator?” I asked.

Rogan shook his head. “Once a Prime has made them and animated them, an Average and above can activate them.”

“We’ve had Sturm under surveillance since his name was mentioned,” Bug said. “There is no indication an animator Prime is in residence.”

“Will they reform when struck with conventional ammo?” one of the team leaders wanted to know.

“Yes,” Rogan answered. “You can toss a grenade in the middle of one. They’ll fly apart and reform.”

“Awesome,” Leon said, his eyes lit up.

Mom fixed him with a parental glare.

Constructs weren’t robots. Robots were interconnected structures, driven by a power source, where each part was attached to and depended on the other parts to function. Destroy enough parts or the right parts, and the structure became useless. A construct was held together by magic. Destroy a part, and it simply reformed, with magic compensating for the loss. It was the difference between building a horse with an Erector set, with metal plates, bolts, and nuts, and tossing all these parts into a horse shape defined by magic.

“How do we kill them?” I asked.

“The only way is to reduce the number of particles below critical,” Rogan said. “Usually that number is twenty-five to thirty percent. There are three ways to do that. Destroy the particles, jettison them beyond the reforming radius, or isolate part of the construct to prevent it from reforming.”

Jettisoning the parts wouldn’t work. He’d tried that before with the construct we fought. It wrapped around him and tried to crush him. He would push it back, then it would crush him again. Of course, that time we had an active Prime manipulating the construct. This time we probably wouldn’t, but we had three constructs instead of one, and they wouldn’t be standing still while Rogan played telekinetic baseball with their particles. If they were made of a single piece, he would toss them so far and so fast, they’d make a sonic boom as they flew by. But they were made of many small parts, which meant targeting each part individually.

“Isolation is the most efficient,” Rogan said. “I need to bury them under something with sufficient mass and weight, so they can’t reform.”

“We could crack the wall for you, sir,” one of the team leaders said. “With the right charge placement, we can split it into chunks instead of blowing it up. We can’t guarantee that they would all be the same size, but we will do our best, sir.”

Rogan frowned. “I’d need a circle and time. We have to occupy the constructs until then.”

Occupy them . . . “Do they have target priority protocols?” I asked. “Would they be able to differentiate between a high- and low-priority target?”

Rogan’s face shut down. “No.”

“No, they don’t?” I clarified.

“No, I won’t let you do this.”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t a vassal of House Rogan.” I smiled at him. “I can do whatever I want. And you know Sturm thinks I’m a high-priority target. Even if they don’t have target prioritization, the animator mage that’s going to activate them will recognize me.”

His blue eyes darkened. “No, you can do whatever I judge to be strategically sound. I have the numbers advantage in this operation, I’m in charge of it, and I’m telling you that’s too dangerous. You’re not playing bait.”

“Rogan, what exactly are you going to do if I don’t listen to you?” I asked. “Refuse to fight Sturm?”

“I can physically prevent you from approaching Sturm’s fort,” he ground out.

“No, you can’t,” Catalina said quietly.

Rogan’s magic splayed out around him, a furious elemental thundercloud. The magic-sensitive people in the room sat up straighter, unconsciously trying to put some distance between themselves and the churning power. It shot out and met the cold wall that was my magic.

We stared at each other. The tension in the room was so thick, you could slice it with a knife and serve it with tea.

Leon whistled a melody from a gunfighter Western.

Rogan crossed his arms, regarding me. “Just out of curiosity, how are you planning on surviving long enough?”

“She’s going to let her grandma handle that,” Grandma Frida said.

“I would like to help,” Edward Sherwood said.

The room turned to him.

“You’re not a combat mage,” Rynda said softly. “And you’re still recovering.”

“But I am a Prime. My brother is at the root of all this mess.” Edward’s jaw was set.

“Thank you,” Rogan said. “We can use your help.”

I crouched in the field. Rogan waited like an impassive statue next to me. A few hundred yards away Sturm’s compound glowed, a bright electric jewel in the midnight fields. We’d doubled around the compound, across the pastures. The only road leading to the compound lay on our left, where it ran into the gate and the main guardhouse inside the electrified fence perimeter. Another, smaller guardhouse waited to the right, and two more were behind the ring of the inner wall, out of sight.

The place looked like a prison.

Around me Rogan’s people waited, quiet shadows in the dark night. I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes left on the deadline Adeyemi gave us. We had cut it too close. The wind was rising, the air thick as soup with violent magic.

Behind me, Cornelius stood with his head bowed. Behind him, Diana and Blake, Cornelius’ older brother, waited quietly, eight jaguars sitting at their feet, three black and five golden. The big cats watched the night with their bottomless eyes. Matilda sat with the cats, a human child somehow part of their pack. I couldn’t figure out why everyone insisted on bringing her with us despite the danger. When I asked Diana about it, she just smiled.

Edward Sherwood stood by himself on a level stretch of ground. He’d been sprinkling seeds out of a large packet around himself for the last five minutes.

Nothing left to do but wait.

“Are you sure you want to use that old tank?” Rogan asked me for the third time. “I can still get you a better one . . .”

“Hey!” Grandma Frida reached out and poked him with her finger. “You can get her a newer tank, but not better.”

Another minute dragged by.

“The badgers are through,” Cornelius said, and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

The jaguars dashed into the night. Above them two owls soared. Both Diana and Blake looked into small tablets, whispering into their communication sets.

Cornelius came to sit by me. He looked haggard.

“Will the cats go through the badger tunnel?” I asked.

“Not under ordinary circumstances,” he said. “But they will do whatever we ask of them.”

The cats reached the edge of the light and slunk forward, moving silently.

Another long moment.

“What if they are seen?”

“They won’t be,” Cornelius said. “The word yaguar means he who kills in one bite. They don’t suffocate their prey. They pierce its neck with one bite. Their jaws can crush a human skull. In terms of an ambush predator, they are perfect.”

Another minute.

Tension rode me. I had to squish the urge to run into that field of light screaming just to let it out.

Another minute . . .

“They are through,” Cornelius said.

Nothing changed. From all outward appearance, the base appeared untouched.

Talon landed on Cornelius’ arm. Cornelius looked at Edward, who nodded. The animal mage handed a small sack to Talon. The hawk clutched it in his claws and flew off.

Time to get in position. I got up and moved across our perimeter to take my place with the small team in tactical gear. Six people formed up around my sister. Rivera was in front, Melosa behind Catalina, and Leon on Catalina’s left. I took the spot on her right.

Catalina looked down at her ballistic vest. She looked twelve in that helmet, vulnerable and delicate. The worry in her eyes punched me.

“Are you sure?” I asked for the fiftieth time.

“Yes.”

I put my helmet on.

On the far right, Edward Sherwood straightened and held out his hands. White grass sprouted around him, its stalks forming a complex arcane circle. Wow.

Seconds dragged by.

“It’s done,” Diana said in my ear.

“Team Alpha, go,” Heart said.

We took off through the field, aiming for the nearest guardhouse and its gate. A few breaths and the sheltering darkness ended. Suddenly we were in the light, exposed like sitting ducks. My sister was right next to me in a stupid helmet, and if there was a sniper on the roof, they could shoot her right in the face.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, just do it.

I ran, trying to cover as much of Catalina with my body as I could.

Heartbeats echoed through my head, one, two, three . . .

We crouched by the gate. Rivera pulled out big wire cutters. Behind the fence, a guard slumped over the console inside the guardhouse. A wet red smudge marked the window.

The gate swung open. We dashed across to the wall and the door within it. One of the other ex-soldiers slapped a small charge on it. Rivera pushed us back, and we flattened ourselves against the wall.

The charge popped like a firecracker.

Rivera checked the door. Gunfire tore the silence. A siren screamed somewhere.

Rivera pointed to Leon and Melosa, and nodded to the door.

Leon lunged into the doorway, Melosa behind him, her magic screen flaring to shield them from the hail of bullets.

“Now!” Leon barked.

Four shots blended into one.

“Clear,” Leon called.

We filed into a narrow hallway, prone forms in the two guard cages on both sides of us.

A female ex-soldier slid a camera onto a flexible wire, checked the hallway, and drew back as bullets answered. “Long hallway. Rooms on both sides.”

The hallway probably ran the entire length of the wall.

“Marko, give me head count,” Rivera barked.

An older male soldier closed his eyes. “Three dozen in the room on the left, about five dozen on the right.”

They had pulled all of the personnel from the wall to box us in.

Catalina stood against the wall, her face bloodless.

A small metal object rolled into the hallway.

“Grenade!” Melosa lunged forward.

I threw myself over Catalina.

Magic flared in front of Melosa in a blue screen. An explosion shook the building. Melosa flew backward. Something burned my back. Debris pelted us.

Melosa rolled off the floor, snarling. “Fuckers.”

We were pinned down here. There were a hell of a lot more of them than of us. We couldn’t go forward. We couldn’t sit here, because they would come calling with superior firepower and flush us out. If we ran outside, they would shoot us.

“Now,” I told Catalina.

My sister pushed me aside and stepped forward. Her hands shook.

“You have to do it now. You can do it.”

She pushed from the wall. Magic coursed through her. I felt it. Like heat from a stove.

“Initiate deaf mode,” Rivera snapped.

I didn’t hear anything, but if everything went well, right now the helmets’ noise-canceling software was pumping sound into the soldiers’ ears.

Catalina turned to the hallway. Melosa followed Catalina, the blue screen shielding my sister. Magic coursed through her. The breath caught in my throat. So much power . . .

Bullets ripped into the barrier, sending waves through it. Catalina opened her mouth. Her skin glowed, as if a golden light warmed her from within. She raised her hands palms up in the mage pose. Her voice, impossibly beautiful, rolled through the building, an intimate whisper that somehow sounded as loud as a church bell, carrying a heart-stopping pulse of magic with it.

“Come to me.”

Too strong. She’d poured so much magic into it.

The gunfire died.

I moved next to her, blocking her from Rogan’s people.

A man walked into the hallway. He dropped his gun, pulled his helmet off, and knelt before my sister.

Rivera stared at me, trying to catch a glimpse of Catalina. I shook my head.

Men and women were coming through the hallway, dropping their weapons, and kneeling.

“Follow me to safety.”

“Face the wall!” I barked, and pointed at the wall. Rogan’s squad turned and put their faces into the wall.

I stepped aside. Catalina turned and walked past me outside.

People followed her, single file, moving past us smiling.

“Go!” I told Leon.

He pushed through the column of people outside, trailing Catalina, his gun up. If any of them tried to touch her, he would shoot them.

They came and came and came. I tapped my helmet’s comm link. “Rogan, she used so much magic. She will need immediate evac. Don’t let them kill my sister.”

“She’ll be safe,” his voice said, reassuring and calm. “I promise.”

Two of Rogan’s people followed the column. Marko and Melosa jumped on them.

The column marched through the fields. Above them the sky raged, shot through with lightning. Wind tore at their clothes. We had minutes until the storm hit.

The last person left the wall. They kept walking, oblivious to another shape speeding in the opposite direction on its tracks, the massive gun pointed straight at the wall, and Team Bravo, Rogan’s sappers, running next to it. Catalina had done her part. It was my turn.

I ran out of the building. Rivera’s team followed me.

Romeo tore through the chain-link fence. I ran up to it, climbed on top, and into the hatch. The inside of the tank was cramped and dark. I groped about for the weapon I told Grandma Frida to leave for me. My hand brushed the heavy cold metal. There.

Romeo lurched.

“Ready to do this?” Grandma Frida yelled.

“Ready.”

Romeo fired, shuddering. Another shot, another shudder.

“We have us a hole!” Grandma Frida laughed. The tank lurched forward. “Old tank, my foot. I’ll show him an old tank.”

I grabbed my firearm and popped out of the hatch. The bright electric light blinded me for a second. The wall was a dark barrier behind us. I blinked and saw the nearest construct, an enormous horselike beast, gleaming in the light of the floodlights. Its eyes flared with bright electric blue. It opened its jaws, testing scissorlike teeth as big as my forearm.

This was a bad idea. This was a horrible, ridiculous idea.

The XM25 in my hands weighed a ton. I leveled it at the construct, braced myself, and squeezed the trigger. The airburst grenade launcher spat a grenade. The recoil jerked me.

The grenade smashed against the horse’s chest and exploded, ripping a hole in its center and sending metal and plastic flying into the air. The construct faltered. Ha! They didn’t call it the Punisher for nothing.

Parts torn away by the blast streamed back to fill the hole. Crap.

“Go!” I yelled at Grandma. “Go!”

Romeo sped forward, circling the dome. The horse snarled, a harsh metal roar.

Holy crap.

It snapped its fangs and gave chase.

The little tank charged as fast as it could go, which wasn’t fast enough. The horse hurtled toward us.

I lobbed another grenade at it. It ripped through the bottom part of its stomach and blew apart its legs. The horse stumbled. Behind it, the massive tiger construct rounded the bend.

“Get down!” Grandma Frida screamed.

I whipped around just in time to see the massive rhino construct bearing down on us from the opposite direction.

I ducked inside. The construct smashed into the tank, sending me into the bulkhead. My helmet smacked into something hard, rattling my skull. Things went blurry.

Romeo shook. Grandma Frida fired another missile.

Steel teeth blocked out the light in the hatch above me. I saw metal guts glowing with magic. The horrible screech of metal ripping metal lanced my ears. The tiger was on top of us and trying to dig in.

Metal groaned. It was ripping our armor.

When I shot the horse, the explosion should’ve carried the particles out, but it didn’t. They shot out a few feet and fell back in. The magic contained the explosion.

I thrust the grenade launcher straight up, into the metal throat, fired, and dropped down. Metal teeth snapped, nearly scissoring my arm off.

The blast wave punched me, but not nearly as strong as it should’ve been. Suddenly light flooded through the hatch. I scrambled up. The tiger was rolling on the ground, a quickly reforming mess where its head used to be. The rhino had managed to come around and tore after us. The horse was only yards away.

I fired and kept firing, trying to buy us time. Massive gouges scored Romeo where the tiger had carved at it. We couldn’t take another attack. If we let the tiger get to us, the construct would open us like a tin can.

An explosion rolled through the air. We rounded the dome and I saw the wall collapsing in huge chunks.

We rocketed down the grass, the small tank and three giants following it: the horse, the tiger, and the rhino.

The horse leaped onto Romeo, looming over me. Enormous teeth ducked down.

I fired my last grenade into its gut and dropped into the tank, hearing it blossom into a beautiful explosion. That’s it. Out of ammo. I had three regular grenades left. I grabbed them and thrust into the open. The horse had faltered and the tiger took the lead.

I pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. The tiger dodged and leaped, metal tail snapping, claws spread for the kill.

That’s it. We’re done for.

A huge chunk of the wall rose and smashed into the tiger, knocking it aside in midair. The tiger crashed, the section of the wall on top of it, its tail flailing frantically, sticking out from under the wreckage. A second chunk landed on top of it.

Ahead, Rogan stood in the circle he drew on the paved driveway. He flexed, his hands clawing the air.

Another massive section of the wall rose in the air and flattened the horse. It didn’t rise, buried under the rubble.

Romeo rolled past Rogan.

Behind us, the rhino was coming up, unstoppable, massive, pounding the ground with its feet.

Rogan thrust his hands up.

A twenty-five-yard section of the wall shook. He was trying to break it free from the rest, but it held.

The tank stopped, turning.

“Jump!” Grandma Frida ordered.

“What?”

“Jump!” she snarled.

I pulled myself out of the hatch, jumped and rolled into the grass. Romeo sped toward the rhino.

Oh no. No . . .

The small tank rammed the construct. The rhino veered at the last moment, throwing all of its bulk against Romeo’s flank. The tank rolled on its side. The rhino tore at it with its feet, punching holes in the armor. Fear turned my insides liquid. I ran toward it, because that was all I could do.

A shadow fell on me. The section of the wall slid above me and swept the rhino aside, burying it.

The heap of rubble shook and exploded. The rhino sprang free, reforming.

The ground underneath it split. A forest of shoots sprang up, spiraling up to the sky, fed by magic, straight through the rhino. The construct flailed, trying to break free, but the shoots caught the particles that made its substance and kept growing, thicker and thicker, becoming branches, their wood encasing the captured parts. Magic shook the lawn. The tree swept the rhino off the ground, trapping the stray pieces as they fell. An enormous tree spread its branches, a hundred and fifty feet tall, its trunk twenty-five feet wide. The colossal Montezuma cypress shook once and became still, towering over the lawn.

Wow.

Grandma Frida crawled out of Romeo, her face stained with blood. She ran for the remnants of the wall.

The sky tore. A funnel spun from the clouds, reaching toward us. We had run out of time.

“Nevada!” Rogan snarled.

I turned. He was running toward me. I sprinted to him. We collided. His arms closed around me.

The wind disappeared. It was suddenly calm and peaceful. I looked up. Rogan’s eyes had turned a glowing turquoise. He’d accessed his ultimate power. We stood in a circle of null space. Nothing would penetrate. This was how he broke entire cities, reducing them to rubble.

Around us the storm raged. An enormous tornado was forming just beyond the dome, as if someone had taken the storm clouds from the sky and spun them into a maelstrom.

The wall of air cut at us and stopped, severed by the perfect circle of the null space around Rogan. Beyond it another tornado touched down. Then another.

Dear God . . .

The circle containing us pulsed, the echo of it rattling my bones. The dome in front of us cracked.

Another pulse.

Pieces broke from the dome’s top, crashing down.

Rogan was looking into the distance. He began rising.

I clamped him to me. If I didn’t, he would keep going until he ran out of magic. Nothing would be left and our people wouldn’t be able to get away. They were too close.

He kept rising.

“Connor! Stay with me.”

His hands were still locked around me. My feet left the ground.

The third pulse. The dome cracked like a broken egg.

“I love you, Connor. Please come back to me. Come back.” I kissed him. “Come back.”

He turned his head slowly and looked at me, his eyes still distant, as if waking up from a deep sleep. Recognition flared within the magic-saturated turquoise.

“I’m here,” he said.

The fourth pulse hit the dome. It broke apart, the pieces of it crashing down.

Alexander Sturm hung within it, caught in the column of spinning air, his hands raised, his hair pulling with the wind.

He brought his hands together. A tornado moved toward us, a wall of enraged air digging a deep trench in the torn-up lawn. It slid over us, and for a moment I saw the clear sky above. Then it passed and we were still there, floating in the column of Rogan’s power.

Rogan smiled at Sturm.

Alexander bared his teeth. A second tornado swung over us and passed.

Sturm snarled something. I saw his lips moving but I couldn’t hear the words.

Magic sparked in a flash of crimson. Lenora Jordan appeared between us, nude and unafraid, her head held high. She’d risked a teleport. Oh wow.

Lenora looked up at Sturm and raised her hands.

Silver chains as thick as my leg shot out of the ground, pierced Sturm’s private tornado keeping him afloat, and wound about his body. He screamed, his face a mask of agony. The chains wound, squeezed, and dragged him down. He crashed onto the grass at Lenora’s feet.

She regarded him for a long moment, derision on her face, and raised her hand. Magic flashed from her in a wide circle. Another null space. She stood within it, Sturm bound at her feet, and waited until a new twister, light and transparent, brought Adeyemi Ade-Afefe over the wall and deposited her between us. Adeyemi raised her hands and began to dance.

She danced and danced, striking a quick rhythm, bending forward, then straightening again. As her feet moved, the tornados lost power. They spun slower and slower, breaking free of the ground, until finally they dissolved into the sky. The storm clouds tore open, revealing the first light of the sunrise.

Adeyemi smiled, lay on the grass on her back, and fell asleep.

A forest of swords studded the lawn. The tornado had picked up Sturm’s collection and seeded the grounds with them. For some freaky reason, all of the blades landed point down and now rose at a diagonal, like razor-sharp mutant flowers.

Rogan was holding me. He’d refused to let go of me and so we stood together, watching the flurry of activity on the lawn of Sturm’s fortress.

To the left my mother was trying to administer some first aid to Grandma Frida. Grandma Frida didn’t want to be aided.

“Will you stop fussing over me?’ Grandma Frida pushed my mother’s hand away.

“Be quiet, mother. You’re bleeding.”

Around us Lenora Jordan’s people were processing the scene. They had already taken Sturm off, bound, gagged, and sedated. Lenora was still here, fully clothed now, striding through the scene and shouting orders in a crisp voice.

Sturm’s people sat on the ground in handcuffs. Two psionics moved between them, broadcasting calm and happy thoughts. A helicopter had taken Catalina out of the area just before the storm broke, and faced with the several dozen hardened mercenaries crying and wailing because she was gone, Lenora Jordan resorted to the big guns and brought in psionics.

A few feet away from us, Rynda was trying her best to take care of Edward. He slumped on the ground, against the trunk of his cypress. Growing the massive beast of a tree must’ve taken every last reserve he had. The expression on her face wasn’t just concerned, it was tender.

An armored vehicle drove through the hole Romeo had made and stopped. The door opened, Rivera jumped out, and held the passenger door open, holding it deferentially. Brian Sherwood emerged into the light. Same height and build as Edward, broad shoulders, sturdy frame, long limbs. He looked like his brother and at the same time he looked nothing like him.

“Rynda,” he called out. “Oh my God, Rynda. Here you are.”

She turned and glared at him like she saw a snake.

“I missed you so much!” Brian started across the lawn toward his wife. He didn’t know that we were aware of his betrayal.

“Nobody told him?” I murmured.

“No.” The smile on Rogan’s face was frightening.

Rynda rose, her spine perfectly straight, her face iced over, every inch her mother’s daughter.

“Did you miss me?” she asked, her voice as cold as a glacier.

Brian halted. “Yes.”

“I missed you too, Brian. I endured so much while you were gone.”

He took another tentative step forward. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Everything will be okay now.”

“Yes.” Rynda started toward him. “It will. I’m so glad you are here, Brian. Let me share with you everything I’ve been through.”

Magic lashed out of her in a torrent, so potent, I felt it from yards away. Terror, panic, despair, anxiety, worry, crushing sadness, and rage. So much rage. It merely brushed me and I nearly cried just to release the pressure.

Brian shuddered. His mouth gaped open. He crumpled to his knees.

“Stop! Rynda, stop!”

She kept walking, her face merciless. “Why aren’t you running away now, Brian? Are you stressed out yet?”

“Please stop! Please!”

“You wanted to murder me and the children. You wanted us dead. Our children! You should’ve shot me in my sleep, Brian. Because now, I will make you suffer. Feel, husband. Feel every drop.”

Tears streamed down his face. “Stop! Stop, you fucking bitch, stop!”

“No.”

Brian turned bright red, his eyes crazed. He jerked up, his face a furious grimace, and charged at Rynda, his hands stretched out toward her throat. Edward Sherwood lunged in his way, a huge sword in his hands. The blade rose and came down with awful finality. Brian Sherwood crashed to the ground, blood soaking his clothes. Edward raised the sword, thrust it straight down through his brother’s chest, and twisted it with a sharp tug.

Everyone stood completely still.

Edward straightened, his face impassive, like a medieval knight over the body of his enemy. “House Sherwood has resolved its internal conflict,” he said. “We are now whole.”