“Close your eyes,” Annika called again, her fingers hovering near her temple.

He squeezed them shut, forcing more blood into his field of vision, and waited for the struggling woman in his grasp to go to stone.

Annika swore softly and he opened his eyes. Yahla’s beak pierced his forearm. He glared at Annika, her shades firmly in place. “What the hell?”

“She won’t look at me!”

Yahla smashed her head back and broke his nose. “Let go of me,” she squawked.

With a curse, he angled his arms across her body so he could grab a handful of feathers and keep her head still; then he wrapped his legs around hers and immobilized her.

A small figure rose behind the porch’s broken railing. Mawmaw. She hugged the closest four-by-four, using it for support. “Squeeze her tighter, Tommy.”

Creek did as he grandmother asked. Yahla screeched like a banshee, almost drowning the sound of an approaching truck engine.

“Tighter,” Mawmaw said.

Creek squeezed as hard as he could. The woman in his arms gave way to a cawing, scratching flock of ravens. They burst out of his grasp and flew into formation above him like they might dive at any moment.

“Now, basilisk, now.” Mawmaw pointed at the ravens, then threw her arm over her face. “Creek, your eyes.”

He closed them again. A few seconds later, heavy objects began pelting him. Eyes still closed, he got to his feet and ran out of the shower of stone ravens. He collided with someone, knocking them down. He opened his eyes to see his grandmother’s neighbor lying on the ground. “Martin.”

The man picked his hat up and stuck it back on his head. “Thomas.” He looked past Creek. “Looks like one’s getting away.”

Creek turned to see the side yard littered with frozen birds. A solitary raven flew toward them. The whoosh of air beneath its wings beat defeat into Creek’s soul. One bird would be enough to bring Yahla back.

“Pip,” Mawmaw yelled, pointing beyond where Creek and Martin lay.

Creek followed the line of her finger. Pip stood in the back of Martin’s truck, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. At Mawmaw’s command, Pip jumped into the air and caught the raven, landing with a thunk and disappearing behind the truck bed walls.

On his feet and running before another command came, Creek raced to the truck. Pip yelped as Creek got there. Blood covered the dog’s nose. He grabbed the raven, which instantly turned on him, striking hard. Creek grabbed Pip’s collar with his free hand and held the dog down behind the truck bed, then lifted the bird and closed his eyes. “Annika!”

“Eyes,” she yelled back. A moment later, the raven in Creek’s hand stopped fluttering.

Yahla was dead.

The plan hadn’t worked. With a spray of sand, Heaven, in jaguar form, had turned in time to keep from tumbling through Fi’s ghost form and out of the ring. Fi couldn’t tell how long the fight had been going on; neither she nor Heaven, still in jaguar form, had landed a blow. As long as Fi stayed in ghost form, Heaven never would either. They circled each other, like they’d been doing continuously. Once in a while, when they were near the center of the ring, Heaven would make a move, but every time she leaped, she passed straight through Fi just like she had the first time. The crowd hated it, but as far as Fi was concerned, they could all get stuffed.

Finally, Fi sat down cross-legged in the sand. What was the point of pretending to fight? Heaven couldn’t touch her.

Across the arena, the jaguar snarled. Fi stuck her tongue out at the animal. “What’s the matter? Rather be shopping?”

With another, weaker snarl, the jaguar sat.

Maybe they’d call it a draw and have to decide this marriage thing another way. Fi almost laughed at how it was turning out. She’d freaked out for nothing. No one was going to get hurt or even—

An ominous clanging rang out, silencing the boos and jeers of the crowd. Both she and the jaguar looked toward the sound.

A voice boomed from the overhead speakers. “Due to the nature of the combatants, only human forms will be allowed. The first combatant to shift out of human form will be declared the loser.”

Fi stood as the jaguar across from her became Heaven once again. “What? That’s not fair.”

Heaven laughed. “What’s not fair is how short this fight is going to be.”

Fi materialized and started backing away. Every move she’d learned from Omur and Barasa tumbled through her head in a mishmash sequence that no longer made sense. Crap. Think, think. She wished Mal were here, fighting for her. With all that time he’d spent in the Pits, he’d know exactly what to do, how to find Heaven’s weaknesses and exploit them.

She tried to think like him. What would his first move be? She knew it wouldn’t be to let Heaven make the first move. Gathering her courage, Fi launched at the other woman. She knocked Heaven into the sand and began whaling on her.

Heaven dodged the first blow, but the second caught her cheek and split her lip. At the taste of blood, Heaven’s eyes went green-gold.

“Now, now,” Fi said. “First to shift loses.”

Heaven’s eyes went back to human. She bucked Fi off with enough power to throw her several feet away. Fi landed hard but rolled to her feet immediately and faced her challenger once again.

Drawing first blood felt good. Fi grinned. Now she wanted second blood as well. And if she’d learned anything from Mal, it was to never back down. She threw herself at Heaven again, grabbing Heaven’s wrists as she raised her fists. Together they went into the sand.