Saint Mary, the owl had been right. Whatever this thing was, it couldn’t be human.

Jamie had shot it, dead center in the chest. He was certain of it. But it hadn’t fallen, had barely flinched.

Then it struck Nick with the hex. One moment, they surged forward, the great bulk of Nick’s horse shape beneath him. The next, Jamie tumbled through the air.

He struck the pavement hard, revolver flying out of his grasp. Confused instincts yelled at him to roll, that he was about to be crushed by a horse collapsing onto him. But Nick sprawled to the ground in human form, which though big, took up considerably less space.

The hex. It was the same that Uncle Hurley’s men had used on Luther, to keep him from taking on his lion shape.

“Fuck!” Nick shouted in surprise. He rolled to his feet, shaking visibly. The Wraith approached from behind.

“Look out!” Jamie tried to get to his feet, but between his leg and his knee he couldn’t manage it without anything to lean against. Gritting his teeth, he began to drag himself toward the nearest iron lamppost.

Nick spun to face the Wraith, hands balled into fists. The October wind caught Nick’s long hair, tangling it about his shoulders. The Wraith moved silently, its ragged cloak in constant, disorienting motion. Black leather gloves concealed the Wraith’s hands, and Jamie now saw each finger was tipped with the claw of some large animal, perhaps a jaguar. In one hand, the Wraith clutched a knife with a haft of black wood, its obsidian blade still wet with blood.

“Come on then,” Nick growled. “Just you and me. No more dirty tricks.”

The Wraith swung the blade—but the blinding speed it had possessed earlier seemed to have abandoned it. Nick blocked the blow, striking the Wraith’s wrist with his forearm. The knife went flying away, into the darkness, and the Wraith leapt back.

Solid. Whatever else it was, it was solid enough to be fought.

“Now we’ll settle this,” Nick began.

The Wraith wrapped a taloned hand around one of the bones dangling from a harness around its chest, and whispered something Jamie couldn’t quite make out. The bone cracked down the center.

What had Yates said, about the eagle bone? That the markings on it were some sort of primitive hex?

Nick charged, fists raised. The Wraith stepped to meet him. It knocked aside Nick’s punch with ease, then grabbed a handful of Nick’s clothing, lifted him from his feet, and threw him as though he were a twenty-pound child instead of a two hundred-pound man.

Nick flew several feet, hit the ground, and rolled to a stop. As he lay there, stunned, the Wraith began to advance on him once again.

No.

Jamie’s heart thudded as he lurched the last few feet and grabbed the iron lamppost. He grasped it with both hands, using it to take his weight until he could get his good leg under him.

There was no time to look for his gun, which hadn’t done him a bit of good anyway. On his feet again, Jamie limped toward the Wraith as quickly as he could. “Hey! You!”

The Wraith turned to him. Jamie brought his fists up. His mouth tasted like he’d been sucking on a penny, and his pulse drummed in his throat. “You killed Wyatt,” he said, his voice oddly calm and far away to his own ears. “I’m going to see you rot for that.”

The Wraith made no response. Nothing showed beneath its hood but a black void—or perhaps some sort of cloth mask, though how anyone would be able to see through such a thing, Jamie didn’t know. The killer moved toward him, unafraid, lifting one claw-tipped hand.

Nick yelled and buried a fist in the Wraith’s kidney.

The Wraith let out a grunt of pain and staggered. Encouraged, Jamie went on the attack even as it turned on Nick. Jamie threw a punch of his own, but it glanced off the Wraith’s shoulder.

Then the Wraith twisted, lashing out. Its talons shredded Jamie’s coat over his arm, and he jerked back. Stinging pain announced a moment later that the claws had reached the skin beneath.

Nick let out an incoherent growl and threw himself at the Wraith—only to be knocked aside by a hard kick that caught Nick on the hip and spun him around.

Rather than face Jamie again, the Wraith darted inside the folly. Nick rushed after, Jamie on his heels. But once inside, Jamie’s heart sank.

The Wraith had vanished up a tight, narrow stairway leading into the tower. Between the tall steps and sharp turns, there was no way he could follow.

“Nick, I can’t—” he started. But Nick was already pounding up the steps and out of sight.

Despair welled up in Jamie. It was Cuba all over again, with him left behind, while Nick went ahead into danger. Alone.

Alone, with the monster that killed Wyatt.

Nick’s skin tingled with a combination of dread and lingering magic. The tight spiral of the stairwell left him blind to anything even a few feet ahead. The Wraith could be waiting for him, and he’d never know it until he was on top of the killer.

Nothing made sense. The sheer strength of the Wraith boggled the mind. How could anyone in human form lift Nick off his feet so easily, let alone throw him? How had the Wraith run so fast—and why wasn’t it using that same speed now? Jamie had shot it in the chest, but the bullet seemed to have no effect.

The hex it had used to force Nick into human form—he’d not heard of such a thing before. Hexes existed to force familiars into animal shape, to make them easier to control. But this seemed to be the opposite.

Nick had tried to shift back on the terrace, but the buzzing on his skin had intensified, as though an electric current ran across it, and nothing had happened. The magic that had been his since puberty was cut off, and it was all he could do not to let panic take him. It felt wrong, all the way to his core, as though someone had sliced him in half. The tingling seemed to have faded, but how long would it take until he could shift again?

Nick followed the steps as high as he could go. A ladder led to the very top, and another doorway opened onto the flat roof of the lower part of the tower. Nick paused and peered outside, gasping for breath as he did so. There was no sign of the Wraith—but it had to have gone somewhere.

This was stupid. They had the Wraith cornered. They should wait for whomever the MWP sent out in response to Rodrigo’s call for help. Let the coppers risk their asses instead.

But it was a long way to and from the Coven, and help might not be coming any time soon. After the displays of unnatural speed and strength, Nick wouldn’t put it past the Wraith to be able to crawl down the side of the folly like a lizard.

The Wraith had already murdered three ferals. It couldn’t be allowed to escape. Nick had to put an end to this tonight.

Nick straightened and stepped cautiously through the doorway.

He caught a blur of shadow out of the corner of his eye. A heavy blow impacted his side, sending him staggering toward the low parapet. He tried to get his arms up, to turn, but a flurry of punches left him reeling.

The back of one leg fetched up against the wall.

Nick rushed forward, hoping to get past the Wraith and away from the edge. But the killer seized him again, dragging him back with shocking strength. Nick fought wildly, only to have a hand wrap around his throat. The low stone parapet dug into his back, and he glimpsed the waters of the old receiving reservoir far below, restless beneath the moonless sky.

He might survive a fall into water. But directly beneath him, the base of Belvedere Castle rose up from the very bedrock underlying the city. If the Wraith succeeded in shoving him off, he’d be dashed to bits.

Nick clawed madly at the hand gripping his throat. The stench of death surrounded him, as though it impregnated the cloak itself. The Wraith leaned over him, and he had the horrible impression the killer enjoyed his struggles. Relished his fear, the knowledge he was about to die.

A gunshot rang out.

For a long moment, Jamie only stared at the stairway winding up into the tower. A mix of fury and terror beat through him. He’d spent months coming to terms with the wooden leg, the knee that didn’t work quite right anymore. But the same helpless rage he’d felt while learning to walk again filled him now.

Nick had gone alone to face Wyatt’s killer. If the Wraith murdered him, too…

Jamie spat out a curse and limped back onto the terrace. A metallic gleam caught his eye, and he bent to scoop up his dropped revolver. At least he had a weapon now. Not that it would do much good.

A shout sounded from above.

Nick.

Jamie backed rapidly toward the edge of the terrace, his head craned back, trying to see what was happening on the levels above. There—on the parapet. Movement.

Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Nick staggered toward the low wall, all that separated him from a long drop onto the rocks below. The Wraith came into view, the curving horns of its headdress framed against the sky.

It seized Nick and shoved him off his feet. Jamie’s blood turned to ice; Nick hung half over the wall, the Wraith’s hand on his throat as it slowly, inexorably shoved him over the edge.

Helpless horror seized Jamie. He was about to watch Nick die, trapped on the terrace by his fucking leg, his gun inexplicably useless against the monster above. He lifted the revolver, wondering if he ought to try again anyway, even though he knew it would do no good.

The horns.

He didn’t know exactly what instinct guided him, only that they looked somehow more vulnerable than the dark bulk of the Wraith’s body. There was no time to question, only to sight as carefully as he could, and fire.

The shot seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet park. The Wraith’s left horn shattered beneath the impact of the bullet.

It flinched, letting go of Nick. With a roar of anger, Nick shoved the Wraith back. The moment Nick was free, he took two steps forward—then shifted into his horse form.

If the Wraith meant to flee, it was too slow. Nick pivoted, then kicked behind him. Both rear hooves connected in a powerful blow, lifting the Wraith into the air—and over the side. There came a muffled thump as its body impacted the rocks at the edge of the Croton Waterworks.

Nick returned to human form and peered down at Jamie. “Jamie! Are you hurt?”

Relief surged through Jamie, so strong he sagged against the nearest lamppost. Nick disappeared; in under a minute, he emerged from the tower. “Witch?” he asked, brows drawing down. “Your arm—you’re bleeding.”

“I don’t care about that, you stupid horse.” Jamie grabbed Nick by the shoulders, gripping him tightly. “Don’t you ever leave me behind like that again.” He swallowed thickly. “You…you could’ve been killed. And I would have had to stand here and watch, helpless, and…”

“You saved my life,” Nick said. Then he lowered his head and kissed Jamie hard.

It started off desperate and fast, Jamie’s lips mashed against his teeth with the force of it. But after a moment, something between them shifted. The kiss softened. Nick sucked on Jamie’s lower lip, and Jamie opened to his tongue.

Jamie let go of his death grip on Nick’s shoulders in favor of burying his hands in Nick’s long hair. Nick pushed him back against the lamppost, trapping him between the iron and Nick’s body. Memories of being pressed against the wall of the Cave flared, and Jamie let out a moan into Nick’s mouth. He rubbed his hardening cock against Nick’s thigh, felt the responding erection against his belly through the layers of their clothing.

Nick drew back slightly, just enough to get a hand in between them and work at the buttons of Jamie’s trousers. Saint Mary, Jamie wanted this, so bad, his entire body straining with the need to feel Nick’s hand on his aching prick once again.

A dark shape glided past the lamp, cawing loudly.

Nick sprang back as if he’d been burned. His cheeks flushed dark, even as his expression lapsed into a scowl. Jamie’s own face felt on fire, and he hastily rebuttoned his trousers, praying Rook hadn’t noticed.

He had, of course. The crow circled, still cawing, then came in for a landing, taking on human form just inches from the pavement. “What was that I saw?” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “My brother, kissing a witch?”

“Shut it,” Nick snapped. “This is none of your business, so keep your beak closed.”

Rook’s grin said he had no intention whatsoever of keeping this to himself. “My brother,” he repeated again. “The mighty Nick, hater of witches, with his hand down—”

“We stopped the killer,” Jamie blurted, just to make Rook shut up.

Rook blinked, glanced between them, then sobered. “What happened?”

“He fell off the tower.” Glad to have an excuse to turn his scalding face to the cool darkness, Jamie made his way to the edge of the terrace and leaned over. “Right down…there?”

“What is it?” Nick strode over, jostling Rook out of the way to stand by Jamie. “What’s wrong?”

Jamie only shook his head. A small splotch of blood showed on the rocks where the Wraith had fallen. But that was all. No limp cloak. No scattered bones.

No body.

“Fucking hell,” Nick said. “It got away.”