The plan was simple, straightforward—and brutal.

Doyle had drawn it out with some of her paper. It reminded her of the football plays coaches outlined, which she didn’t understand at all.

“Positioned here, between the seawall and the house, we draw them in. We stay in the open as long as we can,” Doyle added. “Pulling in what she sends at us, taking them down. If and when we need to fall back, we use the grove for cover.”

He glanced at Bran.

“I’ll have the vials placed, as you see. Here, here, here, along here. We’ll drive them toward those positions. I’ll set them off. And the bottles, in these locations—you’ll remember to stay well clear of them. Riley and Sawyer can set them off with gunfire—but not,” Bran emphasized as he had before, “unless all are clear, at least ten feet. Twenty is better. The flash and power from those will obliterate any dark force, but if you’re nearer than ten feet, it’ll be blinding. Nearer than that? You could be burned, and seriously.”

“We get it, Irish, big boom, big power.” Riley continued to check ammo. “We’ll keep our distance.”

“Be sure of it. Under the cover of the flashes, I’ll change position, and go to the high cliff above the canal.”

“We,” Sasha corrected.

“I’ve explained what I’ll call there, what I’ll loose. It comes from me. I can withstand it. As with what’s in the bottles, you’ll need to be well clear.”

Sasha merely took the sketch out of her book, laid it out. “I’m there. I’m meant to be. If we question that, we question everything.”

“She’s right, man.” Sawyer belted on his holster. “I know it’s tough, but she’s right. You’ve got to take her up with you. We’ll cover you. Count on it. But she’s got to go with you.”

“It’s her purpose.” Gently, Annika stroked Bran’s arm. “Because you love, together you’ll be stronger.”

“I don’t know about love, but I’m not going to question our resident seer. Sorry, Bran,” Riley added. “You don’t screw with destiny.”

“Your word. Your promise,” Sasha insisted. “Because you won’t break it to me.”

“I’ll take you.” The choice was no longer his. “My word.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Riley put in, “let’s make sure we kick her ass, and her ugly minions—good word—too.”

“All over it.” Sawyer slid a second knife in his boot.

“After we kick her ass,” Annika began, and made Sawyer grin at how carefully she enunciated the phrase, “we go here.” She looked at Sasha’s painting. “I know this place, and can swim there. I can get there quickly, and then Sawyer wouldn’t have to take so many.”

“Nobody’s alone.” Sawyer shook his head. “It’s not safe. We go together.”

“I can get a plane, but it’s going to take a couple more days.” Like Sawyer, Doyle slipped a knife into his boot. “And I’m thinking getting gone sooner rather than later is the smart move.”

“I’ve got a place nearly lined up. Friend of a cousin of a cousin’s getting it set up. I might be able to get us a plane,” Riley considered. “I can see if I’ve got some lines to tug.”

“Let me try it.” Sawyer shrugged. “If I can’t do us all at once, I can take half of us, come back, take the other half. If it doesn’t work, we can try for the plane.”

“And the boat?” Riley asked, mostly because she got a kick out of seeing it sitting in the yard.

“No big deal there—but I’ll wait until after midnight, after the area around it’s mostly going to be clear of people.”

“I’m not sure it matters.” Sasha sighted the bow. “We’ve had three ugly battles, and no one outside of us seems to have noticed a thing. I think what we’re doing isn’t making a ripple on reality.”

“Maybe, but when I was sixteen and training, I dropped down into a strip club in Amsterdam. It caused a ripple. My coordinates were a little off, and well, being sixteen, naked women were always on my mind.”

“I like clothes. They’re pretty. But for swimming, naked is best.”

Sawyer glanced at Annika, then carefully away. “Okay, now that’s on my mind.”

“Set it aside, pal. I for one don’t want to drop into a strip joint. Sun’s setting,” Riley added.

And a storm’s coming, Sasha thought.

With the weapons handed out, they brought the rest of their belongings down. If they had to retreat, they’d count on Sawyer, and leave behind anything he couldn’t transport.

They ate, for fuel rather than hunger, as the edginess of waiting overwhelmed everything else.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, Sasha stood.

“What is it?” Bran demanded. “What do you see?”

“Hear. I hear her calling to them. Singing to them. She’s gathering.”

“Let’s saddle up.” When Riley rose, Annika laid a hand on the dog’s head.

“Apollo. We should shut him inside, safe.”

“He’ll just bust out. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Strange, Sasha thought as they moved into positions—two by two on the verdant green lawn—that she could feel so much dread and so much relief at the same time.

The combination left little room for fear. The Fire Star was safe, beyond Nerezza’s reach, she thought. If they survived the night, they would begin the search for the next. If they didn’t, someone else would pick up the quest.

She reached out, took Bran’s hand. “Whatever happens, I’ve had more in these last two weeks than I ever had or thought to have.”

“A ghrá.” He brought her hand to his lips with a kind of steely defiance. “There’s more yet.”

“They’re coming.” She released his hand to swing her bow into position.

They’d come before in swarms, in clouds, but they came now in a tidal wave that blacked out the stars and the light of the waning moon.

And the sound of them filled the world.

Bran blasted light up, illuminating them—the sick yellow eyes and fanged teeth, the spread of razor-sharp wings. She thought it was like watching hell roll over the world. Then she shot the first bolt, and stopped thinking.

They fell like black, oily rain, screamed as they raked the air with claws that gleamed deadly in Bran’s conjured light.

Her world contracted into load, aim, shoot with the blasts of gunfire echoing, the horrid sound of steel hacking gnarled flesh, the zing of light snapping from Annika’s bracelets.

Bran set off the first vial, and in its bloom of light that greasy blood splattered.

And still more came.

She held her ground, even as a thin fog flowed over the ground and hissed like snakes, she fought back-to-back with Bran. But the fog bit at her boots, icy teeth, pushing her back.

“Stay close,” Bran shouted, and swept fire over the fog.

It screamed, and it burned.

When her quiver emptied, she used her knife, her fists, her feet to clear a path so she could grab up bloodied bolts and reload.

Another vial exploded, and again, and still more gushed from the black sky.

“It’s now.” Bran grabbed her hand, then shouted for Riley to set off the first bottle. “Hold on,” he told Sasha, and wrapped his arm firmly around her waist.

It wasn’t like flying—somehow she’d thought it would be. It was like riding a rocket, so hot, so fast, all blurred in speed.

Then she was on the promontory with him, as she’d been in dreams.

“Stay behind me, or I swear I’ll send you back.” He pulled her against him. “Whatever happens, stay behind me.” His mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss as full of heat as the flight. “I love you,” he said, then turned to call the storm.

She thought she knew. She’d dreamed it, hadn’t she? Again and again. But she hadn’t known what he could call, what he could rule, what he could risk.

Power shook the air, the ground, and the sea below as he lifted his arms.

“In this place, in this hour, I call upon all worlds of power. What you are, bring to me across the land, across the sea, to rise and rage with furious might and rid the world of this blight. Roar the thunder!”

It boomed like cannon fire.