THERE WAS, in fact, no possibility of surrendering, because I knew that these had to be Pearl’s human acolytes—and they were under orders to kill me if at all possible. Otherwise, they’d not have fired the shots they already had—or, in the next breath, fired through the tent, opening bright spots of sunlight that blazed into the shadows beside me. The last of these missed my head by no more than an inch.

I closed my eyes, blocking it all out, and went on the aetheric to assess the situation. There were four of them—one, probably the shooter, holding his position in the trees beyond the tent. A second was creeping slowly through the foliage around to my left, and a third was climbing a tree to try to get an angle down on me from above.

The fourth, and most worrisome, had abandoned stealth and was running fast, heading for my exposed right. Once I was flanked, I was dead—that much was clear. They were certainly all armed. I could control guns, but there were many moving factors in this that didn’t play to my strengths.

I considered my options, which weren’t plentiful, and then did the only thing I could.

I softened the ground beneath my boots into loose, frictionless fine sand, and sank quickly to my knees, then to my hips. I held my breath as the sand advanced to my breasts, and closed my eyes and held my nose as my body plunged completely into the earth.

I was no Weather Warden, to create breathable oxygen, but the earth and things within it responded to me; I kept my vision in Oversight, assessing the positions of my enemies, and swam silently through the ground and loose rocks, cutting through like a shark beneath the waves. I sensed the two others getting quickly into position, and felt the waves of alarm and confusion when I wasn’t where they expected me to be. They would waste time assuming I’d somehow managed to make it to the trees.

The one who’d gone up into the tree had made a deadly mistake. I poured power through the tough, springy bark, waking thirst and hunger, and the branches began to twist, seeking sun. If he felt it, he must have attributed it to nothing more than the wind, until he paused and a tiny tendril of a new branch whipped around his ankle. Then another. Then another, pinning his knees. By the time he realized he was being restrained it was already too late, and bark was growing up and over his body with relentless speed.

It closed over his face and cut off his screams of alarm, and in another moment his final thrashings were over.

I achieved the safe shadows beneath his tree and emerged from the earth just enough to allow myself to take a quick breath. The air tasted sweet, and I had to fight the urge to gulp it in uncontrollable spasms that might be heard. I stayed very still. My enemies were down to three, but each of them had a good vantage point, and would be hard to take down if I came out of cover.

But there was no real need, I realized, as I assessed their aetheric signatures more closely. There were no Wardens among them; these were merely human hunters—which would have been enough, if I hadn’t been warned and taken immediate action.

But once I was able to ready myself, they had no real chance at all. I proceeded to kill two of them, simply by reaching out and stilling their hearts. They had no concept of how to fight such an attack, and dropped without a sound. In a way, it was a pity, because I do enjoy a fair fight. But I love winning much, much more.

I saved the last one, who had no idea he’d gone from a position of strength to even odds in less than a minute. I sank back into the ground and swam again, avoiding the area where Rick’s blood was seeping into the soil. I came up where one of the other hunters had fallen, with his rifle still clutched unfired in his hand.

I rose out of the earth and grabbed the rifle in the same motion, sank to one knee, and sighted.

Rick’s killer saw the movement and started to turn, but I was quick, and although I wasn’t an expert with a rifle, I didn’t really need to be; his chest was a large enough target, and I hit him high on the right side, between heart and shoulder. Probably through a lung, possibly near or through a major artery. The rifle rocked in my hands, driving back against my shoulder, and I rode with it and kept it at ready position as my opponent staggered and tried again to raise his own weapon. He failed, and it slipped out to fall to the grass.

Another second, and his knees went out from under him to dump him to a kneeling position. He fumbled for the rifle, but even if he’d been able to grab it, he couldn’t have fired it with the wound I’d put in his chest. I stood and walked over, weapon still held in a position from which it would be easy to fire. I stood over him.

Like Rick Harley, he was of middle age, but that was where the resemblance ended. He was a smooth-skinned man, with skin that spoke of clean, indoor living, a fattening diet, and the gentle ministrations of facial cleansers and massage therapists. He looked well-off, in other words. His rifle was clean and expensive; his clothing was designer-made, and the boots he wore seemed almost new. He radiated a kind of bland superiority that made me want to put another bullet into him, in a more painful spot.

“Name,” I said, and put the barrel of the rifle against his throat. “Please.”

He swallowed, and I felt the vibration through the metal and wood. “Errol Williams,” he said. “You’re one of them. The demons.”

“You could say that,” I said, and smiled over the warm barrel of the weapon’s long, blued steel. “You could say I’m worse. Why are you here?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he said. “You can’t touch my soul.”

“No? Are you very sure of that?” I cocked my head quizzically. Errol proved to be sensible. He stopped talking. “You were sent by the Church,” I said. “The Church of the New World. Who told you where we’d be?”

He said a name that meant nothing to me, but I hadn’t expected to have an easy solution. Ultimately, however the information had gotten to him, it was Rashid who had performed the simple, vital task of putting me in the same valley with them, at the right time.

And they’d known that I was leaving the school. Somehow, impossibly, they’d known.

That meant they also knew about the school, and Luis, and Ibby.

It meant they had someone inside, or on perimeter guard. Certainly, it had to be someone who was known to the Wardens, and trusted by them.

I didn’t kill my would-be assassin. I left him there, naked and alone, without weapons or any protection from the elements. I left him tied by his wrists to a tree, with a rope I’d found in his backpack. He’d had a neatly packed restraint-and-murder kit in it—coiled rope, wide tape, plastic strips of handcuffs, knives, and guns. Meant for me, I assumed.

Foolish.

I hefted the pack on my shoulder, considering him—naked, he had lost any sense of menace or competence he’d had clothed—and said, “You understand that I could have killed you, as I did your friends?”

He nodded, watching me very closely. He couldn’t speak. I’d used some of the tape across his mouth. He would work it loose, but for the present, I would not have to listen to his lies and protestations.

“Soon,” I said, “you may well wish that I had.”

I slung the rifle across my body and walked away, passing the clearing with Harley’s bullet-ripped tent, past his gradually cooling corpse, and stopped to completely douse the embers of his fire before moving on.

I paused at the edge of the clearing to put out a call to the area’s predatory wildlife. Most of them were smaller things—foxes, a few lynxes—but deep in the trees lived some bears, and a pack of wolves.

They might come to investigate an easy meal. They might not. It was still a better chance than he’d given Harley. Or me.