Then Penny’s stall door creaks open.

I see the Djinn’s booted feet, standing just past her back hooves.

Without thinking, I slap Penny hard on the flank. She kicks backward with both feet, hitting the Djinn square in the chest. He goes flying backward, crashing through the door of the stall opposite Penny’s.

I’m running again, out of the stable, across the open yard.

I don’t scream for Raylan this time. The Djinn is too close. I don’t want him to hear me.

No . . . he’s not close . . .

He’s right behind me.

I can hear his boots on the gravel—it’s impossible to be quiet here. I hear his ragged breathing. He’s gasping for air, groaning with each breath. He’s obviously injured—possibly Penny broke a few of his ribs. But still that motherfucker is gaining on me. He’s fast and relentless. He’s never going to stop. I have no more weapons. If he gets his arm around my throat again, I’m dead.

He’s closing in. So close that I can feel his hot breath on my neck.

Then, out of nowhere, Raylan hits him from the side. He barrels toward us from the direction of the house, tackling the Djinn sideways, taking him out at the knees so they roll over and over on the crushed stone.

“Run, Riona!” Raylan shouts.

He’s wrestling with the Djinn. He’s got no weapon either, and I see a flash of silver as the Djinn swings the fish knife toward Raylan’s eye. Raylan grabs his wrist, barely twisting the blade in time. It cuts his cheek instead.

Raylan is actually the bigger of the two men, but I’ve never seen someone as fast as the Djinn. He sends slash after slash at Raylan, some blocked and some cutting Raylan on the forearm and the shoulder. Raylan has one hand on the Djinn’s throat and he’s squeezing, while trying to block the knife with the other hand. All this happens in the space of two seconds while I’m rooted in place, staring at them in horror.

I don’t know what to do.

We’re right next to the barn where Grady makes the saddles. Where Raylan and I had our encounter.

I run into it and grab two items off the bench: the lantern and an awl. I sprint back to Raylan, who’s locked in a trembling, static position with the Djinn: the blade of the fish knife pointed at Raylan’s throat, the Djinn bearing down on the handle with both hands while Raylan tries to push his arms back.

The Djinn looks inhuman, those bug-eyed lenses fixed on Raylan, and his face a rictus of fury. I turn the lantern directly at his face and switch it on.

The light flashes right into the night-vision goggles. The Djinn howls and staggers back, tearing the goggles off his face. He’s stumbling and blinded.

“Raylan!” I cry.

I toss him the awl.

He catches it in his right hand and plunges it into the Djinn’s chest. The Djinn shrieks, unable to even see what’s hit him. He feels for it blindly. But unlike the fish knife, he can’t pull the awl out. It’s too deeply embedded, in too vital a place.