Sarah Beth could feel the other girl’s courage and power—pulsing, like a defiant heartbeat staving off primal, mortal fear. It was the same thing she’d felt at Uncle Jed’s side when he’d rescued her from the compound in the woods. Josh must have felt it too because he stepped up on Corbin’s other side, holding the bronze spear of St. George the dragon slayer. Even terrified Michaela joined their battle line for the final confrontation against a foe they had no business challenging.

Victor’s eyes glowed like twin rings of flame, powered by the hate and malice of a hundred demons.

“Your kind is not welcome here,” Corbin hissed. Then in a voice that seemed to be amplified by a dozen loudspeakers, she shouted, “I command you to leave!”

Victor shuddered as if Corbin’s words had physically struck him. Then . . . quietly at first but steadily building to a crescendo, he began to laugh. It was a laugh with weight and judgment. With malice and intent. A laugh that wormed its way under her skin and made her feel weak and vulnerable and pathetic all at the same time. The experience was not new to her.

This was what he did.

This was how he fought . . .

She understood this now. She was not the clueless, helpless, unprepared little girl she’d been before. She’d gained skills and confidence. She had parents who loved her, a friend in Corbin who believed in her, and Uncle Jed, who would defend her to his dying breath. But most importantly, she had God on her side and an inner light that even the coldest, darkest, cruelest touch could not corrupt.

I believe, she told herself and turned to Corbin.

“Certitude,” Corbin said.

“Certitude,” she agreed.

Victor stopped laughing. “So naive . . .”

Shadow seemed to grow out of Victor like a dark halo consuming what little ambient light illuminated the hallway. Gooseflesh stood up on Sarah Beth’s arms and neck and one of the kids beside her gasped.

“You can’t hurt us if we don’t let you,” Sarah Beth shouted, surprised by the anger in her own voice.

“Oh, Sarah Beth,” he said, his voice warm oil, “that’s where you’re wrong . . . so very, very wrong.”

He moved swiftly, crossing the distance between them with inhuman speed, and she was his target. She scrambled left and almost got out of his way, but he caught her by the wrist. She felt his nails pierce her skin, like eagle’s talons ripping into delicate rabbit flesh.

She shrieked and accidentally projected out of her body for an instant, to watch in horror from a detached point of view as he attacked her, before snapping back into herself. He raked her face with the nails of his other hand, and she felt a warm trickle run down her right cheek and under her jaw.

“Die,” Josh screamed beside her, and she watched him ram the spear of St. George into Victor’s torso.