Mason jerks his chin toward the mansion, and I peer over the bedlam to the roof. Vampires line the edge. As I watch, two silhouettes break away from the row, jump to the lawn—yeah, jump what must be a fifty-foot drop, right into the mass of fighting men—collect a student each from the Blood Servants, and fling them over their shoulder the way a hunter carries a deer. They crawl back up the sheer brick like CGI spidermen in business suits. Double crap.

“Right,” I say, not really feeling it. “I’m on that.”

“Don’t call the Flame,” Mason says, pointing a bolt at me.

“Why not?” Without that, I’m next to useless.

“You’re an untrained mess. You slip up and call it from the Guardians, we’re finished.”

Is that true? Could I accidentally call it from the wrong place? I have no idea.

“Just threaten them with the call,” Mason presses. “Trust me, they’ll shit themselves. And if they break you, well, it’s no loss to us, is it?”

Nice. I indicate the Channelers in gray running through the throng like crazy chickens. “You keep the line. I’ll bring back the students.”

As I dash down the rise into the fray, he shouts, “Betray us, half breed, and I’ll put a bolt in your face.”

Yeah, yeah, message received. I’m not doing this for Mason or the Guardians. I’m doing this for Flanagan.

Night sky has taken the sunlight, casting the battle in deep shadow. The half moon is barely a scratch above the trees. My vision remains clear, though, as if I wear night goggles. I can make out the tiniest detail, contrasts, and even shades of color. It’s uncanny. And bloody useful right now. I get the impression Shifters and Blood Servants have some kind of night vision too because none of them are struggling in the dark.

I dodge between fighting pairs and strewn bodies, making a beeline for the mansion. It’s not easy. I’m buffeted by crazy Blood Servants and desperate soldiers. Blood and sweat splatter my skin. I almost trip over a wolf with its jaws clamped to a man’s ankle. I flinch every time the vampires screech their piercing war call. The Flame they’re giving off buffets my nerves. Slinking shadows make me duck as those flying Guardians swoop overhead.

I look up and see a shiny black bob I recognize well. Fuck me. Seonu is a bird! Black feathered wings stretching out, Seonu swoops and grabs an unsuspecting Servant by the belt. She rushes onward through the air, carries the dangling man to the other side of the field, then drops him, right onto the heads of his fellow soldiers. Go Seonu.