I glance around the inside of the four-wheeler. Its chassis has an extra frame, and the glass looks strengthened but… “Is this thing vampire-proof, then?”

“No. But if you’re in one place, it’s easier for us to protect you. And Laasya and her sisters will probably set a ward around it. This will be the safest place.”

I’m going to feel like a sitting duck waiting inside a car while everyone else does the fighting, but Flanagan’s got a point, and the Guardians don’t want a newbie running around causing them extra headaches.

“Can I at least have a weapon?”

Flanagan squeezes my shoulder. “I understand your trepidation, but you won’t need one. They won’t be taking you today. Stay in the car for me so I know you’re safe.”

He opens the door and twists around to say something else, but a howling shriek from across the industrial site cuts over his words. The unearthly sound tears through me like razor-sharp claws, hitting my innards with a visceral terror. No human could make that nightmarish noise. My body trembles with an instinctive recognition of mortal danger.

Suddenly the car doesn’t seem such a bad place to be.

6

Flanagan slams the door closed and strides across the concrete, yelling orders at his men. The Mercedes’ thickened glass muffles sound, creating an eerie haven of quiet. I perch on the edge of the seat, gripping the leather.

As I stare through the glass like a cloistered spectator, the wasteland outside transforms into chaos. Roaring Guardians in brown swarm like disrupted ants from the empty buildings, and a screaming mass of black-clad Blood Servants thunder into them from all directions. At least sixty of each merge like dark rivers across the concrete—sword, ax, and body clashing in a frenzy of violence so shocking and rapid it’s difficult for me to follow.

Soldiers and Servants bound from one opponent to the next, jumping impossibly high before crashing into their targets. Bolts of silver-white lightning and flames arc across the scene from both sides. It’s a whirling dogfight. A mess of men and metal and craziness.

And every black-leather-clad fighter is pushing his way toward the Mercedes.

Shit. My heart thumps wildly, muscles clenching with the strain of sitting still. The need to run almost overwhelms me. I wouldn’t get far, but instinct screams for me to flee. Or fight. I’m wasted here. I’m not a trained Guardian, but I could fire a crossbow or wield something sharp.

Captain Seonu battles not far from my door. She’s locked in a one-to-one with a lanky Blood Servant swinging a mace. Yeah, a mace. Spikes and everything. But with nimble footwork and a knife in each hand, the elf-like soldier holds her own, a whirlwind of flashing metal and silver Flame.

Mason stands at the other side, biceps flexing as he fires off crossbow bolts at any Servant who comes within ten feet. Laasya sits behind him, cross-legged on the ground. Three older women have joined her. They wear the same brown linen, their hair tied high in ragged dreadlocks. The four of them hold hands in a circle—heads bowed, eyes shut tight, faces straining in concentration. Their mouths move fast over silent words. I can’t imagine what they’re doing. Some kind of witchy thing, obviously. But what? Hiding us from passers-by? Protecting us from the vampires?