Petra snorted. “Too late, and all the good catchphrases are taken anyway. Let’s just proceed with the mission,” she said, and put a fist in the air.

“And how are we going to do that?” Lulu asked.

“We’re going to hold the circle,” we said simultaneously.

Because we made good little soldiers.

* * *

Lulu, Petra, Ariel, and I took positions in the yard, each of us at a compass point, twenty feet between us. Theo, Connor, Alexei, their friends, Gwen, and the CPD officers she’d enlisted stood near the gate, out of the line of fire. Or so I hoped.

We checked our comm system, and Lulu opened what looked like a paint can, dipped a brush in the glimmering gold liquid inside, wiped it against the edge to adjust the amount of paint.

“What is that, exactly?” Ariel asked.

“Salt. Water. Shavings from an ash tree. Amethyst dust. Cornstarch and gold dust to make it easier to see.”

“So, just the basic recipe,” Connor said, which made her smile, as he’d probably intended.

Lulu looked at me, Petra, Ariel. “You’re my steering committee. I start any old-magic nonsense that’s not supposed to happen, and you call me out.”

Petra wiggled her fingers. “Done.”

“Done,” Ariel said. “You mess up, and I use my friends in low places.”

“Done,” I said. “I have sharp things.”

Lulu nodded. “Then here goes nothing,” she said, and began to draw.

Even in the darkness, even on grass, even under pressure, her motions were practiced, confident, and beautiful. A giant circle of gold shimmered to life in the moonlight, and she began the marks inside it. She painted liberally, her brush loaded and flinging the liquid with each stroke until her shoes were gilded, too.

“It looks like a dance.” I didn’t need to turn to know Alexei had said it. Not given the awe in his voice.

“Last bit,” Lulu called out, and swung the brush above the ground so paint landed in a sweeping arc.

The earth began to rumble.

Lulu tossed the brush a few feet away, wiped her hands on her apron, then moved to a pile of materials that sat on a wooden tray at her point in the circle. She chanted—slow, steady, and quiet. Then she added something to a silver bowl, closed her eyes, put her palms together. Her wrists still touching, she began pivoting her hands and fingers in a pretty dance that was very different from the sharp motions Rosantine had made while signing her sigil.

“Petra,” I said. “Your turn. Ariel, get ready.”

Petra stepped forward, pulling off her gloves. She held out her hands, paused to concentrate. Pale blue flames popped into her palms.

I unsheathed my sword, moved a step closer to the sigil. The ground shuddered again.

Petra turned toward Lulu, blew across her palm. The flame became a spark that crackled, reached toward Lulu’s silver bowl and ignited its contents so a pale blue flame covered the surface.