Through a haze of pain, I staggered to my feet and drew another knife, letting my broken left arm dangle uselessly at my side. I pointed the blade at Harriet, and the look on my face made her hug the bat to her chest. “If it smells like incense, hit it hard,” I ordered, “and don’t let them drag you away, no matter what.”

Her face was as white as her hair. She nodded.

“Now get your back against a wall!” I did the same as I squinted into the darkness. Harriet pressed her stout little body to the concrete embankment behind us, and I scooted to give her a wider berth for fear of getting smacked upside the head. A movement in the grass and a low moan near the water drew my attention. Keeping my shoulder to the wall and Harriet at my back, I crept toward it.

Footsteps pounded and skidded in the darkness a few feet away, and I whirled around to meet the attack, adrenaline numbing my white-hot arm. Before it reached me, the oncoming Mazikin let out an airless yip and fell at my feet, a crossbow bolt protruding from the center of its back. Relief flowed through me. Henry was here. He was shooting in the dark.

And I couldn’t argue with the results. Now if only we could corner one and take it alive.

Eager and unhinged laughter to my left drew my eyes back toward the waterfront. It was coming from the bundle of hair and rags that had tackled me when I first came from the tent. It was a woman, with a wild mass of dark curls tangled every which way around her. Her hair must have been at least two feet long, full of braids and beads and leaves and twigs. The light from the high moon revealed she was trying to drag the skinny waitress along the narrow patch of grass by the water.

“Hey there.” I stepped out from the darkness of the overpass, shoving the pain from my arm into the deep recesses of my mind. “Let her go, and you can have me.”

The waitress, whose neck was bleeding all over her pink flannel shirt, whimpered and struggled, but the small female Mazikin jerked her close.

“No, ella es perfecta,” the thing snapped, her hair obscuring her face and making her seem more animal than human.

“She’s kinda skinny,” I commented, stalking closer. Behind me, Harriet grunted, and someone’s growl turned into a shriek as the bat hit its mark. The female Mazikin’s head shot up, looking toward the sound. I ran for her, hoping this would be a short fight. She dropped the waitress and stood up straight, revealing she was actually about as tall as I was. With long, broken fingernails, she clawed her hair away from her face and met my eyes.

I stopped dead, swaying in place, and stared at her.