Murphy made a growling sound that more than made up for Toto’s lack. “We know anything?”

Will looked at Marci. The stringy girl shook her head. “The snow is holding too many scents in place. I couldn’t find anything solid.” She looked down at her knees and added, “Sorry.”

Murphy ignored that last bit. “She shouldn’t have been traveling alone. We’re going to have to stress the importance of partnering up.”

“How?” Abby asked. “I mean, it’s in every circular.”

Murphy nodded. “Will?”

Will drummed his fingertips on his biceps and nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.”

Abby blinked several times and then said, “Karrin… you can’t possibly mean…”

“People are dying,” Murphy said simply. “A good scare can do wonders to cure stupidity.”

“Or we could try protecting them,” said Daniel.

Forthill lifted a hand again, but the younger man ignored him, rising to his feet. Daniel’s voice was a rich, strong baritone. “All over the world, dark things are rising up against mortals connected to the supernatural. Killing them or dragging them away into the dark. Creatures that haven’t been seen by mankind in the past two millennia are reappearing. Fighting mortals. Fighting one another. The shadows are boiling over with death and terror, and no one is doing anything about it!

“The Wardens went from fighting the Vampire War to a new one, against an enemy without a face or an identity. The White Council doesn’t have Wardens enough to handle everything that’s happening anyway. If a cry for help is sent up anywhere but a major city, there’s no chance at all of them showing up. Meanwhile, what are we doing?” Daniel’s voice filled with quiet scorn. “Telling people to travel around in herds. Scaring them ourselves to make them do so, as if there wasn’t terror enough in the world already.”

Murphy stared steadily at him. Then she said, her tone hard, “That’s enough.”

Daniel ignored her, planting his feet and squaring his shoulders. “You know. You know what must be done, Ms. Murphy. You’re holding two of the greatest weapons against darkness that the world has ever known. Bring forth the Swords.”

A dead silence settled on the room, into which Sir Stuart asked me, conversationally, “Which swords?”

“The Swords of the Cross,” I said quietly, out of habit—I could have sung it operatically without anyone there noticing. “The ones with the nails from the Crucifixion worked into them.”

“Excalibur, Durendal, and Kusanagi, yes, yes,” Sir Stuart said, his tone a little impatient. “Of course I know the Swords of the Cross. And the little blond woman has two of them?”

I just stared at the burly shade for a long second. I’d found what amounted to a rumor that Amoracchius was, in fact, the same sword given to King Arthur, but I hadn’t ever heard anything about the other two— despite some fairly exhaustive research over the years. The shade had dropped their identities as if they were everyday knowledge.

Sir Stuart frowned at me and said, “What is it?”