My vision took that moment to clear slightly, enough for me to get my answer without her needing to say a word. We were back across the Thames and down a bit, on the other side from the world’s biggest bonfire. Which was currently backlighting the world’s biggest what-the-fuck, heading our way.

It was huge, at least nine stories tall, and maybe more. It was black, but shedding pieces of burnt, crispy skin on the air behind it, to reveal blood red flesh underneath. It was man shaped, and judging by the way it grabbed a passing barge and threw it at Agnes, it was pissed.

Aeslinn, I realized, or what was left of him. Only what was left was now a towering giant and how was that fair? How was that possible?

I didn’t know, but it made the contest ridiculously one-sided. As if it hadn’t already been, because that explosion shouldn’t just have killed him; it should have obliterated him. It had almost killed me, and I’d been a good distance from the epicenter and behind a solid brick building.

So, what the hell were we supposed to do with this?

I didn’t know that, either, but he wasn’t daunting Agnes. And she was fast—so goddamned fast I couldn’t believe it, letting me know that she’d been taking it easier on Rhea than I’d thought. I could barely keep up with her as she shifted around, skipping from boat to shore to barge, and sending everything possible at the hideous specter in between.

And she could preach to me all she liked, but no way wasn’t she hopped up on something. Because a stream of objects hit their target from three directions at once. What looked like tracer fire slammed into the creature’s back, as she summoned burning coal, bricks and pieces of glass from the bonfire behind him. From above, thousands of birds swirled around his head, caught in a time loop that they couldn’t escape, and unleashing a hurricane of biting, clawing, and dive-bombing frustration on Aeslinn. And from below, some long-buried artifacts out of London’s eventful history were being called forth to protect its people.

Old, pockmarked cannonballs sped through the air, trailing ropes of green slime; a surprising number of algae-covered harpoons tore into the giant at vulnerable points; and every kind of trash imaginable—an old ball and chain from what looked like the Tudor period, a hail of Roman-era rooftiles and pottery shards, and pieces of sunken ships from a huge swath of time—all left a mark.

But nothing stopped him.

I glanced at Gertie, and saw that her hand was extended, somehow helping Agnes while also maintaining the transition, which explained the strength of the defense. But it wasn’t enough. Battered, bruised, and with parts of him still on fire—he was coming.