Selwyn’s magic had been smoke and swirling silver. These flames, pulsing in the sky above the trees, burn a rotting neon green.

“Oh my God…,” I whisper, my heart suddenly racing.

“What?” Nick asks.

I’m running past him before any other thoughts fully form. I hear him yelling behind me, asking me what’s wrong, but I don’t care. I can’t care.

This time of day on a college campus makes a straight path impossible. Strolling students, sitting couples, and a Frisbee game send me zigzagging. Last night I ran away from magic. Tonight, I have to run toward it. For my mom, for my dad, for me. I have to know the truth. I have to know if not getting a chance to talk to her again was my fault, or if—

I round a hedge, and the world drops out from underneath me.

Crouched between two science buildings is something I’d never imagined could exist.

The creature is outlined in thin green light. Its body flickers, gaining density, then thinning, then gaining it again. It could be a wolf except that it stands twice as tall and instead of fur it has a semitranslucent layer of stretched and blackened skin that flakes off at the joints of its four legs. It bares two rows of teeth, curved backward like scythes. Thin rivers of steaming black saliva stream between its lower canines and pool on the grass.

I don’t know what sound I make—a gasp, a near-silent yelp of fear—but its head whips in my direction, glowing red eyes and red-tipped ears pointing my way. It howls, and the piercing sound bounces between the buildings until it assaults me from all sides, freezing me to the spot.

The creature drops low, a growl gurgling in its throat, and launches itself at me.

I brace for the bite of teeth, but suddenly a figure barrels into the creature, knocking it off course mid-flight.

The heaving wolf-thing hits a brick wall with a heavy, squelching sound, a smear of black splattering the wall from the impact.

“Run!” It’s Nick who stands between me and the creature.

The creature hauls itself to its feet. It shakes its body like a dog, flinging dark liquid in every direction. Where the spray lands, grass sizzles like bacon in a pan.

“Bree!” Nick bends down on one knee. “Run!”

Heart pounding in my ears, I stumble—and fall. An arrow of pain shoots up my palms into my elbows.

Nick yanks a thin silver baton from a sheath strapped to his shin. He shifts into a high crouch, then whips the baton down in a slicing motion. The rod extends into a thin, sharp blade.

A hidden weapon. Just like Tor’s.

Nick spins the sword in his grip. At the top of the arc, a small silver cross guard pops out over his hand.