Panterra limped toward it, suddenly aware that he had been injured, that not everything was working right. But his concentration was intense enough to push aside the pain and confusion, and he summoned the staff’s magic one more time. Centering it on the stricken demon, he burned it from the head down until nothing remained but the thin, bitter taste of ashes wafting on the mountain air.

ABANDONING THE CHARRED OUTLINE of the demon, Pan limped hurriedly over to where Prue sprawled on the ground, watching Aislinne approach from the other direction, abandoning her bow as she ran to join him. Even injured as he was, he reached the girl first and dropped beside her, lifting her into his arms and cradling her limp body. The demon fire had seared the skin of her face and arms, but maybe not badly enough to do permanent damage. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing in shallow gasps.

“Panterra!” Aislinne said, kneeling beside him. “Is she alive?”

Pan nodded. He reached out and smoothed back damp strands of red hair from her face. Aislinne brought out her water skin and held it to Prue’s mouth, letting a little of the water trickle onto her lips. The water ran down her face, but she did not respond.

Aislinne placed her head against the girl’s chest, listening. “Her heart’s beating. I think it’s just the shock of what happened to her.” She looked over. “But I don’t know exactly what that was. Did you know about her eyes? About the scarlet dove? I think that was what distracted the demon when it was after you. I can’t explain why, but it just seemed as if she was following it when she showed herself.”

Pan didn’t care about the dove. He didn’t even care about the demon now that it was dead. “She has to be all right,” he said, the words tight and hot in his throat. “She can’t be hurt. Not after all this.”

Aislinne reached out and touched his arm. “What about you, Panterra? Have you looked at yourself yet? You are bleeding through your clothes.”

He looked down and saw that she was right. As well, his skin was blistered and blackened, and he thought he might have cracked some ribs and maybe broken several fingers on one hand. But none of that mattered. Prue was his only concern, and he would not think of himself until he had been reassured about her.

Suddenly she gasped, coughed roughly, and jerked sharply in his arms. He helped her sit up, feeling her body tense as he did so. “Pan?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and thick.

“Right here. Right beside you.”

“The demon?”

“Dead. It’s over, Prue. We won.”

She shook her head. “Did we?”