“Stupid!” I chided myself aloud, skidding to a stop on the turf.

The vampires ringing the field were not Elders. They far outnumbered the council members I had seen crammed into the basement of the theater in Minneapolis. And that didn’t even include the countless number that had already been turned to smoke tonight. It was clear, there under the blazing lights of the Hope High football stadium, that it wasn’t just the Elders here to take the village. With a shiver, it occurred to me that these additional vamps might be members of the Blood Clan, already come to claim their new territory.

But as I looked around, I saw it was worse than that. It was all the clans, called by the Elder Seat to act. There were Bloods, yes, but also Shadows and Starlights and even Bones. So many familiar faces, I nearly collapsed to the ground.

This was wrong. This was all wrong!

I had come prepared to fight the Elders—to smoke them, if necessary. It was as much as they deserved. But this . . .

Feelings were at war inside me, my earlier determination unraveling into an inner chaos that mirrored the chaos on the field. The realization that we were surrounded had hit the crowd, and people were running in all directions.

I had to get everyone off this field, but the archway to the parking lot and the great beyond was completely blocked. Even if it wasn’t, humans were all over the place—scrambling into the bleachers or behind the concession stands. Immortals were taking them down even as they moved, dropping them mid-stride. One minute, a human was running. The next they were on the ground, until the field was littered with bodies.

Other mortals held their ground, crouching midfield like a starting line, armed with shards of wood or other makeshift weapons. Those who fought back were landing their stakes. Here and there, small tornados of black smoke swirled up past the stadium lights and disappeared into the inky sky.

Not far from me, a man dressed as Thor snapped the paper-mache head from his homemade hammer, exposing the handle, which appeared to be the smooth, rounded end of a broomstick or a mop. I winced as a vampire vaulted toward him, sailing down from above, fangs out. Thor swung his mighty mop handle and, with the sheer force of will, drove that super dull end of the stick right into his attacker’s chest.

And then the flying vamp was just a shadow, floating away.

But moves like that were in the minority, and the human herd was thinning. The number of people lying on the grass would soon surpass the number of people standing on two feet.

Fending off attacks with my two-fisted stakes and trying not to fatally stab any vampire I didn’t recognize as an Elder, I searched around to see if any of the humans still standing were my humans.