“It’s this place.” Morgan glances down at his feet. “There’s more elemental energy here. It’s like I’m powering up.”

“It’s the bear too,” Toivo says. “Thank you for that, by the way.” He gives me an appreciative nod, which is far more shocking than having a magical bear appear.

My brother has never looked at me with anything other than disdain. I don’t think he’s ever thanked me for anything in his life, not even for presents on birthdays. Maybe he’s starting to hate me a little less now that I’ve proven myself not completely useless.

But that thought stings too. I’ve finally started making peace with the fact I’ll always be unmagical, and now this happens. Could I really possess some form of shamanic ability?

“What if this isn’t magic?” I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“You still helped us, and I still have a reason to be grateful.” Toivo’s gaze rakes over me as if he can see magical auras and is searching for mine.

Surely if I was suddenly developing powers of my own, I’d feel different, but I feel the same as ever.

A few meters ahead, the bear pauses and rears back on its hind legs again. It growls, a low thunder shaking the trees, showering us with snow.

“There, just ahead.” I edge tentatively around the bear, casting a cautious glance at the paws easily twice the size of my skull.

There’s a large clearing and, on the far side, a stand of spruce trees similar to the one in the glade where I met the hiisi. There, two figures are fighting, and another lies prone and splattered horrible shades of pink.

Aoife sucks in a sharp breath. Morgan grabs my hand. Aysha and Katya huddle together, mouths open. Toivo stares wide-eyed and I guess I must look much the same.

In front of us, Emmi and MacCrone face off against each other. They’re both bleeding—Emmi from claw marks that have cut her sleeves into ribbons. Intricate ink winds up both of her arms. I’ve never noticed her tattoos before. She certainly doesn’t seem the type to be all inked up.

MacCrone bleeds from a gash on her neck, and her clothes are scorched in several places, probably from deflecting spells. Fiona lies in the snow, her tail whipping back and forth in irritation, her front legs cruelly twisted beneath her. Kalma drops from a tree branch, hissing at the dragon, her fur standing on end and her back arched.

“Help me!” Emmi yells as we creep closer. “She’s after the Sampo. We have to stop her.”

MacCrone? No, that can’t be right. Emmi is the tietäjä. It has to be her. But… Emmi has always been so kind to me and was the one to bring me home. It can’t be Emmi! Can it?