The Shield stretches out before us as far as the eye can see in either direction and high into the clouds.

It appears every Samhain, visible to those with magic, but I’ve never seen it in such a bad state. Normally alight with a golden glow bright enough to illuminate Ravenfall, it’s now a pale, sickly yellow that pulsates like a fading heartbeat. Thin black cracks spiderweb across it, resembling the poison that had spread up Gran’s arm, and pieces flake away, dispersing into nothing.

Even with Colin still alive, Fin’s plan is working. The Shield is dying.

Rose and Kara stand before it, their hands pressed against the golden light. They’re channeling their magic into it, trying to strengthen it.

“I can feel the Shield,” says Colin as we slow beside it. “I feel stronger here.”

“You’re a channel for it.” I stand with my hands on my knees, breathing hard. “It will help you, so long as it can.”

Which from the looks of it isn’t much longer.

Movement around the front of the house draws my eye and I straighten. “There.”

Fin approaches us, his previously well-manicured clothing now ripped and dusted. The wound Colin dealt to his chest is barely visible, and blood stains his leg.

“Draw on the Shield!” I shout to Colin as I thrust my hands against it, adding my strength. The Shield welcomes it, pulling my magic and energy from me in a steady stream.

A slow smile spreads across Fin’s lips. “Yes, please do. The more you draw from it the weaker it will grow. These children’s powers will only sustain it for so long.”

Colin looks at me and I nod. There’s no other way. He has to defeat Fin before we run out of energy and the Shield grows weak enough for him to break. I don’t want to think what kind of creatures wait on the other side—and then suddenly I don’t have to.

The surface of the Shield clears, and I glimpse rows of spirits and creatures on the other side, each more gruesome-looking than the last. I bite back a scream. Some look just like people, their faces pale and ghostly in the Shield’s light. Others might have been people—once. Creatures with long fangs rake curving claws down the Shield’s edge; spirits with peeling skin and wide, bloodshot eyes; shapes that are more shadow and claws than person, all waiting to descend the moment Fin destroys the Shield.

“How ironic it is that my own descendant guards my prison,” Fin says. “Clever, these psychics, and very cruel.”

“Enough stalling.” Colin lunges forward, faster than before. It catches Fin off guard and Colin lands a quick combination on his jaw and stomach, forcing him back. Fin counters, but Colin leaps away. Those were blows that would have flattened a normal man, but Fin hardly looks fazed.