“You’ll what? Plunge my toilet?” Petronio was finally in control. Guards be hanged. There would be no dungeon for this boy.

But as Petronio bent forward, his knife itching to bury itself in Ark’s neck, he heard a thrumming fill the night air. Petronio paused, analyzing the sounds, taking in the iron scent of Ark’s blood. “Ah! It looks like I won’t need to finish you myself! It’s very rare for anyone to be hungrier than me, but when it comes to hunters, I respectfully bow out. Have a good journey, Malikum. I guess we won’t be seeing each other, ever again!” Petronio retreated, a smile of victory on his face.

Ark tried to move, but his body, heavy as dead wood, fought against him. He’d thought it was thundering up above. He was wrong. This was a different, far more dangerous tempest. With a wingspan wide as a roof, and eyes that glittered like diamonds, a huge raven came soaring from the darkness, drawn by the perfume of lifeblood, her claws ready to take the injured prey as it stood defeated and defenseless.

Mucum could only watch from a distance as the bird swooped low. He’d never run so fast in his life, his feet close to slipping on the wet woodways as he’d skidded around corners and sprinted over crossroads, aware that every second mattered. And now this.

Mucum had heard the telltale beat of wings overhead just as he’d caught sight of two figures ahead, one standing and crowing over the other. At that moment he knew Ark wasn’t going to die like a warrior. To the ravens, summoned by the smell of blood, his friend was a morsel of meat. Nothing more. The Holly Woodsmen would call it a sacrifice, revering the dark bird. Stupid superstition!

In the dim light of their candle, the two figures appeared cut out, like silhouettes in a painting, frozen in time. And then the raven’s shadow swallowed the scene whole. A moment later, one figure reappeared, the wrong one.

A roar reared up through Mucum’s lungs and leapt from his mouth, shattering the night air. “Yer gonna pay fer this!” He charged toward Petronio like a battering ram, not caring if the birds took him, not giving a twig for his fear. Let them try it! Maybe this was finally Plan B — slam the surgeon’s boy out of the way, scoop up Ark, and run for shelter.

Petronio looked up, his normal arrogance wiped away with shock as Mucum dived through the air, ready to fell him with one easy blow. Petronio’s dagger had been wiped on a convenient lump of moss and put away. There was no time to ease it from the scabbard. His eyes met Mucum’s, picked up on the hate that was far brighter than the limp candle lighting up the scene.