That’s what did it. Hitting them. I bashed a few into the wall, heard the thump as their bodies struck, the crack of bones, and then the shrieks of their comrades, diverting course to devour their brethren, not caring if they were dead or alive, only that they were momentarily dazed, weak, and vulnerable.

Whatever intelligence the melltithiwyd possessed, it was enough for them to see me hurting the others—and those others being devoured—and decide maybe they didn’t want to torment me after all. Finally, with a scream that seemed to come from a thousand tiny throats, they tore off and I was left there, panting, blood dripping down my face.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

It was a woman’s voice, which made me think of the sluagh, but this one was pitched lower, edged with anger rather than mockery.

When I didn’t answer, she said, “Are you too good to speak to me, Miss Larsen? I bet you think you are.”

A figure stepped into the doorway. I had a flash of instant recognition followed by…nothing. Just that flash that said, “I know you,” but when I went to chase down a name, my memory had nothing to give.

She was my age, maybe a little younger, and she stood in that doorway, her blue eyes dark with hate. I’d seen that face. Seen it recently. Where…?

“Does this help?” she said, and her jeans and blouse disappeared, and she stood there in her bra and panties. Dried blood smeared one bare thigh where I could make out part of a symbol carved into her flesh. Another symbol decorated her stomach above her panties, this one in blue paint, pierced by a twig. Blue woad. A mistletoe twig.

“Stacey Pasolini,” I said.

“Very good. A shame you needed me to humiliate myself with that visual reminder.” The clothing reappeared. “That’s how it goes, isn’t it? People remember the killers, not the victims.”

“Except you were both,” I said. “The world just doesn’t know about the first part yet. Don’t worry—they will soon, and I’m sure you’ll get a fresh batch of news coverage.”

She lunged, the edges of her body dissolving into black smoke, reconstituting when she stopped, looming above me. As she glowered, the blue seeped from her eyes and they went as white as the melltithiwyd’s, and when she snarled, her teeth were razor-sharp.

I got to my feet. “Let me guess. You’re one of the melltithiwyd now, and you’re a little pissy about the whole thing. Can’t say I blame you. It doesn’t look like a lot of fun. Although I suppose there’s always that option.” I glanced at scattered feathers on the floor.