“Cynwrig,” I yelled. “I need you smash the kitchen windows and get airflow happening. We’ve a caster upstairs, and she’s just unleashed some sort of gas spell.”

A heartbeat later, the rear windows were broken. He reappeared around the front and smashed those windows in with a long bit of wood. Air flowed through, and the yellowish gas began to dissipate.

He stepped away from the window, then growled, “Are you both okay?”

“Yes.” I glanced up as the wood song on the floor above changed, indicating movement. “The caster’s on the move. Watch the back of the house—I’ll head upstairs.”

“And me?” my aunt said.

“Head out the front. If you see anyone other than the man who was at that window a second ago, run.”

She nodded and drew in a deep breath. I did the same, then lowered the knives and bolted through the gassy remnants to the kitchen door. As my aunt went left, I swung right, my footsteps echoing on the old floorboards. I flicked the knife in my right hand to my left as I hit the stairs and ran my free fingers across the beautiful old wainscoting. Its song was as fierce and bright as before, but it was the connection to the framework of this building I needed rather than the paneling itself. I pushed past the surface music, and an interconnected network of power and music appeared in my mind’s eye. I ran mental fingers along golden arteries that bound the building together, found the caster’s location, and quickly entwined the fibers of the windows in that room to the main structure, sealing them shut.

A scream echoed, the sound feminine rather than masculine, then glass smashed. But the windows in this place were multipaned double sash, and though the glass broke, the muntins held.

For now.

But magic was once again rising.

As the knives began to pulse their warning, I leapt up the final few steps and raced down the hall to the end door. It was locked.

I took a step back, raised one foot, and kicked it with every ounce of strength I could muster. The old lock gave way, and the door crashed back against the plaster.

Just as the caster unleashed her spell.

I swore and raised the knives again. A glittering shield of bluish-purple rose in front of me, but the force of the caster’s spell pushed me back several feet even though the knives split the spell asunder.

As broken threads of magic fell around me, movement echoed through the floorboards. The caster was charging toward the door.

I stepped back, out of her immediate sight, and pressed my fingers to the door frame. Then, with a quick apology for what I was about to do, I ripped the side of the frame away from the wall and smashed it directly into the path of the caster.

She half leapt, half stumbled over it, her arms flailing as she desperately battled to remained upright.