One of the arrows lodges in the wooden frame of the cart, the boards blackening as the fire threatens to spread. My parents yelp and whimper, huddling closer together, and my insides revolt in fear. Across the clearing, despite the confusion and the mounting danger, Jude and Gunnar are frozen in place. Their promise, and the magic of a blood oath, means they have to act—now or never.

They exchange a glance … and then break forward, racing across the picnic grounds, converging on the wheeled cart. At the same moment, black-clad figures come springing out of the trees behind me, agile and silent—at least fifteen of them, each wielding a sword. Polished metal flashing, their blades swing with deadly intent as they storm the field.

Viviane is closest to the trees, and the Knights reach her first, four of them bearing down at once. She pauses only a second before erupting in a cloud of smoke, shifting back into an owl and spiraling for the sky. Two more arrows launch at her from the trees, but she barrel-rolls, dodging both and flying out of sight.

Four others target Rasputin, rushing at him in an acrobatic advance, blades slicing loops from the air. The cleric vanishes suddenly, reappearing behind his assailants—snapping a Knight’s neck before vanishing again when the others whirl to catch him.

As the Russian taunts his adversaries with a deadly game of keep-away, Jude rips the lock off my parents’ cage, and he and Gunnar dart inside. Two more flaming arrows carve bright tracks through the air, and I’m dizzy with fear, but their fiery tips hit the cart—missing flesh, both alive and undead.

I don’t get to see if the rescue is a success.

Three of the Knights reach me at last, and I don’t even bother to run. There’s no point. The first to come within striking distance thrusts his sword straight into my chest, and the second plunges hers through my back. The metal edges meet with a terrific clang and then glance apart, vibrating where my body is supposed to be.

I see my own reflection in the tinted goggles of the man facing me, and I give him a cheery smile a moment before I glimmer out of sight.

35

My eyes pop open and I gasp for air, my face sweaty and body trembling. Beside me, her clammy hand locked tightly with my own, Hope Cheng looks even more wrung out than I feel. She’s pale and breathing hard, her shoulders quivering—but there’s a giddy smile on her face.

“It worked,” she pants hoarsely, sounding almost astonished. “I can’t believe it!”

Rubbing my forehead, I blink a few times. “You … didn’t think it was going to work?”