Using the wall for support, I got to my feet. “Piscary!” I shouted, and he turned, his mouth red with Quen’s blood.

“Wait your turn,” he snarled, showing me his red-smeared teeth.

“I was here first,” I said.

Angry, he dropped Quen. If he had been hungry, nothing would have moved him from downed prey. Quen’s arm lifted weakly. He didn’t get up. I knew why. It felt too good.

“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone,” Piscary said, coming at me.

Latin fell from me, burned into my mind from Quen’s attack. My hands moved, etching black magic. My tongue swelled at the taste of tinfoil. I stretched for a ley line, not finding it.

Piscary slammed into me. I gasped, unable to breathe. He was on me again, reaching.

In the fear, something broke. A flood of ever-after flowed into me. I heard my scream at the shock of the unexpected influx of power. Gold laced with black and red burst from my hands. Piscary lifted from me. He crashed into a wall, shaking the lights.

I pulled myself up as he slumped on the floor, realizing where the energy had come from. “Nick!” I cried in fear. “Oh God. Nick! I’m sorry!”

I had pulled on a line through him. I had pulled the energy through him as if he had been a familiar. It had raced through him as it had me. I had pulled more than he could handle. What had I done?

Piscary was slumped where the wall met the floor. His foot shifted and he swung his head up. His eyes weren’t focused, but they were black with hatred. I couldn’t let him get up.

Racked in pain, I grabbed the leg of the chair Piscary had torn free and staggered across the room.

He lurched to his feet, supporting himself with a hand against the wall. His robe was almost undone. His eyes suddenly focused.

I gripped the metal rod in one hand like a bat, pulling it back even as I ran. “This is for trying to kill me,” I said, swinging.

The bar of metal hit him behind the ear with a sodden smack. Piscary staggered, but didn’t go down.

My breath came in an angry sound. “This is for raping Ivy!” I shouted, my anger at him for hurting something so strong and vulnerable giving me strength. I swung, grunting in effort.

The metal rod met the back of his skull with the sound of a melon.

I stumbled, catching my balance. Piscary fell to his knees. Blood seeped from his scalp.

“And this,” I said, feeling my eyes grow hot and my vision blur from tears, “is for killing my dad,” I whispered.