Numb, I felt spittle slip from me. I couldn’t remember how to wipe it away. My throat hurt and the cold air I sucked into me seemed to burn. I could hear dogs barking and a car engine. The light from its headlamps wasn’t moving, and the snow sparkled. I hung loose in Al’s grip, feet trying to move as he began walking again. He dragged me out from in front of the car, and in a slippery squeak of snow and ice, it sped away.

“Come along, Rachel, love,” Al said in the new darkness, clearly in a good mood as he pulled me over a snowplowed hill and onto the shoveled walk. “Your wolf has given up, and unless you submit to me, we have a good bit of city to walk before I can get you to a ley line.”

Stumbling, I lurched after Al, my feet in my socks long cold and unresponsive. His hand gripped my wrist in a shackle stronger than any metal. Al’s shadow stretched behind us to where David panted, shaking his head as if to clear it. I could do nothing, feeling nothing as David’s lips pulled back from his muzzle. Silently, he lunged. Numb and uncaring, I watched as if from a distance. Al, though, was very much aware.

“Celero fervefacio!” he exclaimed, angry, and I screamed as the curse burned through me. The force of Al’s magic exploded from his outstretched hand and struck David. In a flash, the snow melted underneath the Were, and he writhed on the black circle of pavement. I screamed from the agony, catching it—smothering it—hearing it trail into the keen of a banshee.

“Please … no more,” I whispered, spit falling from me to melt a spot of snow. I stared at the dirty white, thinking it was my soul, pitted and sullied, paying for Al’s black magic. I couldn’t think. The pain burned through me still, becoming a familiar hurt.

The sound of frightened people pulled my bleary gaze up. The neighborhood was watching from doors and windows. I’d probably make the news. A sharp bang drew my attention to the house we had passed, an elegant snow castle with turrets and towers gracing one corner of the yard. The light from the open door spilled over the trampled snow, falling almost to Al and me. I caught my breath at Ceri standing in the threshold, Ivy’s crucifix about her neck. Her nightgown flowed to the porch, white and billowy. Her unbound hair floated about her, coming almost to her waist. Her posture was stiff with anger. “You,” she said, her voice ringing clear over the snow.

From behind me came a warning yip, and I felt a tug of a pull. Through Al’s knowledge, I instinctively knew that Ceri had set a circle around Al and me. A futile sob escaped me, but I fastened on the feeling like a hungry cur on trash. I had felt something that wasn’t from Al. The demon’s own emotion of annoyance was quick behind my depression, covering it up until I forgot what I felt like. From Al, I knew the circle was useless. You can make a circle without drawing it first, but only a drawn circle is strong enough to hold a demon.