All at once, we unleash a torrent of magic. Maxine flings the knife out of the taller boy’s hand. Lena magicks the ropes up off the floor and whips the shorter boy in the face. Pascal sends a shower of dirt our way, momentarily blinding me. It’s all so ugly and quick. The catacombs already smell of death, but now they are filled with the deep, guttural sounds of eight people trying to overpower one another.

A skull comes careening off the wall, directly into the soft spot under my ribs. Something snaps as the breath is knocked from me. Another bone comes flying, sending me stumbling to my knees. I’m immediately hit in the back of the head by another blow.

They’re trying to kill us. Pascal, the other boys, they’re fanatics. They’d kill for this, the chance of eternal life. They don’t see that Finn would just as easily sacrifice their lives too.

I’m gasping for a breath I can’t catch against broken ribs, trying to push myself up off my bloody knees, when another set of footsteps comes running down the passageway.

I clench my eyes shut. This is it, then. More Brothers of Morte d’Arthur are here as reinforcements and my breaths are certainly numbered. They’ll tie me up in front of the veil and drive a dagger through my heart. I only wish I hadn’t gotten my friends so tangled up in this mess.

I open my eyes to see two bodies round the corner.

It’s so dark I can’t quite make out their faces. It’s a man and a woman, I think. The man raises both his arms and, in a torrent of magic, sends three bodies slamming against the side wall. The woman clasps her hands in front of her chest and produces a light spell so bright, I have to blink away the tears from my eyes.

All at once, the fighting goes still. Pascal and the two others are collapsed on the ground. Oliver, Finn, Lena, Maxine, and I are all a little worse for the wear, but panting and alive.

And illuminated in golden light, standing perfectly still, her brown eyes full of fear, is my mother.

Next to her stands my father. He’s trying to catch his breath, beads of sweat pooling on his brow. “Been a minute since I’ve done that,” he says. “Come now, let’s tie up your friends.”

“They aren’t our friends,” Maxine corrects.

“Maxine, Lena, good to see you again,” my father greets them, bending to gather ropes up off the ground.

My mother stands next to him, frozen in place, her eyes unblinking as if seeing to some far-off place.

“Mom.” The sound of my voice seems to rouse her. Her eyes meet mine, and it is then that I realize they’re full of tears.