“Don’t,” Rachel said, when she saw. “Move carefully.”

“Traps?” Foil asked.

“It’s something,” Rachel said. Her hand went out, indicating the direction that the enemy group was, as they moved through the darkness. Her other hand rested on her half-grown wolf’s head. “It’s not going to be a good something.”

The glow was visible through the glare, almost mistakable for a phantom image from looking at other lights. It hit the road, streaking across it before going from red hot to a red-black, then black.

Glass.

“Etna,” I said. I took to the air. “Bluestocking’s group, she’s—”

The molten glass globs sailed our way, and this time there was no mistaking the volley for a trick of the eyes. I flew forward to intercept, but they were spread out enough I could only block one. Swansong and Damsel used their powers to try to blast shots out of the air. Damsel succeeded. Swansong missed.

The group backed up, and I heard Rachel bark, “No!”

Red lights flared, all around the group. I saw the Harbingers spring up and back. One landed on Capricorn’s back, the other on Flashbang’s shoulder, perching.

A carpet of red lighting crackled between the points of red, where traps had been laid. It lanced through legs and the bodies of those who were crouching.

The group toppled. The Harbingers sprung forward from their perches on higher ground, landing back on the road, while others tipped into the ditch of fell flat.

Swansong hadn’t suffered as much, because she had only the one leg, and she hadn’t been as close to the ditch. Her sister had fallen. My mom and dad were down. My mom hadn’t managed to orb up. Rachel was down, as was the hound, but the wolf remained up, alarmed and growling. Byron had fallen, landing belly-down on the ground.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Spasms,” my dad grunted. “Every muscle twisting and cramping. Fuck!”

They weren’t bouncing back. Not fast enough it would matter.

Chastity, off to the side, reached out to a Harbinger for support. They caught her, but as her leg spasmed, she fell. They eased her down.

“We’re going to be ungentlemanly and leave you behind while we deal with this,” one of them said to her.

I could see the enemy now. A tall man in flowing clothes. Two Case Fifty-Threes. Etna. One of the Fourth Sect mercenaries.

We had multiple people who were down. Myself. The Harbingers. Sveta. Ashley.

“Paris,” Byron said, identifying the tall man.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I could have killed him—” he stopped to grunt. “Last time.”

“We can kill him,” the Harbingers said. “Just say the word.”

I saw Byron hesitate.