She saw the Justice trying to fight the cloud, the gauntlet sending crazed red flashes into the storm. A wraith of vapor was sucked inside the device, but it fizzed and crackled as if the power were too great for it. A couple of his red attacks blew holes in the crenellations of the battlements; others came to land in the crowd surging around the buckling gates. More red magic shot off impotently into the sky. It was all pointless; the cloud simply consumed him. The air was rent with lightning, thunder, screams, and vapor that spun in excitement at the kill.

At last the screaming stopped, and the Justice toppled over the side of the wall, down into the city he had ruled—and after another thump, the portcullis guarding the castle broke open with a bone-shattering crash.

Lena offered Constance a hand up, but she supported herself against the wall instead, sitting and breathing deeply. Without her mask, her face was pale and shining with perspiration, a strand of long fair hair plastered to her cheek.

“The butterfly…” Constance gazed at the brass creature now settling in Lena’s hair. “The spell’s heart isn’t in the butterfly at all. It’s in you.”

Lena dropped her hand to her side and nodded slowly.

“What’s more, the heart of the spell is under your command,” Constance said breathlessly, her mind spinning as she tried to tie it all together. “And the storm … just then, it responded.”

“If the heart is under my command, how can I stop the spell?” Lena said, crouching down to Constance’s level. “Please. I need to know what’s happening … You’re the only person who understands.”

Constance shot her a hard look, her dark-blue eyes—nearly violet in the dim, stormy daylight—serious and bright. “It’s complicated … but, yes, I can help you,” she said finally.

Lena’s heart fluttered with hope. “Emris said you wanted to destroy the spell.”

She nodded. “I want it gone from Duke’s Forest. If the spell’s heart had been harbored in the butterfly, I would have destroyed it, and the storm cloud would have disappeared. But if you’re in command of the heart … ,” she said slowly, “I can show you how to take control of the storm itself.”

“And if I can command the storm…”

“You can make it disappear.” Constance finished her thought. “You can stop it from bringing the dead to life, if you wish. You will be a necromancer. And who knows what else you may be capable of.”

“What do I do?” Lena breathed. She felt the butterfly crawl through her hair, its wings gently opening.

“It’s not going to be easy. There’s a ritual.” Constance was hauling herself to her feet now. “We’ll have to go down below, where we won’t be disturbed.”

“The crypts?”