The man yanked her out of the room and Grosset followed, sinking his teeth into the man’s pant leg. God, she was afraid the hulk would kick him, kill him, but all he did was drag him along with him as though the small dog wasn’t even there.

Sarafina gasped at the state of the house. It was like a battlefield. Men and women lay motionless on the floor, draped over chairs and tables. Some groaned and moaned, nursing injuries. Others went to each of the fallen, inspecting wounds and trussing some up like prisoners.

The whole place smelled like magick. Now that she knew what magick smelled like, she could pick out the individual elements. Together, it all burned her nose with a harsh, bitter bite.

The man pulling her through the house stopped for no one, talked to no one, helped no one. Her panic grew with every step she took. There was no way she was leaving with this man.

Once they hit the outdoor air and sunshine blessedly bathed her face, burning away the stink from the magickal battle within, she bolted. Pulling away from him with a sudden jerk, she scooped up Grosset and cleared the front steps in a single leap, hitting the grass running.

She’d been on the track team in high school and apparently she hadn’t forgotten anything. A cornfield surrounded the house and she made for it, intending to hide among the autumn stalks.

The man bellowed behind her—a roar of displeasure that chilled her blood. She forced her feet to move faster. A bolt of power moved the earth at her heels and she yelped, plunging into the cornfield. Holding Grosset firmly to her, the dry stalks slapped her face and arms as she plowed through them.

Sarafina darted to the right and then slowed, moving carefully now to avoid breaking the late season stalks and leaving a clear trail for him to follow. Weaving in and out and back and forth as quickly as she dared, she got lost in the field.

But she knew he was right behind her; she could feel his presence.

Something behind her boomed and the rich scent of overturned earth filled the air. The very ground behind her furrowed in a ridge, following the path she’d taken through the field like a heat-seeking missile.

Sarafina didn’t have time to think, to breathe, to do anything. The ground shook beneath her, parted, and she went straight down into it, screaming. Grosset jumped from her arms and landed near her, barking like a furry wild thing.

She lay on her belly, spitting out dirt when his big hands closed around her waist. He swung her up and set her on her feet. She was covered in earth and exploded bits of corn-stalk. It smeared her face and clothes, caught in her hair, and was ground into her palms. Grosset was barking his little Pomeranian head off.