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  And then, the assailant stepped out into the light.

  He was tall, at least eight feet tall, and muscled like a weightlifter. He was dressed in crude clothing made of rough leather hides and furs; a sort of sleeveless tunic that revealed arms crossed with scars and corded with muscle, and some sort of pants wrapped with narrow leather straps to hold them tightly to his legs, and crude leather boots. One hand held a spear with a small shield no bigger than a dinner plate strapped to the back of his hand. The other held a club. His face was hidden in the shadows of a hood. He moved his head back and forth, and she got a glimpse of his face. Just a flash, but the expression on it chilled her to the bone. He looked like a blood-crazed Viking.

  She recognized him with a start, though she had only ever seen him at a distance. It was the thing that had been talking with Sean, the night she had gone into the maze. The creature she had mentally tagged as a “Hunter.”

  “Okay, we’re totally running, right?” she said, keeping her eyes on the Hunter.

  “No. That’s what things like him enjoy; chasing prey.” Dylan was also keeping his eyes on the Hunter. “Instead, we’ll do this—”

  Without any other warning, Dylan charged the Hunter, sword in front and cutting at the monster’s massive wrists. For his trouble, he had a spear thrust at his chest; due to his forward momentum, he was barely able to knock it to the side and side-step the follow-up blow from the club. He whirled his left arm over his head; his shield dissipated, sending the spear that had been stuck in it flying away—specifically out of reach of the Hunter—before another shield manifested in its place. The two opponents had taken each other’s measure. The Hunter was hungry, clearly savoring the dance to come before the final blow. Dylan was cold and calculating, circling his opponent and waiting for his moment to exploit any weakness. Both of them seemed to have forgotten about Staci.

  I am not the useless girlfriend sidekick, goddamnit!

  Staci stuck her sword in the ground, pulling out three of the throwing daggers that she was carrying; she kept two in her off hand, while she sized up her target and readied the last in her strong hand. She judged the distance, then wound up and flicked her wrist at the end of the throw. She hadn’t been as good as Riley in practice, but she wasn’t bad, either. The knife sailed end over end, and landed just about where she had wanted it to go; she had been intending to hit the Hunter dead center in its chest, but instead the dagger lodged in the side of its throat. The fabric of its hood, pinned to its flesh, grew dark with blood.

  “Take that, you bastard!”

  She had expected the Hunter to react like the dark elves; frantic to distance themselves from iron and steel, the materials burning and charring their flesh wherever it touched. Surely a wound like that would have been a death sentence for a normal person, and especially an elf. The Hunter, however, casually reached up and pulled the dagger from its neck with its huge thumb and forefingers, letting it drop to the ground. Without missing a beat, the Hunter swung and stabbed at Dylan with his spear. She could see as the hood flapped back that the wound in the Hunter’s neck was already closing and healing. She gulped and stumbled back a couple of paces, suddenly grateful he was too focused on Dylan to have noticed—or cared—where the knife had come from. What could she do?

  Dylan and the Hunter went back to circling each other, probing each others’ defenses with strikes and parries. Think, girl! This thing can heal. It’s not weak against iron and steel like elves are. What can you do without getting squashed by that friggin’ tree it’s swinging around? The Hunter pressed forward, using the longer reach of its arms and spear to keep Dylan back and on the defensive; anytime he would try to get close—inside of the spear’s reach, and thus safe to attack—the Hunter would use its massive club to drive him back, and Dylan had to retreat lest he get crushed. Although they were in a small clearing in the hedge maze, there still wasn’t very much room, especially with how large the Hunter was. Dylan was going to have his back pressed against a wall soon enough, and his options would fall away if that happened; he had taught her that much during their fighting practice.

  In desperation she tried something…new to her, anyway. One of the new tricks Dylan had tried to teach her, a levin-bolt. He’d called it both that and elfshot. Seth (was Seth still all right?) had laughed when Dylan had described it and said, “Oh, you mean a magic missile,” and Dylan had given him this disgusted snort, before gently correcting him…

  She still couldn’t pull it off consistently, but what other choice did she have? She stuck out her hand as if her index finger was a magic wand, pointed it at the Hunter’s face and willed like crazy, whispering, “Tân!” because she didn’t want to get the Hunter’s attention if it didn’t work.

  But it did, though it was disappointingly small—

  The tiny fireball sped towards the Hunter, then suddenly deflected downward, hit the dagger still lying on the ground, and then bounced up, moving twice as fast as it hit the Hunter in the back of his bicep.

  For the first time, the Hunter made a sound. He uttered a brief curse, and spun in place, as if looking for what had struck him from behind. Dylan seized the opportunity, slashing deeply into the Hunter’s lower back, then its calves just below the knee, and stabbing once into where a normal man’s right kidney would have been. The Hunter spun around, clipping Dylan’s shoulder with a backhanded swipe of his club, sending him to the ground in a sprawl. Staci’s heart jumped as the Hunter slowly turned around. It knew that the game was over, and was ready to deliver the finishing move. Not just ready, but relishing the moment.

  The adrenaline dump helped, but it seemed as if time slowed down for her. She remembered when she had tried magic against the Blackthorne cousin in the mansion. The underpowered levin-bolt she had willed into being and shot at the Hunter was here in the maze. In that drawn-out second, her mind screamed to make a connection between the two…and then it all snapped into place.

  Iron.

  Without hesitation, she dropped all of her weapons and then shrugged out of her chainmail shirt, stripping it off despite some of her hair being caught in the links and being ripped out painfully. She swung it over her head for momentum, then flung it as hard as she could. The chainmail shirt landed at the Hunter’s feet. It was still distracted, readying its club to crush Dylan. She let her emotion and her inborn magic build up inside of her, focusing her intent on the outcome that she was envisioning. When it felt like she couldn’t hold it anymore for fear of bursting, she released all of the energy into what she had come to call her whammy; the spell that Dylan had taught her for knocking anything attacking her for a loop. A magical kick to the cajones.

  When Staci released all of that pent-up energy, she didn’t aim it at the Hunter. Instead, she focused it on the chainmail shirt. The magic struck the metal with lightning speed, and looped back in on itself in faster and faster iterations; each time it looped, it also hit the Hunter. First it was a crackle, like an ice block breaking. The crackle soon became an electrical roar as the looping magic ramped up, feeding back upon itself against the iron and the Hunter. The effects upon the Hunter were immediate; wherever the magic struck, dark furrows were carved out. And though they healed quickly, they were still enough, and piling up fast enough, to drive the Hunter to its knees. No longer was it confident, about to savor a kill. There was fear in its body language, and a muted roar emerged from its throat. There was no doubt; the magic feedback was hurting it, and badly. It couldn’t even get back to its feet, so strong was the obvious pain it was in.

  Dylan recovered with a start. His head jerked up, took in the situation, and then he acted. He pushed himself up from the ground, stood up halfway, then dove forward into a roll that brought him behind the kneeling Hunter. In one smooth stroke, he brought his sword down between the knobby vertebrae at the back of the Hunter’s neck, separating its head from its shoulders. Even as the head hit the ground with a meaty thud, the body was still reaching up to grasp the stump of its neck. The Hu
nter’s upper body toppled forward onto the chainmail, the magic still looping back between the Hunter and the iron. Dylan’s eyes grew wide, and he threw himself to the side; a moment later, the Hunter’s body exploded in a shower of light, steaming bits of gore shooting up into the air. Thankfully, none of it seemed to land on Staci; she had cowered down to the ground just in time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She shrieked and then punched when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Ow!” She looked up and saw Dylan rubbing his shoulder with his shield hand. “You throw a mean right, even if you’re not looking.”

  “Sorry! I’m just a little jumpy. You know, with the killer elves and exploding monsters.” She grinned sheepishly as he extended a hand to help pull her up.

  “About that last part; that was good thinking. Fast thinking, too. I’ve never seen anyone use iron and magic like that,” he said as she settled onto her feet.

  “It was a Hail Mary,” she responded. “I’m just glad it worked.”

  Dylan glanced over his shoulder at the smoldering remains of the Hunter before turning back to favor her with a lopsided grin. “Me, too.” She felt her cheeks flush slightly; it was the first time since they had started this mission that Dylan had shown her any warmth. Despite the circumstances—the fighting, the death, the dire stakes involved—she couldn’t help but respond to any signs of affection she could get from him. She shivered, not altogether unpleasantly, and then decided to think about something else, to keep focused.

  “I think the chainmail shirt is a loss,” she said. What few pieces she could see glinting in the moonlight, were scattered and covered with filth from the dead Hunter. She still had her daggers and sword, however. Now, at least she would have the option to do magic on the fly without it going haywire.

  “We need to move,” Dylan said, suiting action to words, moving off at a trot without a backward glance. “Unless we get that Gate down, no matter how many wins we get, we’ll lose. That’s where all the power to make the plague happen is coming from, and if we can’t close it, they’ll just move up their timetable.”

  She gulped, ice threading her spine at the reminder of what was at stake. As he sped up, she followed. Though it seemed like hours, it took them less than a minute to reach the center of the maze. The Gate was there, just as she remembered it; it should have looked beautiful, the silvery wood all carved into sinuous and delicate shapes, like lace, with that clear, hard coating over it, making it shiny in the moonlight. But it wasn’t beautiful. It glowed with a baleful, sickly blue power, and instead of looking like lacework, the entwined carvings made her think of a nest of snakes made of bone. Poisonous ones, just waiting for you to get close enough to kill you.

  It was pretty obvious that something had made the Gate get all powered up. Was it the fight? Or—

  Then she saw him.

  It was Sean…Sean in a suit of elaborate, black armor that was out of a fantasy artist’s hallucinations. It just couldn’t be practical, with all the flares, spikes, demon heads, and other ornaments plastered all over it. And yet she had no doubt it would protect him as well or better than Dylan’s streamlined armament.

  He was leaning against one of the Gate’s four supports, twirling an enormous sword with an upswept crossguard that was stuck point-down into one of the gazebo steps. The sword was as fancy as the armor was, and at least as tall as he was. Compensating, Sean? she thought maliciously. He looked up slowly, almost casually, an easy smile spreading on his face as he took the pair in.

  “Staci! I didn’t know that you’d be bringing company. I think you’ve missed my calls, lately. I haven’t heard from you in so long, and I was getting worried.” The only things that moved were his lips and his hand as he spun the sword on its point, his eyes fixed on her and Dylan. It looked almost unreal, how still he was. “Still hobnobbing with the dirt-eaters, Dylan? At least your tastes have improved a little; this one’s a mongrel rather than a cavegirl.” He slowly raised his off hand, inspecting his nails. “Then again, I’ve dipped into that particular pool a few times, myself. The water isn’t quite pristine anymore, if you catch my drift.”

  Dylan kept his eyes on Sean, but Staci’s eyes were drawn to his hands; with his shield hand, Dylan surreptitiously waggled a few of his fingers, motioning for her to move to the left. In their planning, he had taught her that signal, in case it would be inopportune for them to communicate aloud. She started sidestepping left, moving forward a little bit each time; Dylan mirrored her, only moving right.

  “Really?” Dylan drawled. “I thought all you ever did was watch.” He was careful in his movements, matching Sean’s practiced casual manner; his sword and shield both dipped to his sides, and he walked—albeit slowly, with precisely placed footfalls—as if he were just normally taking a stroll, rather than approaching a deadly enemy.

  “I placate my inner voyeur when it suits me. But I really enjoy getting down and dirty. Servants, underlings…it gets boring having people do everything for you. For example, right now. I’m going to kill you with my own two hands, in front of your girlfriend. To put it mildly, what happens to her afterwards will be…far less pleasant.”

  “You ought to be more worried about how badly she’d mess you up, rich kid. One thing your kind always does is overestimate their own…abilities, and underestimates their opposition. From what I’ve seen so far from your cousins—the ones that are being mowed down as we stand here—your clan is no exception.” Dylan curled his lip into what could only be a sneer. Staci and Dylan were now nearly opposite each other on either side of Sean. That last quip definitely got a reaction from him, however. His head snapped up towards Dylan.

  “You filthy—”

  Sean didn’t get a chance to finish his curse. Dylan, quick as a cat and just as silent, charged Sean; his shield out front, his sword tucked behind it in a high guard. Sean was momentarily caught off guard, barely bringing his two-handed sword up in time to block an overhand strike. What struck Staci was how quickly he had been able to bring the massive sword up, even with its point stuck into the Gate’s step and only one hand on it initially. Now it was time for Dylan to be taken by surprise; just as quickly, Sean slashed and thrust with his sword, driving Dylan back with each blow. He moved with preternatural speed, so fast Staci had trouble following him. The cuts must have been powerful, too; she knew how strong Dylan was, and every time he blocked with his shield or his sword, his arms shook and he yielded with the impacts, sometimes almost enough to drive him to the ground. Even circling around and sidestepping attacks, there was no way that Dylan could keep this up for much longer; every counter he tried was easily swatted away by Sean.

  He’s a rich kid elf…how is he beating Dylan, who has been doing this for decades?

  On instinct, Staci unfocused her eyes and stretched her senses out. First, she saw the threads of magic coming through her clothing where her magical cell phone charm was. Then she saw Dylan; streamers of magic coursed off of his sword and his manifested shield, as well as the bright glow of his inborn magic that came from just under the surface of his skin. Finally, her eyes fell on Sean.

  It was like staring into a sun made of darkness; that was the only way she could describe it. Thick, black rivers of magical energy flowed from every surface of the Gate to coil around and through Sean. Every time he swung his two-handed sword and connected, there was a pulse in the energy.

  He’s getting magic through the Gate! she realized. And that’s when it flashed into her mind…if she could just distract him for a moment, he might lose control of that magic power long enough for Dylan to take him. To kill him.

  She pulled her short sword from her belt, readying it in front of her the way Dylan had showed her. She could feel the iron pulling at her magic, distorting it. But could she use that? The iron in the blade was trying to pull her magic into it—could she just let it, charge it up as if it was some sort of battery?

  Why the hell not?

  Staci relaxed; instead
of resisting the pull, she fed into it. The sword began to vibrate in her hand; it didn’t seem to know what to do with the energy, but was still ready to accept more. She kept going, putting more and more magic into the sword, until she started to see cracks of light appear in the blade, tendrils of magic leaking out. Now!

  Sean’s back was turned. He was pressing his advantage on Dylan, trying to beat him down and finish the fight. She charged as fast as she could, the point of her sword readied in front of her, ready to plunge into the small of Sean’s back, where there was a small gap in the armor. When her sword tip was less than a foot away, Sean seemed to sense something; instantly he pivoted and swatted at her blade.

  The sword exploded in her hands, the magic released in a blinding shower of sparks and fragments. She felt the hot-needle stings of the shards of sword biting into the skin of her arms and face; luckily, she had closed her eyes a split second before the sword had been destroyed. When she opened her eyes, Sean was staring at her, bewildered, as if he didn’t understand what had just happened. The look of confusion became one of unmitigated rage, and he kicked at her. Staci barely got her arms up in time before the hit came.

  His foot hit her left forearm. She could hear the bones break in her arm, but it happened so fast that she didn’t have time to register pain as she was sailing through the air. The pain did come, however, when she landed on the ground, all of the air driven from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe! No matter how hard she tried to suck in air, nothing was happening and her lungs as well as her left arm were on fire. It felt as if she was dying, and panic swept through her for a moment.