Wallace got to his feet, pushing up with one hand. Mud scuffed his knees and his palms. Tears rolled down his ashen cheeks as he limped toward his mother. "Momma!"

The birds had noticed him.

A dog too.

A small flock of crows, moonlight glancing off their bladed beaks, peeled away from the main host—

Twisted, curved downward—

And plunged, slicing through the air—

Heading toward the wailing child.

Shit, shit, shit...

I grabbed hold of a panicking Deniaud soldier who was running past me. I snatched him by the shirt collar, swung him wide, and slammed him against the straw bales, catching him beneath the knees. He stumbled and fell backward.

As I had been, he was gone somewhere else inside his head.

I ripped the crossbow from his limp grip, his quiver too, and slung it over my head. I bounded up the straw bales. A wildfyre torch leaned over, half-knocked from the ground. The bale gave me the right height to dip the bolt head into the flames and get a better line of sight.

Wallace hobbled as fast as he could toward his mother, who ran and screamed, "Wallace! Run! Sweetheart, run!"

The crows flew as swift as arrows.

Closer, closer, closer—

I braced my position and aimed for the heart of the flock bearing down on the boy and let fly.

The bolt whizzed through the air—

Blue flames streaked above the lawn—

My bolt hit a bird. The wildfyre lit its midnight feathers and the flames rapidly spread outward, catching others on fire. They melted like dripping paint and fell like stars aflame.

But it wasn't enough.

The birds were too loosely packed together.

And on the flock flew.

Shit, shit, shit...

In a blur of hands and fire and speed, I reached behind, snatched a bolt from the quiver, reloaded, and lit the bolt head with wildfyre.

Faster, faster, faster—

Aim. Fire. Reload—

Aim. Fire. Reload—

It was a barrage of speed and shots as fast and automatic—

Bolts thudded into Jurgana's birds, side-swiping them off target. Their slimy bodies exploded into fire and dust.

But there were too many closing in...so fucking close...too fucking close.

Their mighty wings beat the air, and their deadly beaks as long and sharp as my blades were aimed at Wallace's back as they soared low and fast.

Sweat coated my palms, and salty beads ran down my forehead to wet my eyelashes and sting my eyeballs.

I wanted to brush them away.

I couldn't... I couldn't...

No time... No time...

I was a blur of determination and skill.

Faster, faster, faster—

More birds fell to my aim, erupting into fire.

Wallace's terrified cries matched my heartbeat.

The crows—now only four remained.

Aim. Fire. Reload—

Three to go—

Aim. Fire. Reload—

Two—

Aim. Fire. Reload—

One—

I missed.

My heart stumbled. And my stomach fell.

I fucking missed!

"Wallace!" shrieked his mother.

I fumbled for a new bolt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

Reloaded. Swung fast and sharp and lit the bolt with wildfyre.

Fuck!

Wallace tripped, his legs tangling. He cried out as he stumbled, skidding on slippery grass. "Momma!"

The crow was right there. Its bladed beak a hair's breadth from slicing through flesh and bone.

I can't miss...I can't miss...

The crossbow's trigger was burning hot beneath my curled finger.

Aim—

Fire—

This time I hit true.

I caught the crow right in the chest. The heavy bolt sent it spiraling sideways—a smear of blue flames before it shattered into black dust that scattered on the wind.

I wanted to sag in relief and suck in air to soothe my burning throat. But there was no time. Jurgana's dog was on the hunt. The unnatural creature was a stain of darkness that sliced through the eerie mist rising from the cool, damp grass. It's snapping and snarling—a song of death.

I tossed the crossbow away.

What to do...?

What to do...?

I jumped down from the straw bales. Ripping the wildfyre torch from the ground, I hefted it in my hands. It could work.

I whirled around and started running. My shoes thudded against the spongy ground. My heart pounded a war drum in my ears.

The boy screamed—

His mother too—

The beast howled—a bloodcurdling sound that had all the fine hair rising at the back of my neck.

Its powerful muscles bunched as it leaped, all fangs and claws.

I held the flaming torch like a javelin and hurled. The bamboo torch undulated as it speared through the air—

Curved downward—

And struck the shoulder of the beast, the force shoving it off-side, just missing Wallace by an inch. Wildfyre exploded in a blazing inferno, setting the dog alight. The creature, its shape almost indiscernible amongst blue flames, tumbled loose-limbed and slid along the grass in a tangled heap, then melted into a pool of slime.

Holy fuck...

Shit...

My knees buckled and I pressed a splayed hand across my chest. My heart was slamming against my ribs so fast and hard I thought it would burst free.

Wallace barrelled into his mother, her arms binding him to her in a tight hug as she lifted him from the ground. He curved his head into the space between her neck and shoulder and sobbed, his small body shuddering as she soothed him with gentle words and touches. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

I turned back, ready to give orders to the men and women who had newly gathered, blades in their hands.

The Deniaud soldier I'd stolen the crossbow from had risen, and stood, unblinking, ashen-faced, and trembling. I ran back, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him closer. He winced, blinking dazedly at me as if waking up from a nightmare. Only to discover it wasn't a dream after all. But he slowly became aware a Crowther was right in his face, his mouth open and slack at my thunderous expression

"Get all your crossbows and cursed bolts from your armory now!" I commanded.

Wide-eyed, he sluggishly glanced around at the madness.

Fuck. Useless!

I shoved him back, letting him sprawl against the straw bales.

As another man crossed my path, I lunged and snatched his upper arm to drag him to me. I didn't even care who he was, servant or upper class. "House Deniaud?" I needed someone from the estate to know where to get everything I needed.

He seemed to be a few years younger than me, almost as big and broad. A girl with brown eyes and frizzy hair clung by his side. Blood ran down her temple and the shoulder of her dress was torn. "Oswin, sir," he replied, his curly blond hair bouncing.

"Osbald—"

"Oswin," he corrected like we were being introduced at fucking court or something.

"Osborne-Osbald-whatever-the-fuck!" I bellowed. I stabbed a finger toward the cluster of Lyons beside me. "Get these men to the armory and bring back as many crossbows and cursed weapons as you can." I swung around to the Lyon brothers, Forrestor and Harding, who were already readying their men. "Go with him." The brothers nodded and pushed off fast.

I scooped up the crossbow I'd tossed aside and handed it to Wes, along with the quiver I unhitched from my shoulder. He was young, and our personal driver, but an excellent shot with the crossbow. "Start with the birds. Take the lead when the Lyons return with weapons."

And then I heard someone behind me utter, "Byron's out there."

***

My aunt.

The moment I heard screaming coming from outside, my stomach lurched and everything inside me sharpened with icy dread. I frantically stuffed everything from the heist into the false bottom of my trunk with fingers that had gone numb.

Snatching up my hunting knife, I kicked off my heels and ran from my bedroom. My bare feet slammed against the worn lino of the corridors as I ran faster, faster, faster, twisting through the Servants' Quarters. But there was something else that had me gripping my hunting knife tight and striving to find my aunt. I was terrified that the thing inside my aunt had come out and shown itself.

I fled toward the end of the Servants' Quarters, where the Deniauds' realm began. Servants spilled inside the mansion, flooding through the Banquet Hall and choking the hallways. They were overwhelmed with fear, shouting out names, and trying to find loved ones. Blood dripped from open wounds, or they hobbled and winced in pain.

I wouldn't be able to get past them easily enough, and plowing through would only slow me down.

I swiftly glanced around for an alternative way outside.

I changed course and burst through the laundry door. Sprinting through the muggy room with churning washing machines and tumbling dryers, clothes draped from wooden racks hanging from the ceiling, I erupted outside and met pandemonium.

My panting breath clenched tight in my throat.

What had my aunt done to inspire such horror?

The noise of it all was a deluge of terror. Loud, like rushing water tumbling from a cliff into a tumultuous river. There was a bottleneck forming at the Banquet Hall door with too many people trying to get through the doorway.

Behind me, I caught the strain of a familiar voice shouting.

I spun around and saw Joann fling open the door to the servants' common room. She yelled at those caught in mindless panic—This way, this way!

And as I swung back, they were spreading wide and running toward me. A dark wave washing ashore, churning across rocks and sand.

In that frantic disorder, there wasn't any difference between servant and upper rank. Both shared the same terrified expressions, both lost in stricken fright, shoving and pushing one another to get to safety first. There were people I recognized, a smear of faces as I shouldered through them like a fish swimming upriver against the melee. My hunting knife was gripped in a white-knuckled fist and held low by my side as I used my free arm to shunt and shove back against the wall of people and the tangle of limbs and bodies.

I searched the faces for people I knew and loved. My aunt was first, but my thoughts and fears speared to Marissa, to Oswin and Beckah, Dolcie too. All my friends and colleagues I worked with, even Hilda, the steely-eyed cadet who had helped me fix up the living room for the Deniauds yesterday. Hilda would be out there defending everyone from my aunt, even though she was a cadet and still in training.

Mr. Whiskers.

Worry lanced my heart, and a cold, sick feeling swamped my insides.

I hoped to gods he was hunting for a glamour potion upstairs in the guest bedrooms and not down here. I prayed to Zrenyth and Skalki that he was kept safe.

I stumbled from the heart of the melee and wove through the fringes until the vast lawn was in sight. The first thing I saw was the collection of servants, not running away, but held in the middle of the lawn where the dancing had taken place. Only a stream of people, like the tail end of a flock of birds, were running toward the mansion. The rest were beginning to ball up like a school of fish.

And outside the main bedlam, the lawn was littered with bodies.

Dead people.

Guilt twisted its claws and slashed at my insides. Terror bubbled up my throat. I'd failed to protect everyone. And all that out there, the horror and death, was because of my aunt.

But it isn't a full moon.

I heard barking and snarling—

Barking?

My gaze traveled wide and deep. Through the disorder, mist rising in tendrils and blue flames eating grass, the screaming and the figures fighting or falling to unearthly beasts, I saw her—the Horned God, Jurgana.

My blood curdled. The hand gripping my knife began to shake.

I'd only seen a few Horned Gods in person before. Master Sirro had one or two of his brethren accompany him on rare visits to the Deniaud estate, like Mistress Lyressa. She was a Frankenstein creature that glamoured herself to appear like an innocent child. Her body was a collection of body parts she'd stolen from mortals and stitched together with sinew.

I'd spent my youth in the Deniaud's library searching the old tomes for a way to save my aunt from the thing that lived inside her like a parasite. I'd come across a sketch of Jurgana once, roughly drawn, her bedmates crawling about at her feet, slinking up her legs. She was one of the Witches who attended the Witches Ball that was held every seven years. She, along with her sisters, slumbered in-between events inside burrows deep in the heart of the Hemmlok forest.

But the sketch did no justice to the terrifying might of the Horned God, her lithe reptilian-skinned body swaying to a ponderous pace as if she were sleepwalking. She'd unleashed upon us a nightmare coated in black grime.

Her crows were a smudge against the sky as they flew toward the knot of servants caught out in the middle of the lawn. Gruesome dogs were rounding wide and swooping in, driving the servants in on one another like a flock of sheep.

A swarm of creepy crawly things devoured a guard. His scream was split apart as the surge of insects, their exoskeletons glistening in the moonlight, fell upon him like a black wave. He submerged, his flailing limbs appearing in erratic flashes as Jurgana's bedmates chewed through flesh right down to the bone. And onward the carpet of misshapen insects scurried, leaving a flesh-picked skeleton behind, to a fresh group of soldiers who were backing up and firing maniacally.

It was wrong of me, so wrong, but for a split second I was relieved it was the Horned God and not my aunt that had caused this.

My aunt.

I had to find my aunt.

And now a different feeling sliced through me. Not guilt, but fear she'd be one of the dead.

"Aunt Ellena!" I cried. But my voice was swallowed up by those surrounding me, screaming out for their loved ones, shrieking in terror or barking in pain.

"Tabitha!"

I whirled around to see Markel fighting to reach me. He towered over most with his tall bulky frame, but he was being bodily pushed along by the panicked mob running toward the mansion. He tried shouldering his way toward me as if he fought a deadly riptide.

"My aunt?!" I asked. I didn't know where to look for her.

But something whispered insidiously that I should know exactly where my aunt was headed.