Hel-Blar. They rushed at us, stinking of mushrooms and death, fueled by a vicious need that could never be appeased. There were three of them—and none of them wore collars. There was also no whistle to call them off.

“Well, shit,” I said reaching for a stake. I slid over the headlight, landing in front of Nicholas. We turned without another word so we were back to back.

Quinn liked to tease me because I watched so many sci-fi movies and read fantasy novels about quests and good against evil. Was it any wonder when a casual trip to the beach turned into this? They weren’t fantasy novels to me, just an extension of my regular life. And at least in my books, good always won.

Well, mostly always.

A huge Hel-Blar, bloated on blood, rushed at me. He was tall enough that he clipped me on the ear with his fist before he was even in range of my side kick. I could have dropped to the ground but it would have left Nicholas open. My ear rang uncomfortably. Teeth clacked, way too close for comfort. I kicked again and caught him in the sternum. He stumbled back a step but didn’t fall. It gave me just enough time to throw my stake. It didn’t quite pierce his heart, so he just fell to his knees, wheezing and cursing.

I heard a crack behind me. Ash drifted in the beams of the headlights. There was blood on Nicholas’s arm but it was his own.

“High ground,” I said, and we launched ourselves onto the Jeep. It rattled as we went up onto the roof, boots clomping. The Hel-Blar I’d annoyed with my stake clambered up after us, saliva and blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. He grabbed Nicholas’s ankle and yanked. Nicholas fell hard, half sliding off the roof. But he was a Drake, so he took out the second Hel-Blar with his boot as he landed. I took a moment to aim better and threw another stake, closer to the first. It hit true this time and mildew-smelling ashes dusted the hood.

Nicholas had slid into his open window. “Hang on!” he yelled at me, throwing the Jeep into reverse. I clung to the edges of the sunroof, legs dangling. The Hel-Blar turned around, snarling.

“Get in, Connor!”

I managed to get my legs up and dropped into the open sunroof, landing mostly on my seat. I cracked my elbow into the window and my tailbone on the seat-belt latch. Nicholas jerked into drive without any warning, and when we lurched forward I nearly broke my nose. I grabbed the dashboard as he hit the Hel-Blar with enough force to make a very wet sound followed by a crunch that could only be the breaking of bones.

“They’re everywhere tonight,” I bit out.

“Call Lucy back,” Nicholas said, speeding away.

I stared at him. “Like hell. You call her back.”

“Connor, just do it.”

“You owe me,” I muttered, then decided to text her instead. Lucy’s temper could fry my eyeballs even through a phone line. I read her reply and snorted a laugh. “I’m not reading that out loud.”

Chapter 7

Christabel

Lucy was driving way too fast, as usual.

I stared at the lake, where I’d been brooding when she came to get me. I’d been trying not to think about my parents. It was hard not to. My dad had loved to fish. He drove out every weekend in the summer to sit in his rowboat in the middle of a lake just like this one, waiting for fish. But one morning when I was eleven, he didn’t come back. His rowboat eventually drifted to shore three days later, empty. Mom started drinking that week and never really stopped. I turned to poetry, especially Percy Bysshe Shelley. He had been lost at sea, too, but when his body was found three days later, they burned it on a funeral pyre. Everything but his heart turned to ash. Sometimes I like to think that my dad’s heart is still out there somewhere, like some precious underwater treasure.

There was the teeniest, tiniest possibility that I was incredibly morbid.

Lucy’s phone rang. “Nicholas,” I told her, reading the call display.

“Answer it,” she said. I hit the button and held the phone up to her ear so she could keep her hands on the steering wheel. I couldn’t hear what Nicholas was saying but her face changed.

“What? What do you mean? No way! Nicholas? Nicholas! Nicky, damn it!” Her hands clenched. “Hit redial, would you?” she asked through her teeth, switching on the high beams. I kept forgetting this was deer country and they might jump in front of the car without warning. The phone rang and rang. I eventually hung up.

“He’s not answering.”

“I think we need to turn around,” she said.

“Why, did the cops get them?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

I frowned. “Lucy, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” she admitted. She looked torn, easing her foot off the gas pedal.

“Ever been to jail?” I asked, mostly to distract her.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Hello? Of course I have. Who do you think has to go bail out my parents when they lie down in front of logging trucks or climb trees to snuggle with endangered owls or whatever?”

“Right.” Which was a better story than mine. I’d been only once, and not to some small-town single-cell jail, either. Mom once got arrested downtown for a DUI. She lost her license. That was last summer, before Uncle Stuart unexpectedly dropped by and found his older sister passed out on the couch with vomit in her hair. Not exactly her finest hour. Then Uncle Stuart knew the truth and wouldn’t be stopped from helping, no matter what we said.