“Physical defense is merely one sort of protection, and it’s the weaker of the two. I want you to wear this.” She grasped her pendant and lifted its chain over her head, then held it out to me.

I watched it swing from her hand. “But that’s your bloodstone.” The source of Mab’s power and longevity. She always wore it, even when she changed her shape.

“Not mine alone. Your blood has become part of it, too.”

“Just a drop or two.” Over the centuries, Mab had infused the stone with her own blood many times. The pendant was an essential part of my aunt, and I didn’t like the thought of her being without it. A few months ago, when the stone was stolen, Mab had grown feeble and old with terrifying speed. Her vitality had returned only with the bloodstone.

“Take it,” she urged. “You may return it to me after we’ve dealt with Mallt-y-Nos.” I didn’t flinch or pull away as she lifted the necklace over my head. The bloodstone rested in the center of my chest. The stone was warm and pulsed slightly, as though it had its own beating heart.

“Good.” Mab’s crisp tone conveyed her satisfaction. “Now, here is the gauntlet. It was crafted by Mr. Kane’s witch friend, Roxana, and her circle working overtime.” I wondered how much that had cost. “When you give it to the Night Hag, tell her to put it on, raise her arm, and thrice shout, ‘Hebog, tyrd!’”

Falcon, come! The same Welsh command Mab had used to call Dad. The gauntlet I held was a good copy. The leather, worn smooth, was darker on the fingertips, suggesting age. It even smelled old. I couldn’t tell whether the silver embroidery matched the original exactly, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear this was Mab’s glove. Roxana and her witches had given Kane his money’s worth.

“I’ll be waiting close by,” Mab said. “When I hear the call, I’ll fly in.”

I thought of my time as a cat the night before, the taking over of the feline brain, the kaleidoscope of images, instinct, and sensation. I didn’t ask whether Mab would have the presence of mind to stick with the plan once she shifted. Her centuries of experience gave her control far beyond that of any other shapeshifter. Like me, for instance. Last night, with the waxing moon almost full, the cat had taken over entirely. Yet even on the first night of a full moon, Mab would stay in control.

“Pob lwc.” She touched her papery lips to my forehead. “Good luck, child.”

Mab backed away a few paces. Closing her eyes, she raised her face toward the sky. Energy shimmered around her, beginning at the top of her head and cascading down her body. The energy flared, and from the light a falcon shot skyward.

Beautiful. It was the cleanest shift I’d ever seen. No pain, no contortion, no agonizing in-between stage. Just intention, energy, change. I wished I could shift half that well.

Time to create my circle of protection. For a moment, I wished Kane’s expensive witches were here to build a professional-strength circle. Of course, they’d refused to do the job, what with me being a fugitive from justice and all. We were lucky they’d made the gauntlet. Still, as I stood in the pitch-dark field all alone, I wouldn’t have minded some backup.

You have backup. Trust in it.

“Mab?” If anyone could figure out how to replicate Dad’s talking-falcon trick, it would be my aunt. Yet the voice had seemed to emanate from inside my head.

No answer.

Could the voice be the Destroyer’s? Instinctively, I checked my demon mark. It was cool and slightly itchy, but as soon as my attention was on it, I felt a flare of heat. I willed it down, and it subsided back to an itch.

Focus, Vicky. It was almost midnight. The Night Hag would be here soon. If she came upon me with a half-cast circle, she’d snatch the glove and order her hounds to attack. No question.

I faced east and called the first quarter. Immediately, I felt a change in the air, an electricity that seemed pulled from the ground, the sky, even past games played on this field. Sparkles of energy that lingered after Mab’s shift were taken up and spun into the bubble of protection I wove. I turned to the south, then the west, then the north, calling each quarter in turn. Energy illuminated the field. Over my heart, the bloodstone glowed and pulsed.

Turning back to the east, I completed the circle. It closed with a pop! The cool night air grew comfortably warm, like bathwater.

I was ready.

Bring it on, hag.

I listened. The protective sphere muffled outside noises, but soon a frenzied baying sounded in the distance. As the pack approached, the pain that drove the hellhounds became audible, twined into each howl and cry. Kane. Kane was among them, feeling that frantic need to outrun the inescapable pain. Willing to do anything to make it stop.

But not for long, if all went well. If our plan worked, only minutes remained before he was free of his promise and back in my arms.

If all went well.

Fiery eyes gleamed as the pack bounded toward me. I tensed, reinforcing the circle with my will. Hounds charged, fangs bared as they came closer. Closer. A yelp sounded. Five feet away, the pack leader crumpled as though he’d hit a brick wall. Others clambered over him, only to come to the same abrupt halt. They prowled along my circle’s barrier, growling.

From behind them came the slow, steady clop clop of a horse’s hooves. Mallt-y-Nos may have sent her hounds speeding toward me, but now she made it clear that she kept our appointment at her leisure. She emerged gradually from the darkness, moonlight glinting off the glossy hair of her youthful aspect. Slowly, she steered her horse around the perimeter of the circle that protected me. As she made her circuit, she grew plumper, older, more wrinkled. She aged more, losing flesh, becoming skin and bones. When she halted before me, a dried-out corpse stared down at me from her mount. The horse shot fire from its nostrils and pawed the ground.

“I’m told you have something for me.” Coming from that horrible face, rotting flesh hanging off its skull, her demand made me shudder.

My fingers tightened on my sword’s grip. I had something for her, all right. A sharp blade to sever her ever-changing head from her body. It would serve her right, with all the misery she’d caused. To Kane, and also to countless frightened, lost souls.

But especially to Kane.

Yet attacking the Night Hag wouldn’t do Kane or me any good. The hag was a spirit, not a demon; the bronze of my blade wouldn’t harm her. I held up the gauntlet. “Here is what you need to call the falcon,” I said. I didn’t say which falcon.

The hag’s eyes fixed greedily on the glove. “Give it to me.” She reached forward. A sharp, sizzling noise crackled from my protective sphere. She drew back as though she’d touched fire. “Let me into your circle,” she said, blowing on her fingertips, “and we’ll conclude our bargain.”

“Not so fast. If I give you this gauntlet, will you release Kane from his promise to serve as your hellhound?”

Her gaze, youthful again with sparkling eyes, never left the glove as she nodded. “If the gauntlet calls and holds the white falcon of Hellsmoor, I will.”

There was no way she’d get the white falcon of Hellsmoor. But if Mab fooled her until she released Kane from his bargain, that wouldn’t matter. “All right,” I said. “I’ll let you in—but alone. No horse, no hounds.”

The young woman’s elegant eyebrows came together in a fierce scowl, but Mallt-y-Nos dismounted. The horse reared up and exhaled a blast of flame from its nostrils, shrieking out a whinny to make the dead tremble in their deep-buried coffins. The hag raised her hand, and the horse stilled. She turned to me, her face plump, her hair graying. She looked least threatening in her middle-aged aspect—not that it fooled me for a second. “Let me in,” she said.

As I watched, her flesh drooped and wrinkled; her cheeks sagged into jowls.

“Now!” she demanded. “Or our deal is void.”

Whispering an incantation, I gestured with the athame, cutting a doorway in the sphere of protection. Mallt-y-Nos, a scowling old woman now, hobbled through.

I resealed the circle behind her. Gnarled, clawlike hands reached for the gauntlet. “Give it to me,” she repeated.

I passed the gauntlet into the skeletal hands of death.

The Night Hag didn’t even glance at my face as she took the glove. She turned it in her hands, inspecting it, reading the spells embroidered on the leather. I prayed the copy was accurate, because Mallt-y-Nos knew what she was looking at.

She slid her bony hand into the glove. As she flexed her fingers, testing the leather, her face and body grew young again. She smiled, dimpling her cheeks, and held her arm out in front of her, eyes scanning the night sky.

“You have to call it,” I explained. “Shout, ‘Hebog, tyrd!’ three times, and the falcon will come to you.”

Narrowed eyes regarded me suspiciously.

“Hebog, tyrd,” she said.

A car horn sounded somewhere toward Lansdowne Street, but the sky remained empty.

“Louder,” I urged.

“Hebog, tyrd!”

A shadow passed over her upturned face. A white falcon soared directly above us.

“Hebog, tyrd!” she screeched, excited now.

I readied the athame as the bird plummeted toward us.

Soon . . . soon . . . now! I swept my arm overhead, just in time for the falcon to plunge into the protected space. The Night Hag grunted as the bird hit the gauntlet, forcing her arm down. When she raised it again, her middle-aged aspect cackled in glee.

“Oh, my pretty, pretty birdie,” she crooned, petting the falcon. “You’ve come back to me.” Suddenly, she backhanded the bird. Mab! The force of the blow made me cringe, but I didn’t interfere. I couldn’t. The falcon squawked but stayed where it was, its talons gripping the gauntlet. The Night Hag chuckled. “Ah, so you are mine. You’d like to fly away after that, wouldn’t you? But the gauntlet keeps you here.” Again she petted the bird, stroking its feathers, tickling the underside of its beak.

Enough. I wanted Kane and Mab both free of this cruel hag. “I’ve given you the gauntlet and with it the falcon,” I said. “Now it’s your turn. Release Kane from his bargain.”