* * *

They were in the entryway: Ty, Livvy, Arthur, and the younger ones, Dru holding Tavvy in her arms.

They lit up when Diana and Kit came in, though Kit didn’t know if that was for him, or for her. Arthur was sitting on the stairs, silent and staring in his bloodstained bathrobe. He lunged to his feet at the sight of them, though he clung to the banister with one hand.

“We heard everything,” Livvy said. She was gray with shock, her hand in Ty’s. “Malcolm wants Blackthorn blood and he has an army of demons—”

“When he says ‘Blackthorn blood,’ there isn’t any chance he just means, like, an ounce?” said Kit. “Maybe a pint?”

Everyone glared at him except Ty. “I thought of that too,” Ty said, looking delightedly at Kit. “But spells are written in archaic language. ‘Blackthorn blood’ means a Blackthorn life.”

“He isn’t getting what he wants,” said Diana. She shrugged off her blood-soaked jacket and threw it on the floor. “We need a Portal. Now.” She dug around for her phone in her jeans pocket, found it, and began to dial.

“But we can’t just disappear,” said Livvy. “Malcolm will release all those demons! People will be killed!”

“You can’t bargain with Malcolm,” said Diana. “He lies. He could get the Blackthorn blood he wants and still release the demons. Getting you safe and then striking against him is the better bet.”

“But—”

“She’s right,” said Kit. “Malcolm promised all sorts of things to my dad, including keeping him safe. In the end, it turned out he’d made sure that if anything happened to him, my father would die too.”

“Catarina?” Diana turned aside, the phone pressed to her ear. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“We’ll be seen as cowards,” said Dru unhappily. “Running away like this—”

“You are children,” said Arthur. “No one would expect you to stand and fight.” He went across the room to the window. No one moved to join him. The sounds coming from outside were enough. Tavvy had his face pressed against his sister’s shoulder.

“To London?” said Diana. “That’s fine. Thanks, Catarina.” She hung the phone up.

“London?” said Livvy. “Why London?”

“Why don’t we go to Idris?” said Dru. “Where Emma and Jules are.”

“Catarina can’t open up a Portal to Idris,” said Diana, not meeting Dru’s gaze. “But she has an arrangement with the London Institute.”

“Then we should contact the Clave!” said Dru. She jumped back as the air in front of her began to shimmer.

“We need to get our things,” said Tavvy, looking at the growing shimmer with worry. It was spreading, a sort of pinwheel now of whirling colors and moving air. “We can’t go with nothing.”

“We don’t have time for any of that,” said Diana. “And we don’t have time to contact the Clave. And there are Blackthorn houses in London, safe places, people you know—”

“But why?” Livvy began. “If the Clave—”

“It’s entirely possible the Clave would prefer to trade one of you to Malcolm,” said Arthur. “Isn’t that what you mean, Diana?”

Diana said nothing. The whirling pinwheel was resolving into a shape: the shape of a door, tall and broad, surrounded by glowing runes.

“As would the Centurions, at least some of them,” said Diana. “We are running from them, as much as from anyone else. They are already vanquishing the sea demons. There is little time.”

“Diego would never—” Dru began indignantly.

“Diego isn’t in charge,” said Diana. The Portal had resolved into a steadily wavering door, which was open; through it, Kit could see a living room of sorts, with faded, flowered wallpaper. It seemed incongruous in the extreme. “Now, come—Drusilla, you first—”

With a look of despairing anger, Drusilla crossed the room and stepped through the Portal, still holding Tavvy. Kit watched in stunned amazement as they spun away, vanishing.

Livvy moved toward the Portal next, hand in hand with Ty. She paused in front of it, the force of the magic that pulsed through it lifting her hair. “But we can’t leave this place to Zara and the Cohort,” she protested, turning toward Diana. “We can’t let them have it—”

“Better than any of you dying,” Diana said. “Now, go.”

But it was Ty who hesitated. “Kit’s coming, right?”

Diana looked at Kit. He felt his throat hurt; he didn’t know why.

“I’m coming,” he said. He watched as Livvy and Ty stepped into the colorful void, watched as they vanished. Watched as Diana followed. Stepped up to the Portal himself, and paused there, looking at Arthur.

“Did you want to go first?” he said.

Arthur shook his head. There was an odd look on his face—odd even for Arthur. Though Arthur hadn’t been that odd tonight, Kit thought. It was as if the emergency had forced him to hold himself together in a way he normally couldn’t.

“Tell them,” he said, and the muscles in his face twitched. Behind him, the front door shook; someone was trying to open it. “Tell them—”

“You’ll be able to tell them yourself, in a minute,” said Kit. He could feel the force of the Portal pulling at him. He even thought he could hear voices through it—Ty’s voice, Livvy’s. Yet he stood where he was.

“Is something going on?” he said.

Arthur moved toward the Portal. For a moment, Kit relaxed, thinking Arthur was going to step into it beside him. Instead he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell Julian thank you,” Arthur said, and shoved, hard.

Kit fell into the whirling, soundless nothingness.

* * *

The faerie prince let fly his arrow.

Kieran moved faster than Mark would have thought possible. He swung his body around, covering Mark’s. The arrow whistled through the air, singing like a deadly bird. Mark only had time to grab for Kieran to push him away when the arrow struck, burying itself in Kieran’s back just below his shoulder blade.

He slumped against Mark’s shoulder. With his free hand, Mark pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it; the prince fell, screaming, the blade in his thigh.

Mark began to drag Kieran from the clearing. The arrows had stopped, but fire was blooming from the banners with their mark of the broken crown. They had caught fire. The gentry faeries were screaming and milling, many breaking free to run.

Still holding Kieran, Mark vanished into the forest.

* * *

“Emma,” Cristina whispered. The clearing was thick with noise; laughter, hoots and jeers. In the distance she could see Julian with his knife to Erec’s throat; gasps rose up as he pushed his way toward the King’s pavilion, though the King, distracted by Emma, had not yet seen.

Emma was kneeling on the ground, gripping the arm of the wounded Faerie champion. She looked up and saw Cristina, and her eyes brightened.

“Help me with my dad,” Emma said. She was tugging at her father’s arm, trying to get it looped around her neck. He lay motionless, and for a moment Cristina feared he was dead.