He was standing on the open ground between us and the street below, gun drawn, fog swirling thick around his ankles. Six and a half feet of muscle and grinning, shark-toothed malice would have been enough to give me pause even without the gun . . . but having it definitely upgraded him from “possible threat” to “probable cause of death.”

I was standing frozen, trying to figure out what to do when Julie hurtled over my head with a snarl, turning in midair to hit him feetfirst in the chest. He staggered back, batting her aside like a house cat. She hit the ground still snarling, bouncing back to her feet and glancing to me. I knew my cue when I saw it. Julie and I fought beside each other when we both worked for Devin; we’d even been pretty good at it. I knew how she would move. She knew how I would dodge. And tag-team tactics are your best bet when you’re as outgunned as we were.

It’s hard to pay attention to more than one person at a time—that’s why gangs have such an advantage in most fights. I pulled my arm back as I charged, punching the bastard in the side of the head as hard as I could. The rebound ran all the way along my arm, and I bit back a scream as I felt something rip. Still, it had the desired effect, because he snarled and turned toward me, raising his gun. That gave Julie the opening she needed to hit him again, shrieking and spitting as she clawed at his eyes. It’s never good to be a single person fighting off a gang. Unless you take them out as they appear, your opponents will just keep bouncing back and getting in the way.

Unfortunately for us, he was catching on. He swung at Julie, and she ducked out of the way, timing her dodge to match my next blow—but rather than turning his attention toward me, he adjusted his aim so that his gun was pointed directly between her eyes. She froze, eyes going wide and frightened. I don’t think anyone had ever pointed a gun at her before, and at that sort of range, he didn’t even need to be accurate: all he had to do was pull the trigger.

Wincing, I braced to hit him again. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it might get him to look away long enough for Julie to dodge. He was a goon, and goons don’t usually get the job because of their brains. If we kept switching off, we might be able to keep either of us from being shot before we had a plan, and that struck me as a good idea. Changelings don’t take as much damage from iron as the purebloods, but any sort of bullet can ruin an otherwise good day.

He was still focused on Julie, cocking the hammer slowly back as I hit him from the side. He turned, gun now swinging toward me, and Julie fell back, obviously off balance. Oh, oak and ash. She wasn’t going to rush him this time; she was too scared. He wasn’t going to get distracted.

“Whoa, big fella,” I said, stepping backward. I’d run if he missed . . . and if he didn’t, I was pretty much screwed. “No need to get violent—” The gun went off half a second before the pain hit. I screamed, clapping my hands over the new hole in my right thigh. Judging by the pulse of blood between my fingers, he’d managed to miss the major artery—and considering how close he was, that wasn’t good. He’d been shooting to wound. He wanted to take his time.

Forcing myself not to hyperventilate, I raised my head. If I was going to die, I was going to do it with my eyes open. He was standing right in front of me, Julie crumpled on the ground behind him.

“Nice driving, bitch,” he growled, and raised his gun.

Evening, I’m sorry, I thought. I kept my eyes on his, squaring my shoulders, and waited for him to pull the trigger. This was it: end of game.

Tybalt dropped out of the trees above us, landing solidly on the Redcap’s head.

The gun went flying, and I fell backward, barely catching myself. I still don’t know why I didn’t pass out. I couldn’t move; all I could do was stare, openmouthed. I’d never seen the King of Cats fight before. He was suddenly everywhere, made of nothing but fangs and claws and fury, snarling like a chainsaw trying to sing opera. Our witless assassin never stood a chance.

Julie crawled to her feet, shaking herself before running back into the darkness. My heart sank as I realized that I hadn’t heard a sound from Ross since the fight began. I wanted to follow her, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. Tybalt’s hand, claws extended, was coming down across the Redcap’s throat. I managed to turn my head before the blow fell, and spotted the gun, now easily three feet away. I struggled to my hands and knees, crawling across the grass to grab it. The wounds in my thigh and shoulder screamed with every move.

There were still three iron bullets in the gun, enough to kill a dozen changelings. I guess I should’ve been honored that someone would go to so much trouble to get me out of the way. I just felt sick. The remaining bullets sang to the wounds in my shoulder and thigh, making the pain even worse. Iron knows itself. That’s part of what makes it so dangerous.

A faint sniffling started behind me, climbing in pitch and volume to become a sustained wail. I pushed myself to my feet and turned, still looking at the ground. I didn’t want to see what I knew was waiting there—but I had to. Even the purebloods mourn their dead.

Julie was cradling Ross in her arms, hair fanned out over both of them like a shroud. There wasn’t much blood, just a few streaks splattered down the front of Ross’ shirt; it wasn’t enough to explain why he wasn’t moving until Julie raised her head, the motion pulling her hair aside and revealing the pitted hole that had taken away most of his forehead above the left eye. He must have died almost instantly. Somehow, I doubted telling Julie that would help. Lily sent them to protect me. So why did I feel like I was the one that had failed to protect them?

A hand fell on my shoulder. I tried to jump, and staggered as the pain in my leg reasserted itself. Tybalt slung a bloody arm around me, stopping my fall by bracing me against him. He looked down at me, pupils contracted to slits, and I swallowed.

“I . . .” I said. He glanced over at Julie and Ross, then back to me. I nodded. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t mean them any harm; neither did Lily,” he said, in a gentler tone than I’d ever heard him use before. “Julie will know that, too, when she can. But she won’t understand it now.”

“Are you hurt?” I looked over as much of him as I could, from where I was pulled against his chest: none of the blood seemed to be his. The Redcap lay where he had fallen, not moving, but somehow—thinking of the blankness in Julie’s eyes—I couldn’t find any pity in my heart. He was hired to kill, and he did his job. Hopefully, whoever it was also paid him well enough to die.