“I have to go to Hart Island,” Soren told Bel.

“Wait!” she cried out, as the Djinn began to dematerialize.

He paused. Conflicting urges tore at her. She swept the room with a glance. It had all happened so quickly. Claudia had fallen back to the group surrounding Ferion’s prone body. In a moment or two, guards would pour into the room.

On the one hand, there was still so much to do here. If she were a betting fool, she would lay money on Malphas having spies in the household.

On the other hand, her heart and soul was on Hart Island, fighting to the death.

There was no real choice. Grabbing her son by his collar, she hauled him up to her face and demanded, “Are you good to go now?”

Still coughing and sucking in air, his eyes widened at the harsh command in her tone. He nodded.

“Then don’t just lay there. You’re the Elven High Lord.” Wild-eyed, she flung out a hand and pointed at the door. “Get on your feet and clean up this mess, mister!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he wheezed. He reached out, and Sidhiel, Linwe and Luis helped him to his feet.

Bel whirled to Soren. “Take me with you!”

Launching from a crouch, Melly flung herself at them, her pretty face desperate. “Take me too!”

Soren didn’t waste time on any more words. He swept the two women together, and whirled them away.

EIGHTEEN

T

hey left one chaotic scene behind, only to plunge into another.

For the first in many long years of travel, Bel experienced a rough landing from a Djinn transport. Soren all but flung the women at a narrow strip of rocky, icy beach. Melly grabbed for Bel, and both women staggered and fell. Landing with both hands splayed, Bel sliced one of her palms on jagged ice.

Too many details – too many sensations – pummeled her. Gasping, she pushed her hair off her face and struggled to make sense of what she saw. Beside her, Melly did the same.

Brutal cold and wind bit at her exposed skin. Peacekeeper troops poured over a hill, onto the beach. Something that looked like a giant, bizarre monster but felt like Malphas’s Power, whirled and struck at nearby troops that flung spells at it.

She sought Graydon but didn’t see him.

The monster’s physical form dissipated into pure, incorporeal Power. Malphas had dematerialized, which meant Julian had fallen. Instead of arcing away with the normal speed of a Djinn, like a shooting star, Malphas lifted into the air with a ragged lurch.

Soren had solidified enough to drop Melly and Bel onto the ground. As Malphas began to retreat, Soren melted into pure Power and launched after him.

The two Djinn collided overhead. A concussion of Power burst out like a bomb blast, exploding nearby trees and knocking everybody to the ground. With a huge, yawning noise, a nearby chimney stack collapsed, throwing billows of snow and dust into the air.

A screaming whirlwind rose as the two Djinn fought. Hurricane force winds lifted a column of water out of the Long Island Sound.

Carling and other Peacekeepers struggled to haul a lax body out of the heaving, foaming water. Once again, Bel’s stomach bottomed out. She caught sight of Rune trying to lift his head. He was alive.

Melly grabbed Bel’s arm so hard, she left bruises. Her expression agonized, the younger woman shouted something, but Bel couldn’t hear the words over the shriek of the noise.

Melly raced away, slipping and sliding over the treacherous ground. Bel followed the trajectory of her sprint. As her perspective shifted, she realized there was a figure prone on the ground. The figure wore Elven armor, which made it blend into its surroundings. Shaking convulsively, it held up blackened hands. Julian.

But where was Graydon? Bel stood on tiptoe, straining to find him.

A Peacekeeper raced past, yelling at her, “Get down! Get down!”

Ignoring him, she stumbled forward, driven by the need to find Graydon. Debris whistled through the air, shards of bricks and trees turning into deadly missiles as the Djinn’s battle raged overhead.

Inside, hope had twisted into a despairing cry. If she didn’t find Graydon alive, she would lie down right then and there, and die.

Then, as the swirl of running figures parted, she saw two men, sprawled together, covered in blood.

So much blood.

Two tawny heads, so different, and yet so alike. Pain exploded in her chest. Blind to everything else, indifferent to the gargantuan fight tearing apart the night sky, she lunged toward the men.

As she drew close, details struck at her.

Constantine lay on his back. His body was soaked with blood from neck to groin. Graydon crouched over him, cradling the other sentinel’s head in his arms and shielding him from the deadly debris.

Bel fell to her knees beside them. In one horrified glance, she took in Constantine’s handsome, still face, the rictus of agony that twisted Graydon’s. Suddenly there weren’t enough tears in the world.

“Oh, my darling,” she said brokenly.

She gathered Graydon into her arms. He was too big. She couldn’t hold all of him, but, with all the love in the world, she tried.

As soon as she put her hands on him, she sensed his struggle to breathe. It snapped her into knifelike focus. Running a sharp gaze over his hunched figure, she realized that not all of the blood was Constantine’s.

She screamed, “WE NEED A MEDIC HERE!”

Overhead, another colossal concussion blew out with such force, it split the earth. Peacekeepers fell screaming into huge cracks.

She threw herself over Graydon and Constantine to shelter them both. As the concussion dissipated, she realized – one of the Djinn was gone. Staring skyward, she strained to find Malphas, but she couldn’t sense him anywhere.

The overwhelming noise from the howling wind died. She could hear people shouting to each other.