What if this is a trap?
The question so startled me that I stopped abruptly, caught my foot on a root, and tripped. I slammed hard onto the ground, the lantern rolling away from my hands, glass shattering, its light sputtering …
Darkness rushed in around me with the sound of wings. The nephilim crashed onto my back and dug his claws into the nape of my neck. He took my breath away, and then he started to take my self away. The pointy barbs were in my brain, scraping away its tender parts: memories of my mother and father, Annie, my college boyfriend Paul, Liam, Bill … I could feel them all begin to slip away …
Then I heard a strange yelp. The nephilim’s hold loosened enough for me to twist around to see what was happening. The creature was still straddling my back, but he was sitting up, his hands flailing at something behind him, his wings beating—something was crawling on the wings. Ralph! I saw the flash of tiny sharp teeth. Ralph was biting the nephilim to distract him, but how long would he be able to?
I had to help. I unpinned the Luckenbooth brooch from my shawl and jabbed it into the nephilim’s thigh. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and reared back. I was surprised that it hurt so much—maybe these nephilim weren’t so tough after all. But then the nephilim bared his fangs and I revised my opinion. Those fangs were heading straight for my jugular—and then he was flying backward through the air. The nephilim landed on his back, wings pinned beneath him, Anton Volkov crouched on his chest. The vampire’s fangs were bared, his eyes flashing red in the fire’s glow …
Fire?
I looked behind me and saw the honeysuckle thicket in flames, kindled by my broken lantern. The fire was quickly spreading from the ground up to the arching canopy. Soon we’d be encased in a fiery tunnel.
“Go!” Anton hissed. “I can’t hold him forever. Go to the circle.”
It startled me to realize that Anton couldn’t kill the nephilim. We needed the angel stone to do that—which meant I needed to get to the circle and open the hallow door.
“Will you be all right?” I asked.
Anton’s amber eyes flicked to mine. Reflecting the fire, they seemed huge and inhuman—a tiger’s eyes. “Your concern is touching,” he said hoarsely. “I will … manage. Now … go!” He roared the last word, putting some compulsion into it, which got me to my feet and had me running down the path before I remembered that Ralph was no longer with me. But it was too late to go back, even if I had been able to resist Anton’s compulsion. Ralph was forged in fire; he’d find a way out—but I might not. The fire raced with me, devouring dry wood like a hungry animal. At least I no longer needed a lantern to light my way. The woods were bright with the clear orange glow of the needfire. Above the crackle of the fire, I heard retreating wings. The nephilim couldn’t reach me in my tunnel of fire, but they wouldn’t need to if I burned to death.
When I reached the entrance to the glade, though, I saw a welcome sight. Mac Stewart and his clan stood in a circle around the glade. Every man, each in a flannel shirt bearing the Stewart tartan, stood with his arms stretched out to his sides. Filaments of red, blue, green, and yellow ran from fingertips to fingertips, forming a shimmering plaid hanging in the air. Sparks from the fire sizzled and died when they reached the plaid. The Stewarts were protecting the glade from the fire—and no doubt from half a dozen other threats.
Mac smiled at me when I reached him. “Callie, we were worried you wouldn’t make it! It’s almost midnight.”
“A nephilim tried to attack me, but Anton Volkov stopped him.”
“Oh,” Mac said, his smile fading. “I would have whomped that winged bastard if I’d’ve been there, but I had to keep the circle safe.”
“And a brilliant job you’re doing of it. Can your family hold the plaid against the fire?”
Mac puffed up his chest. “The plaid can withstand anything,” he bragged.
“Not forever, you dunderhead,” Mac’s father, Angus, interrupted. “Best let the lass go, son; she’s got a job to do.”
“That’s right,” I said.
Angus and Mac did something with their hands to make an opening in the tartan field, and I stepped through it. As I did, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Mac on the cheek. “Thank you, Mac. Try to find Ralph and take care of him—and of Fairwick—if I don’t … well, if things don’t go according to plan in there.”
Mac’s eyes widened and he began to object, but I pinned him with a look I used in class when a student gave me a lame excuse for not turning in a paper.
“I will,” he promised.
“Good. I feel better knowing Fairwick’s in your hands.” I started to go in but thought of something else. “And Mac, the Alphas—some of them may not be as bad as their fathers. Keep that in mind.”
Before Mac could ask me any questions, I stepped through the plaid and into the circle. I could tell when the plaid closed behind me, because I could no longer hear the fire or smell the smoke. Looking back, I saw that the predominantly red tartan was glowing with the reflection of fire, but inside the circle it was cool and still. For a moment I thought I was alone, but then seven figures in black cloaks stepped out of the shadows of the thicket. The one nearest to me pushed back her cloak, and I recognized Moondance.
“We haven’t much time,” she said brusquely. “It’s almost midnight. Are you ready?”
I’d been repeating Wheelock’s spell for the last few hours, but at Moondance’s question I suddenly felt, as I had when I sat down for my orals, that my mind had been rinsed clean of every scrap of knowledge I’d ever imbibed. This time it might actually be true. What if the nephilim attack had erased the spell from my brain? Around me were the hopeful faces of the seven people who had come to help me. They were all looking to me with complete trust. Moondance had let go of her wariness, Leon had dropped his habitual hipster attitude, Phoenix appeared calm and composed for a change, Jen seemed as if she didn’t even have a probing question, the look of worry in Ann’s eyes had been replaced with pride as she stood by her daughter, and Jessica … Jessica’s faith glowed with a purity of trust that took my breath away. Even my grandmother, who had rarely regarded me with anything but a mixture of annoyance and disappointment, was looking at me with complete faith. Each face, glowing in the reflection of the fire that ringed us, was like a smooth white stone dropped into a deep well. A feeling of quiet and calm came over me, and with it, like a stone dropping into the well, fell the words of the spell to become the hallow door.
I nodded to Moondance, then to each of the others, and stepped into the center of the circle, to the empty place where once stood the door and where Bill’s blood had been shed. I took off the brooch, pricked my finger, and let a drop of blood fall on the ground. I recited the first part of the spell.
“My blood binds me to the door.” A red mist rose from the ground and arched over me. I felt Bill’s love for me, so strong that he had sacrificed himself. That love bound me to the door.
“I empty myself so that I contain all things.” I closed my eyes and became hollow inside. I’d felt like this before: when my parents died, when Liam left, when Bill perished. But each time I had been emptied, there were people who stepped into my life to fill that void. Annie, after my parents died. My friends and students, after Liam and then Bill had gone. I thought of all the good neighbors in Fairwick who had filled my life and who were depending on me to save them. They were inside me now. I had only to make myself a bridge from Fairwick to another world. And to do that I had to open myself up to the possibility that somewhere there was still love for me. That was the hardest part of the spell. Since Bill died, I had not allowed myself to think that there could ever be anyone else. It was too painful to hope. I had closed off a part of myself so that I’d never be hurt again. That was the part I had to open now.