Joseph let Charles take the lead. He was amazingly glad to see Charles. The relief of it left him light-headed. Watching Hephzibah, the Evil One, dump the fae on her head was just the icing on the best zucchini bread he’d ever had.

But the fae didn’t follow the script. Charles just collapsed. A pair of his father’s wolves cleared the arena fence and joined in the battle. Two werewolves, and one was down in under a minute. That was when he knew his role wasn’t finished here.

He had no idea why Hephzibah hadn’t taken one of her famous exits. The arena gates were open at both ends, but she just kept circling around at a leisurely canter, her eye on … Mackie, he thought. He waited until Hephzibah started around again, and used her body to hide when he entered the arena. He ran beside her, keeping her between him and the fae.

He caught her reins and was grateful that it was Hephzibah he had to work with. Any other horse in the stable wouldn’t go anywhere near a thing that looked as deadly as the creature Ms. Edison had turned into. Hellbitch she might be, but Hephzibah had yet to meet something she was scared of.

She eyed Joseph warily but had no objection to him running at her side, not even when he started pushing her to get closer. A glance under her neck told him that the second werewolf was down, with the fae chomping on his neck.

Joseph thanked goodness that he’d tightened the cinch himself and that Hephzibah had the withers to hold the saddle straight as he pulled the old trick of jumping halfway into the saddle. One foot in the stirrup, one hand holding the horn. He pulled her nose tight, aiming her right at the fae as he kicked her in the haunch with his free toe. All of it at the same time, or none of it would work.

She launched herself sideways at the fae, landing smack on top in an ungraceful movement she’d never have made if he hadn’t knocked her off balance. The fae was shoved off the wolf. The horse scrambled hard to keep her feet and kicked the monster good a couple of times in the process.

Joseph, unnoticed, dropped to the ground behind the creature’s back. He pulled out his knife and with his full weight behind the blow, just as Charles had taught him, punched the blade through the fae’s back while it was still disoriented from Hephzibah’s surprise attack.

The fae-thing’s arm swung around improbably and hit Joseph in the chest. He heard the ribs crack before he felt them, and then he was down on the dirt next to a wolf who was bleeding out from the wound in his throat.

He had failed.

When the chestnut mare charged the fae, Charles felt a moment of stunned disbelief. There was no reason … and then he saw Joseph. It was an old Indian trick, hanging off the side of your horse so you could get close to your enemy.

He spared an instant of admiration. There was nothing Joseph couldn’t do with a horse. The horse landed on the fae, both of them equally surprised by it. And the fae’s hold on Charles weakened.

He pulled himself to all four feet, snarling silently with the effort. As Joseph stuck his knife into the fae’s back, Charles took two stumbling steps forward as the magic released him—just for a moment. Then the magic was back and his body was once again unwilling to follow his command.

But the fae’s hold wasn’t as strong as it had been. He couldn’t pay attention to the way Joseph was lying on his back, blood foaming from his nose and mouth. Charles had to get to his feet, had to kill the fae while it was still down.

The chestnut mare ran up toward Joseph, stopped about ten feet away, and then snorted, gave a half jump sideways, and trotted off again.

Joseph had severed the fae creature’s spine with the knife. As Charles dragged himself closer, he watched it try to reach the blade. But Joseph had, by luck or intent, found a place it couldn’t get its hands. The flesh around the knife moved as though there were something under the mottled and bumpy green skin that was both repelled by and attracted to the steel.

The fae gave up trying to reach the knife. Instead it focused on … Mackie. It levered itself up on its arms and began crawling toward the helpless girl at a speed roughly twice what Charles could manage.

The chestnut mare whinnied shrilly and galloped between the fae and the girl. She’d been running all over the place, so Charles didn’t pay her any more attention than the fae did. Until she did it a second time, blasting past with more attitude than speed, ears pinned and feet hitting the ground with extra force.

She did a pretty little rollback, her left rear planted in the sand as she rotated her body around, crossing her right front leg over her left in approved reining style. Then she trotted back across the fae’s path, her tail flagged over her back, her head up, and her tiny ears sharply forward. She did a rollback in the other direction.

And this time she planted herself between Mackie and the fae, pinned her ears flat, and ran past it. She snaked her long neck down, snapped her teeth at the creature, spun, and caught it with a nasty full-force kick right under its shoulder blade.

The fae let out a high-pitched cry, falling away—and the mare was back. This time she struck with her front feet. She pulled the fae underneath her and stomped it twice before hopping over it and bolting away with a triumphant squeal.

She came back again, snorting and side-passing until she stood between that thing and Mackie. Then she flipped her head in the classic warning that meant go away or die. She half reared and squealed—like a mare protecting her baby. Protecting Mackie.

Anna didn’t need to go to the house. She could feel Charles in the barn and she sent Bella that direction. The big mare was laboring; by Anna’s reckoning they’d run about four miles. But she ran willingly through the dark doorway that opened into the arena, and she cleared the huge arena fence by six inches.

Anna kicked both feet free of the stirrups then and jumped off as the mare gathered herself to keep running. She took in the scene of the arena in one comprehensive look: Mackie down, Joseph down, two werewolves down and unmoving, Charles on his feet but not by much, and the fae thing: huge, hideous, with a knife sticking out of its back. It was going, slowly, after Mackie. The only thing in its way was a big red mare.

Anna had no weapon, so she aimed herself at the knife sticking out of the fae’s back. She put one foot on its back and grabbed the knife. She twisted it until the blade was parallel to the creature’s spine. Using the strength of the wolf, she dragged it, still embedded in bone, up the body of the fae. At first the flesh healed behind the knife and it was hard to keep her balance because the fae wallowed and writhed underneath her. But as Anna continued dragging the knife forward, the healing slowed and then stopped and so did the fae’s motion. Its stillness deceived her and as she approached the creature’s head, its neck elongated, allowing it to bite down on her bicep. Anna just shifted her grip to the hand with the good arm and forced the blade all the way up until the point rested inside the fae’s skull. The fae was still again. Limp. But Anna remembered the rapid way it had healed itself at first, remembered Brother Wolf telling her that fae were tough. She took a better hold on the now-slippery handle. She thought about Mackie, about the bodies littering the arena sand and those that had been stacked in the hot attic of that little house, and she cut the monster’s head all the way off.