“We’re going to get her back,” Brad said more firmly. “Look, I’ll head out right now, get up to the Peak. I’ll bring Rowena or Pitte, or both of them back if I have to do it at gunpoint.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Rowena stood in the doorway, with Pitte behind her.

DANA ran toward the house, fled toward it, hoping that the stone and glass would offer some kind of protection.

What happened in the book? What chapter had she fallen into? Were her actions her own will, she wondered, or written?

Think! she ordered herself. Think back and remember. Once she’d read a story, it became part of her. It was in her memory. She just had to clear away the fear and bring it back.

She was so scared. The screech of an owl had her heart pounding at the base of her throat. Fog was eating over the ground now, thin and white, just edged with blue. It thickened, seemed to boil around her feet until it was as if she waded through smoke.

It muffled the sound of her running footsteps. And his, she realized. God, and his.

If she could reach the house, just reach the house, she could find somewhere to hide until she caught her breath. She could find a weapon, defend herself.

For he meant to kill her, he meant to wrap that long white scarf around her neck and pull, pull while she struggled for air, while her eyes wheeled frantically in her head, while her veins burst with her blood.

Because he was mad, and she had seen the madness too late.

No. No. Those were Kate’s thoughts. The thoughts of a fictional character in a fictional world. It wasn’t a fictional killer who hunted her now. It was Kane.

If he could, he would take something more precious than her life. He’d take her soul.

At the last moment she veered away from the door. She remembered now, remembered this last chance and battle. Kate had wasted precious time battering against the wood, pounding on it and calling for help before she’d snapped back and accepted that there was no one to help.

Edit out that bit, Dana thought, and setting her teeth, she smashed her elbow through the window. She ignored the shock of pain from jagged glass scraping her arm as she reached in, flipped the latch. With a grunt she shoved the window up, leaped onto the ledge, and rolled inside.

She landed hard enough to hear her own bones rattle, and lay stunned, gasping against the pain as she struggled to see through this new layer of dark.

The air was stale and damp, and the heels of her hands skidded on dust as she pushed herself up. No glossy floor, no dripping chandeliers or stunning antiques. No fire roaring in the hearth.

Instead the room was dank and chill, with the gray spill of cobwebs and the breath of ghosts.

This wasn’t the Peak of her world, but the Watch of Jordan’s. She gained her feet, holding her throbbing right arm with her left, and limped across the room over boards that creaked and groaned.

Good job with the atmosphere, Hawke, she thought, fighting to steady herself. Class A haunted house you built here. The perfect place for our plucky heroine to battle the homicidal maniac.

Wincing, she reached down and rubbed her tender knee. Kate had banged up her knee, Dana remembered, but it hadn’t stopped her.

She drew a breath as she came to the entrance hall, saw the shadows facing off with the streams of moonlight that snuck through the grimy windows.

She liked nothing better than diving into a book, Dana reminded herself, but this was a little more than she’d bargained for.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took stock. She’d jammed her knee, jarred her shoulder, sliced up her arm some. She was scared, so scared it hurt to breathe.

But that was all right, that was allowed. She could be hurt, she could be scared. She wasn’t allowed to panic, and she wasn’t allowed to give up.

“We’ll see who pulls this story out in the end, you bastard. This goddamn ex-librarian is going to kick your ass.”

She heard the sly tinkle of glass being crushed underfoot and made a dash for the stairs. And the big climax.

“YOU came.” Zoe released Malory’s hand, reluctantly let go of Dana’s. “Do something.”

Rowena stepped forward, touched her fingers lightly to Dana’s wrist as if checking her pulse. “What happened here?”

“You’re the god,” Flynn shot out. “You tell us. And you get her back. You get her back now.”

Jordan nudged Flynn aside, stepped between them. “Why don’t you know what happened?” he demanded of Rowena.

“He’s capable of blocking certain actions from us.”

“And you from him?”

“Yes, of course. He doesn’t have her soul,” she said, gently, to Flynn.

“Whatever he’s got, get it back.” Flynn shoved forward again, pushing Malory’s hand away. He only flicked a cold, hard stare at Pitte when he moved to flank Rowena. “Do you think you worry me right now?”

“You waste time in your fear for your sister.”

“She’s cold. Her skin’s like ice. She’s barely breathing.”

“He took her into the book,” Jordan said and had Rowena’s attention snapping to him.

“How do you know?”

“I know.” He picked up the book he’d set on the night table. “She opened this and she was gone.”

She took the book from him. “It’s gone. The key is gone from here. It was not to be this way,” she murmured. “He crosses too many lines, breaks too many pacts. Why is he not stopped? This is not temptation, intimidation, or even threat.”

She turned to Pitte, and there was a spark of fear in her eyes. “He’s changed the field, and somehow he’s moved the key.”

“It was in the book?” Jordan interrupted.

“Yes. Now, somehow, he’s taken it into the story, and her with it. He should not be permitted to do so.”

“She’s alone in there. Whether it’s the story or whether it’s Kane, her life’s in danger.” Jordan gripped Dana’s hand. “Bring her out.”

“I can’t bring out what he put in. It’s beyond my power. He must release her, or she must free herself. I can warm her,” she began.

“The hell with that.” Jordan snatched the book back. “Send me in with her.”

“That’s not possible.” She turned away from him to lean over Dana, to run her hands gently over Dana’s face.