I hurried to my feet with surprising grace—that was Wolf, moving my muscles for me, keeping us upright and stable. Dominant. We didn’t want to be on the ground at this man’s feet. We were better than that, so we stood before them, chin up and shoulders back. Tail straight, ears pricked. Slower, Enkidu and Sakhmet joined me. The three of us—the three animals, his avatars of the wild he’d have called us—unconsciously gathered to face them.

“Welcome, my avatars,” the vampire said. As if we’d ever left. As if we’d had a choice about being here. But we did, in the end. Even me. Kumarbis spoke with that confidence that sounded like arrogance to me. “Welcome to this glorious moment, for tonight we perform the ritual that will destroy Dux Bellorum. We know our purpose. We know our power. I thank you all. I am grateful for you.” He was a kindly patriarch speaking with genuine emotion. He might have been misguided, but he wasn’t evil. And if this worked … maybe he wasn’t even misguided.

“We are ready,” Kumarbis concluded. And maybe we actually were. He gestured to the ritual chamber, and, solemnly, Zora led the way, and we followed her through the tunnel into the ritual space for the last time.

*   *   *

ZORA LIT the torches from the candle she carried. I knew my place on the pentagram drawn on the chamber’s stone floor. We all knew our places and went to them, standing with feet planted, solid and confident. Trying to be. My hackles were up, the muscles of my shoulders stiff to the point of pain. My heart was racing, and I took slow breaths, trying to calm myself. I touched my wedding ring, lying against my chest, under my shirt. It felt warm.

Across the circle, Sakhmet smiled at me. I settled.

Zora had added to the circle sometime over the last day, touching up the white, adding red and yellow outlines to the original markings, painting new symbols. If possible the drawings looked even more creepy, as if they had merged into one organic thing that came alive in the torchlight. The swirls and whorls became vinelike, reaching outward.

Zora’s face was bright with a kind of joy made twisted in the firelight. If the curls in the drawing seemed to be reaching out, she was reaching back to them. She was as much a part of the ritual space as the symbols and patterns she’d drawn.

A new element had been added to the circle: a wooden spear, maybe four feet long, had been placed in the center of the pentagram. One end of it had been sharpened and polished to a hard point. A perfect weapon for destroying vampires. This was the weapon we’d use on Roman, then.

Sudden relief made me want to smile; seeing the spear made me think this would work when nothing else did. We were armed. We had a chance. Faith in weaponry. The thought of finally stopping Roman made me giddy. Or maybe it was the lack of food and sleep.

Focus, I had to focus. This was important. This could still go horribly wrong, and I had to be ready. I clenched my hands into fists and calmed my Wolf, who wanted to pace.

Zora moved around the circle, much like she had during the previous ritual, placing items, murmuring incantations. If the crystals and herbs she used were different this time, I couldn’t keep track. No wonder she’d had to study her notes.

The mummified white dove came out again, and she placed it in the center. Gaius Albinus—the Latin word for white was Albus, and White was another of his aliases. The dove was another link. Again, Kumarbis presented the coin, the focus for targeting Roman. Fortunately, no live mice appeared.

“Munde Deus virtuti tuae, confirm thy power in us, oh spirit of the world, confirm thy power against our enemy…” And on, and on.

“The door opens, spirit of the world, give us the strength to tread on serpents, to smash the power of our enemy, that none may harm us. The window opens, spirit of the world, deliver our enemy to us, deliver the blight that we may smash it from creation. Our hearts and intentions are pure, oh spirit of the world.”

A familiar pressure of anticipation settled over the cave. The smoke rose up, and the mine shaft seemed like a tower that might reach to heaven. Maybe it was a tunnel that could take us all the way to Roman, some kind of wormhole through space. There should have been drumming, the heartbeat of the world.

Zora lowered her arms and looked around the circle, noting each of us, nodding. She said, “When the time comes, when the door opens, I will give the spear to you, Enkidu. Our hunter will strike the blow against Dux Bellorum. Are you prepared?”

“I am,” said Enkidu.

“Sakhmet, our warrior, you will protect the hunter from harm. Do you stand firm?”

“I do,” she said. The lion in her showed through her ready stance, her glaring golden eyes.

Then Zora said, “Regina Luporum, by your authority you will name our enemy and declare our target. You will do this?”

It was like that part in the wedding ceremony when the minister says speak now or forever hold your peace. An expectant stillness, as they waited for me to give an answer—the correct answer. I’m Kitty, I thought. But no, not here. I realized, suddenly, I was the perfect person for the job they’d picked for me. I knew Roman by sight. I could identify him. What was more, I had so many things I wanted to say to Roman, most of them angry, and if this worked, I’d have my chance. Zora and the others were counting on it. Kumarbis might have known the enemy two thousand years ago, but I knew him now, and I would call him out. Who better than me?

I could be Regina Luporum.

“I will,” I said.

“Kumarbis, it is by your faith and effort that we stand here. Do you still stand firm?”

“I do.”

Zora raised her hands high and spoke.

“Powers above and below, I call on the spirit of the world, the center of all, to open the door that will allow us to reach forth and strike in order to restore balance to your universe, I call on the four quarters, the four elements, the four powers we have gathered here in universal truth…”

She was speaking English, but I couldn’t say I understood her. The words seemed rote, ritual phrases she had repeated so many times they had the same value as the chorus of a children’s song. Rhythmic, vaguely annoying, meaningless. But maybe there was power in the repetition, because I felt something. The power she was raising, that she was drawing from us, seemed to physically increase the pressure in the room, as if her spell was crowding out the air.

Her prayer continued, repeated declarations and entreaties, increasing in desperation.