He traced his fingers over his bowstring. Tonight, he’d forever sheathed one weapon.

I have another.

He unslung his bow and nocked a bonedeath arrow. He stared down Meliai, his voice deadly as he said, “Give me that key, or I’ll release my arrow, pulverizing the bones of anyone within screaming distance.”

Meliai gasped. “You risk a war with the Nymphae? You’ll never enter our sacred places again!”

“So be it. Now talk. What do you have?”

Her gaze betrayed her, darting to her wall, to a raised knot in the wood. A concealed hollow?

“Something to show me?” He waved his bow. “Retrieve it.”

With a fearful look, she crossed to the wall. “My sisters and I will make you pay dearly for this.” She pressed a hidden latch, and a compartment opened. Among her cache of amber jewels was a glass case.

When he realized what she possessed, sweat beaded his upper lip. No, not a lock of Valkyrie hair. In the case was a fire-red feather.

A phoenix feather. He could sense its mystical power from here.

To an archer, it was priceless; to Rune, a game changer. He could use it to fashion the flights of an arrow, amplifying his magicks exponentially.

With that feather, he could create the most destructive arrow ever to fly.

SIXTY-TWO

Standing at the gates of hell.

Wraith shrieks pained Jo’s ears, thunder booming in her stomach once more.

Desh bent down to her ear to yell, “Sure ye have this, little luv?”

Remembering her last meeting with Nïx, Jo stifled the urge to rub her arms and nodded.

“Gotta warn ye, smells like they’ve got an army in there.”

Since Jo had been here earlier (who knew how long ago, with the weird time flow?) dozens of cars had been parked near the manor¸ as if a party was happening inside. The scents coming from Val Hall were different from before. The sounds too.

Desh glowered at the entrance. “Scurvy wenches didn’t invite me.”

“I’ve got it,” Jo yelled.

“I’ll be at Lafitte’s, in case they don’t accept yer white flag.”

“Thank you, Desh. Fair winds.”

He met her gaze. “Good luck.” Then he disappeared.

Jo marched toward the spine-chilling Ancient Scourge. What wouldn’t she do for Thad?

As she neared Val Hall, the new sounds and scents bombarded her. She couldn’t place so many threads: fur, smoke, a cool slice of ice. So many hisses, growls, and mutters.

Hadn’t she once recognized these creatures as fellow Loreans? Why couldn’t she remember? Out of habit, she gazed up at the stars, seeking an answer, but clouds hung low, concealing them. Just as a cloud stood between her and her memories!

Her entire life was a mass of frustration. Her inability to remember her early childhood basically meant she didn’t have one. Same with her parents. Her inability to retrieve her brother tore at her.

My ex, my former guy, is inside someone else right now. I love him, and he’s inside another woman.

Before coming here, Jo had flagged down Dalli and left a message for Rune. Because she was done with him.

Done.

So damned frustrating. She couldn’t fix Rune, or her memories—but she could reach Thad.

All she had to do was scream, I surrender. But that galled Jo.

As if in another lifetime, she’d watched girls retreat from Wally’s house with their fight stolen. She’d seen it happen to the women around her motel.

Rune expected Jo to surrender her dreams, to stop fighting for what she wanted? That made her more furious than the actual infidelity!

He expected Jo to just lie down? Like he did?

Like I once did. I surrendered Thad as a baby.

She needed to scream two little words. But Jo didn’t surrender; she Hulk-smashed. She squeezed until things broke.

She’d forgotten that over the last two weeks.

Just outside the wraiths’ reach, she turned intangible, then launched a fist into the tempest. When she drew back her arm, gashes covered it.

“We’re alike, then?” Jo was death and death rolled into one, a shapeshifter between the living and the dead; it made sense that the Scourge could harm her if she was in ghost form.

The whirling wraiths slowed. One swooped down, hovering inches from Jo’s face. They met gazes; the wraith’s eyes were black pits. Yet then a flash of another image crossed the creature’s face. She saw a beautiful woman for an instant, as fleeting as the lighthouse’s beam. “Let me in,” Jo murmured. “Or suffer.”

The thing canted her head.

What are you seeing, wraith? Jo’s tears had dried into hard tracks on her face. Are you seeing Josephine Doe, a half-dead girl with absolutely nothing to lose?

A girl with a lot of unresolved anger and abandonment issues? Jo whispered to her, “If I can bleed . . . so can you.”

The thing was sucked into the tempest once more. Still in ghost form, Jo backed up, bringing power into her hands.

The wraiths screamed louder, sensing her growing threat.

I surrender?

Never. Fucking. Again.

The ground quaked from her building fury. What did she need Rune for? Jo would kick the ant mound, making the Valkyries—and anyone else—spill out. Once she’d dragged enough of them into their new graves, she would demand Thad’s freedom.

Jo popped a crick in her neck and smiled. No, Rune, some things are simple.

Dalli was waiting for Rune at the edge of the barroom, her expression grave.