Ravenous

Chapter 29

Running with wolves exceeded Holly's fitness plan. It was like sprinting for the bus, except it went on forever. She just couldn't keep up.

After a few frustrating blocks and a doggy huddle, the pack split into three. The largest group ran ahead. One group escorted Ben in the opposite direction, to be placed, she presumed, in a metaphorical and perhaps literal doghouse. Perry and a handful of others stayed with Holly, slowing their pace to a brisk trot as they went to rendezvous with Queen Omara.

Their journey took them back to the main part of the campus. It seemed unreal. Holly had just been up there taking classes, but she'd never been to this part of the grounds. She did her best to orient herself, recognizing the Arts Building behind her and the main lawns rimmed by the dormitories straight ahead. Their destination was a small playing field at the south end of the lawns. There Queen Omara had made her headquarters.

Long before they reached it, though, they had to stop. The wolves and hounds had formed a security cordon, marking a wide perimeter. Holly and her escort were thoroughly sniffed before they were allowed to cross. The pause was fine with Holly, who bent over, hands on knees, to catch her breath and nurse the stitch in her side. Perry butted his nose against her.

"Just a minute." Holly gasped, straightening. "Iron endurance isn't one of my superpowers."

Perry bumped her again, making a doggy whine. Holly switched her attention from her aching lungs to the world around her. She began plodding forward. Now she could see the pale-faced Undead pacing the near the goalposts, making the scene look like some avant-garde sportscast with no color and less dialogue.

The creepiness quotient was in hyperdrive. The vamps seemed to be already in battle mode, moving with the sliding grace of predators, forming into shadowy clots to talk, point, and shake their heads. What are they doing? They all seemed to be facing north, watching for something.

Holly turned, and it was then that she saw that the enemy had arrived. The changeling army, complete with their packs of ghouls, emerged from between the dormitory buildings, a rolling wave of grotesquerie.

Not possible! She had kept her senses open to the ley lines. She hadn't felt any portals besides the one in the house.

But here they were.

Perry tensed, his tail going bushy. He began running for the bleachers, barking at Holly to follow. She froze for a split second, adrenaline overloading her nerves. Oh, no, oh, no, no, no! Then she sprang after him, legs pumping. The ground seemed suddenly alive with hazards, the grass bunching up to catch her feet. She had never run so fast.

The changelings came faster. They came in force, nearly beating Holly to the safety of the front lines. The wolves and hellhounds swarmed them, but numbers were against the werebeasts. For every changeling there seemed to be at least three ghouls.

Holly's eyes searched the field ahead. There was no sign of Alessandro, but she spotted Omara. The queen had thrown aside her coat, and the bright green silk of her long shift caught the cloud-mottled moonlight. Omara was on her cell phone, yelling into it. It sounded as though she were calling for reinforcements.

Perry and Holly reached the battle area, three of the changelings hard on their heels. Holly scrambled up the bleachers, praying the height would buy her safety long enough to figure out how to use her powers effectively. She couldn't just blast into the crowd without taking out friend as well as foe.

The battle had begun. Where was Alessandro?

Merda.

The guardsman ran from the Flanders house with the speed and cunning of a fox. A hundred yards beyond the house he had given Alessandro the slip, demonstrating an uncanny ability to hide where there was no real cover. Evidently the Castle guard had been granted extraordinary powers of their own.

Alessandro flew to the top of a bus shelter, his boots landing lightly on its metal framework. He scanned the south campus, searching for the gleam of the guardsman's metal breastplate. From his vantage point the lawn looked like dark water, the ring of campus lights a glittering shore. He listened, hearing distant music, the wind in the trees, but no sound of running feet. He could smell werebeasts and, from farther off, the scent of movie-house popcorn. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Which was magic in itself. The fey were at work. If he relaxed the focus of his eyes, he could see the faint blue glow that showed that a building had been magically sealed. Humans would find excuses not to leave—they would sleep longer, have another latte, or find their conversation too compelling to abandon. The north campus was covered, and the blue glow crept toward the first of the dormitories. They fey were working south.

As he looked toward the dorms, he saw what he had been looking for—the momentary flash of a tattooed sword arm flickering in and out of the shadows. Alessandro leaped into the air with an audible whoosh.

He landed in a crouch and ran hard. The dormitories had irregular walls, deep entrances, a thousand places an enemy could hide. Garbage rustled in the wind, faking the sound of a footfall, the whisper of a drawn sword.

There!

Alessandro had his blade in hand, ready. The guardsman wheeled from the shadows, the whole weight of his motion in the stroke. Their blades crashed in a two-handed parry, the shock vibrating clear to Alessandro's spine.

Where is the book? The guardsman must have set it down somewhere to free his hands for the fight. He set the thought aside. Danger gave the moment clarity, a still calm that cleared his senses of extraneous detail. The guardsman thrust; Alessandro melted out of reach, turning and driving back in with a blow of his own. His blade slid off the breastplate, skimming the man's bare arm. He smelled the spurt of blood, the sharp scent honing the moment.

Injury upped the ante. The guardsman fought back, thundering a rain of blows against Alessandro's defenses. Alessandro was forced to retreat a few steps, surprised at the guard's enormous strength. He ducked under humming metal, trying to get inside the man's defenses, but every time he was blocked.

The guardsman swung again, a furious blow that drove Alessandro even farther back. Dodging behind a bicycle rack, the guardsman snatched up The Book of Lies and whirled away, bolting across the lawn.

Alessandro sped after him. As the guardsman angled close to one of the dorms, four changelings converged out of nowhere, pouncing on the guard. They fell into a snarl of bodies, the guardsman shaking them off like a hound shedding water, breaking the neck of one—but he had to use both hands for that.

He dropped the book.

Alessandro was right there, cleaving a changeling in two, but another crept behind him, waiting till Alessandro raised his arms to slide a silver knife between his ribs.

Pain arched clear to the roof of his mouth, the silver flying inside him like acid, vibrating on every nerve. His vision went black. He dropped his sword, fell to his knees with a violent curse.

Breath failed Alessandro as he groped for the hilt of the knife. It slid from his flesh in a gush of blood, leaving him sick and sweating. He retched into the grass, lungs flailing for air. A fraction higher and the blade would have pierced his heart.

The two surviving changelings scuttled across the lawn with the book, the guardsman in pursuit. The skirmish was over in the matter of a minute.

Alessandro picked himself up. He felt like cracked glass, fissures of white-hot nerves spidering out from where the knife had thrust. Blood coursed from the wound, taking his strength with it. If he got help he would recover, but the blade had been silver. Healing would be slow.

"Score one for the bad guys." Macmillan sauntered into Alessandro's field of vision, materializing from thin air. Alessandro lunged at Macmillan, but the demon cop danced away, his laugh taunting. "Hey, you might be fast, but I'm barely even here."

Alessandro held the wound in his side, feeling wetness ooze between his fingers. "What do you want?"

Macmillan waved a hand. He looked oddly transparent, even in the darkness. "Nothing that tattooed goof hasn't already accomplished. We have the book. The queen's champion is wounded and stalled outside enemy lines. I'm pretty much done for the night. After years of mopping up after criminals, it's kind of nice being on the winning side for a change. Basically I'm just here to gloat."

"You haven't won yet."

"Oh, suck it up, vampire. There's no way you're pulling a victory out of this mess." The detective turned his back, apparently intending to simply walk away.

"Is that it? Has Geneva eaten your entire soul?"

"What? You want us to have a buddy moment and save the day?" Macmillan looked back, the horror in his eyes belying his light words. "The worst part of this, Caravelli, is that with every passing minute I lose a piece of what made me human. There's nothing left but the impulse to feed. Thank whoever you pray to that vampires don't smell like food."

Macmillan held up his hands, showing their translucence against the dormitory lights. "You see, I haven't eaten in a few hours. I can't last that long. She tells me it gets easier the longer you're a demon, but right now… God, I hate this part."

Alessandro stared at Macmillan, forgetting his own pain in a wash of revulsion. He'd seen this before, but it never got any more pleasant to look at.

The detective's hands were knotted with dark veins, the ropy, engorged ridges so thick and black they seemed the very absence of light. They seemed to flow with darkness, bubbling and pulsing until the flesh between vanished.

Now wholly shadows, Macmillan's fingers crumbled into blackness like a dry, rotted leaf succumbing to the wind. He was powdering into a mist, powerless, a shade, a nothing. His hands, his feet, and his arms fell away, nothing left but a blot against the empty night air. Then, mercifully, he was gone.

Gone somewhere to envelop an unsuspecting victim and drain his soul. How many would it take before he could resume his own form again? Or that of some creeping or scurrying beast?

Alessandro felt sick. A mere handful of days before, Macmillan had been a good man doing honorable work. This was what it meant when a demon ate your soul.

But whether he meant to or not, Macmillan had given him a warning: The queen's champion is wounded and stalled outside enemy lines. Alessandro was the wounded champion. The enemy wasn't there yet, but he'd better hurry to avoid getting caught on the wrong side of the battle.

Alessandro started off at a slow jog, as fast as his wound would allow. When he got near the Arts Building, he leaped to a low balcony, then to the third-floor roof. The exertion tore at his side, but the improved view was worth it. Macmillan's tip had been good.

But Alessandro was too late.

In the parking lot behind the dormitories, a series of yellow school buses were disgorging ghouls and changelings. Buses? It was clever. There was no hint of magic to tip their hand, and no one would ever expect the enemy to arrive in something so mundane. Of course, this was just the advance guard. They would have to use a portal for an army large enough to take the whole town. But this is enough to keep us distracted while they get down to business.

At the far end, closest to the playing field, he saw a handful of changelings setting up a ritual circle. And there… Alessandro flew forward, eyes wide in shock. He gripped the balcony rail to stop himself, the tails of his coat flowing around his legs. Merda!

The figure standing to one side—was John Pierce—Pierce!—holding what had to be The Book of Lies. Of course. He knows enough sorcery to use it. He's depraved enough to do it. Pierce would open a portal to let Geneva's army through. An entire battleground separated Alessandro from Pierce. And, for that matter, from the queen. He looked around, desperate for a solution.

So much was happening. At the edge of the campus he saw the flashing lights of police vehicles. Now the humans were aware something was going on, but hellhounds and the fey were holding them back—the hounds with sheer ferocity. The fey were raising a fog, blanketing the campus north of the battlefield. Soon visibility would be next to nothing. At least one thing's going right.

Then his eye caught something farther off, where the land rose behind the playing field. More vehicles, this time pulling into the southernmost lot. Even to vampire sight it was too far away to make out the faces of the figures leaving the vehicles, but the luxury six-seat SUVs were impossible to miss. No one else in Fairview drove anything like that. Clan Albion had come for the show, and they were arriving from the south.

They weren't going to be cheering for Omara.

The queen was caught between enemies.

Then Alessandro saw a figure climbing up the bleachers. He turned cold, as if his final death had crept into his bones unannounced. Holly. She was trapped right along with his queen.

From the safety of the bleachers, Holly searched under the earth for stores of energy. There were ley lines down there, but the raging battle made it hard to concentrate. It was as if her magic seized up along with the cold, hard knot that used to be her stomach.

There. She found the main line beneath the playing field, ripe with a thick, golden energy. Though not turbulent like the ones under the Flanders property, it was still wild. Not all that easy to handle. She'd have to be careful.

Suddenly something whistled by Holly's arm, and she leaped into the air with sheer surprise. A changeling hunched in the shadow of the bleachers, its maw tight with concentration as it aimed what looked like a small crossbow. She summoned a quick bolt of energy, so fast it was more of a flash than a strike. It was enough to make the thing drop its weapon, but three ghouls raced from behind it, bounding up the bleachers toward her. They were moving too fast for more than a sputter of power.

"Perry!" Holly cried as she scampered the length of the bleacher seats, hearing the old wood creak and moan. At the end, she grabbed the handrail and started toward the ground, half climbing, half tumbling as she went. When she hit the grass she bolted, the ghouls hot on her tail.

Unfortunately, where Holly could run faster, so could they. She turned again, heading south. Here the lawn sloped up a sharp incline, and she grabbed at branches and tufts of grass to gain momentum. Cursing, she heard the ghouls closing in, making the sickening yip they gave when scenting prey.

Perry sprang from the shadows in an arcing, elegant bound. The wolf snarled, making Holly's every nerve recoil. Perry landed on the ghouls in a fury of fangs. The ghouls' yipping stopped in a sudden, profound silence. The wolf had ripped the throats from all three of the lethal monsters in record time.

Job done, Perry chased after the changeling with the crossbow. Holly's mind stalled. She would never regard Perry's sweet, scholarly smile quite the same way again.

She ran the rest of the way up the hill and flung herself on the damp grass, trying to stay flat and out of sight as she surveyed the scene of the battle. Up here she was as high as the uppermost bleachers, but now she was facing the action. There was Omara, over there the tight S-curve that was her line of defenders. The vampires seemed to be using any and all weapons, firearms, blades, and magic included. Through the tiny queen's generalship they were holding their own, and the mob of changelings and ghouls had thinned out.

Then she saw Alessandro, and her heart seemed to shatter. He was on the far side of the battle lines, the enemy side, running straight into the melee. His coat flowed behind him, his sword mowing through the throng like a clever scythe. Ghouls jumped him from behind, but he swung, backhanding them into the air. Three flew up, landing in ragged heaps, but at least a dozen were closing in behind them.

And he was wounded. She could see it in his movements. That, more than anything, galvanized her. I have to help him. I have to help all of them. Now she understood Elaine Carver, dying to keep Fairview safe. She did it because she was the only one who could.

A tug twinged in the energy field. Holly turned left, looking with her eyes and with her mind. She saw the figure with the book, the changelings, the ad hoc ritual circle in the parking lot. They 're opening a portal. It was time to do her job.

Holly scrambled to her feet. Perry thundered up with a deep woof, his ears going back.

"What?" Holly looked where Perry's gaze was fixed.

There was a line of sullen-looking vamps walking up the hill behind her. They came side by side, black coats flying, like the title shot of a trendy TV show. Oh, crap, it's the designer vamps.

Nothing about them said good guys. Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated? "Get behind me," she said to Perry.

The wolf looked at her in disbelief.

"I mean it."

He made a doggy protest. One tall vamp in the middle smiled, showing the full length of his fangs. He ran his tongue over his teeth, the meaning clear. Holly moved beyond being afraid and on to fed up. Oh, spare me the foreplay.

She needed a few practice shots. Here was a row of perfectly good targets.

She let her consciousness sink into the earth and felt the hum of power through her toes, then creeping up her thighs in an erotic column of power. The sensation was like standing in a bathtub of champagne, golden bubbles of energy exploding under her skin. It felt good, and right, and deadly. Shifting her weight, Holly felt the thrum of potential reach her belly.

A laugh welled up from wherever inappropriate jokes were born. "Hey, boys!"

A dozen pairs of vampire eyes glinted evilly in the darkness—at least, those not wearing shades despite the pitch black night. I bet they practice that glint in front of the mirror.

She raised her hands, wiggling her fingers. "Wanna play?"

From their expressions, she didn't scare them one little bit. They were halfway up the hillside before she released her first bolt.

It hung in the air, a scrap of sun in the night, incandescence where the moment before, a vampire had stood. The vamp twisted in the air, landed with a splat, and exploded in a shower of grave dust.

Cool.

Perry howled with triumph. Holly aimed again, feeling the pressure of all that glorious energy against her diaphragm. Her will—my free will!—harnessed the shot, making the aim true and fierce.

Best of all, it was easy. She could fight without pain, without being drained. She fired again, and again. The shadows around the bleachers faded to white, the light washing the stars from sight. Each shot exploded a vampire.

They ran. The prey had suddenly become the hunter. Perry chased them down the hill, calling his wolves to the chase.

Now, the ritual and Alessandro.

Descending the hill, Holly moved slowly, using an odd crab walk to keep her footing on the steep slope. She could smell churned earth and crushed grass, blood and rent flesh. Sweat slicked her skin, turning icy in the rising breeze. The stink of death made her mouth water in a bad way.

The battle was changing shape, neat battle lines collapsing into a brawl. To every side there was yipping and yelling. Metal crashed on metal. Spells cracked the air with the snap of bullwhips. Holly stopped to fire a blast once, twice. Cries of anger came as the flash blinded the nocturnal creatures. As they covered their eyes she streaked past, brushing sleeve on sleeve with a particularly ugly changeling.

She spotted Omara's green shift. The gold decoration on the queen's garb flashed as she threw a ghoul to the earth, crushing its throat with a twist of her dainty hands. Good to be on her side.

Holly felt a hand clutch the back of her jacket. Then claws were at her sleeves, her ankles, her belt. The night had grown talons. Teeth wrenched the flesh of her calf. Ghouls.

Holly kicked out but lost her balance as a dozen bony arms grabbed for her limbs. Ghoul claws raked down her face, scraping but not yet tearing the flesh. Holly's leg throbbed, her shoe hot with blood. Fangs sank into her shoulder, and Holly lost her temper. Screaming in pain and fury, she elbowed the thing in the face, at the same time letting fly a firestorm of white heat. Steam shot upward from the ghoul, the blast too hot for mere smoke, leaving nothing but a carbonized twist of flesh. Kicking the charred creature away, Holly watched it shatter on the grass to flakes of black ick.

The other ghouls gibbered in terror, dropping to all fours to run. Holly took three or four steps toward them. It was enough to send them bolting.

The bites from the ghouls' viselike jaws knifed through her leg and arm, bringing nausea in their wake. Holly's journey shrank to putting one foot before the other. She stumbled the last yards to where the vampires were bunched in a tight, defensive circle. No creature bothered her for those excruciating steps. Apparently the ability to barbecue at will had earned her some street cred.

Then Alessandro shouldered through the wall of vamps, looking around wildly until he saw her. He was a mess, his hair straggling in a shredded aureole, his coat torn and covered with muck and blood. He was taking her into his arms, and then pulling her to safety behind the front ranks of the vampire warriors. He felt so good, so strong, Holly melted against him. At the moment nothing mattered but the fact that they were both still standing.

"You're hurt," she mumbled into the collar of his filthy coat.

"So are you. Don't worry about me. I'll heal." From the way he held himself, she wasn't sure about that. She gave him the best of her kisses, her hands clinging to his sleeves.

It was all the time she could afford. "I have to stop the ritual."

He dug his fingers into the snarled mass of her hair, tipping up her face so that his golden eyes could hold her gaze. His look was possessive, full of battle fire. "Whatever you need. I'll get you there."

Her knees wobbled as Alessandro opened his mouth to say more. She grabbed for him just as he stumbled, trying to steady himself. The ground was shaking, rolling with sickening heaves. We're too late.

With one last jolt the tremor stopped. Holly panted, still as a mouse within the circle of Alessandro's arm. Seconds passed. Then, as if invisible hands parted the sea of warring bodies, the combatants drew back from the goalposts dead ahead. All fighting ceased, every vampire, ghoul, and changeling stopping to stare at the aurora borealis flickering between the two uprights. Sickly green, the pale sheen spiraled in a roiling flutter that brought bile up the throat. A portal.

At least it's a change from orange.

Omara came up beside them, her face set in a fierce mask. "I beg you, Holly Carver, stand with us now. If I have wronged you, do not hold it against my people. Help me save them."

Brighter light rippled around the green whirlpool. A howl went up from the changelings, part jubilation, part terror. The vampires, to a fang, were silent and still. The ghouls just ran. Contrary to all expectations, they were the smart ones.

Two hands parted the swirl of green like a curtain and stepped through. To no one's surprise, it was Geneva. She wore full battle uniform: boots, camouflage, and a bandanna around her long golden hair.

What did catch Holly off guard was Mac appearing at her elbow, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He smiled at her. It was like a cold, glutinous slug sliding down her spine.

Geneva came forward, Mac a pace or two behind. Swiftly Omara put herself between her court and the advancing demon. The queen was filthy, her torn silks trailing shreds like pennants as she moved, but her spine was arrow-straight. She stopped when there were only about eight feet between them. Only the tightness in Omara's jaw showed her fear.

"Here we are again," Geneva said simply. She was taller by a head.

"And here you lose again," Omara said, loudly enough for all to hear.

Holly started to spool the golden energy inside her. Okay, power as water cannon—hold it till the portal closes. How hard can that be?

"You have the witch, but I have the book." Geneva smiled. "And I have to say you are all looking… well, a bit grubby. Softened up by my advance troops."

The posturing was lost on Holly. Behind the goalposts, small orange portals were sprouting up all over the campus lawn with audible pops. Out of each miniportal stepped a guardsman, dozens and dozens of them, gigantic swords in hand. Ben's cavalry, come to take us all to prison. They just waited until the gang was all here, nice and convenient.

Geneva finally noticed no one was paying attention to her. She slowly turned her head, looking over her shoulder. "Oh."

The guardsmen charged the watching crowd, a chilling battle cry thundering from their massive chests. The supernatural armies moved as one, enemies suddenly united against this new emergency. Holly saw Perry and his wolves, and her stomach jumped with fear for their safety.

Distracted, no one saw Geneva lunge for Holly. "Now you're mine!"

Holly felt cold, cold energy streak up her arm, as if the demon were drawing life away by mere touch. "Back off!"

She threw a blast of power, twisting away as Geneva staggered. Mac caught the demon as she fell. Holly fell back, her flesh dead white where the demon's touch had been. Golden power flooded her limbs, healing the wound, healing the throbbing ghoul bites, but there was nothing left to defend herself.

Alessandro rushed in, fangs bared and sword raised high for a sweeping blow.

Oh, Goddess, thought Holly, seeing the wound in his side. He's bleeding!

Mac lunged to block him, but too late. The blade arced in a moonlit crescent of deadly grace, Alessandro's charge lending force to the stroke. The slice went from Geneva's shoulder to her opposite hip in what should have been a catastrophic wound. Instead she flickered for an instant, letting the sword pass through thin air. The sudden absence of resistance made Alessandro stagger with the impetus, driving him close to the portal.

Wheeling, he dropped the blade and crouched, changing tactics. He flexed his hands like claws, ready to spring. With a sound like rushing flames, Geneva hissed with rage.

Holly shook herself, feeling her magic click back on track. Alessandro was on his feet again, too. He sprang forward, but Mac jumped to meet him, wrestling Alessandro with a strength he had never before possessed.

The portal flickered, throwing lurid green waves of light over the scene. Glancing up, Holly could see it was growing, like a tear in the sky unraveling as she watched. Soon they would be able to get a good look at what lay on the other side.

Including, apparently, the main changeling army. They started swarming out of the rift like an infestation of ants. Oh, Goddess, there're hundreds of them. Not even the guardsmen could stop all these!

From where she stood next to the portal, Geneva grinned. The shifting green light made the spots on her camo gear shift and swirl. "Just wait."

The words were clear inside Holly's head, as if the demon were standing next to her. I think I liked her better as a mouse.

Geneva's eyes shone. "I'm already inside you. The vampires have you now, but when they're gone, the taste of your soul will be mine."

"Will you people stop trying to eat me?" Holly yelled. "It's pissing me off!" Earth power flowed into her, rising like sweet wine to her head. Wild with primal anger, she took in more and more. The earth yielded it up willingly, lovingly. "I can't take one more goddess-damned thing trying to chew on me!"

The blast blew Geneva backward through the rift with a satisfying ka-foom. The emerging changeling army just happened to be in the way, bugs smashed on the windshield.

Holly tried to broaden the focus of her stream of power, leaving the demon nowhere to move. The flow juddered, sucking more energy, wobbling like a car with a flat tire. Holly panted, desperate for a means of control. What was it Grandma had suggested? Aurelia's matrix? The Caer Gwydion reduction? Holly could barely think. I have to do this. I have to hang on.

Holly's perceptions expanded, gorged on power. Every detail was clear, movements graceful as a film in slow motion. Mac slipped Alessandro's grip and ran toward Geneva. Alessandro fell to one knee, grabbing his sword and sweeping it up to cleave a changeling in two.

Holly could still see Geneva undulating in the blast of power, a rag in the wind.

Mac skidded to a halt next to the rift, the whirling light of the portal painting his features like a ritual mask. Geneva reached toward him, her hair blown wild, hiding her face.

Mac's eyes sought Holly's like a drowning sailor sought a floating plank of wood. He found her gaze and clung fast. His expression was pained, mad, exhilarated, horrified—but Holly was slipping away, gulping down the rush of magic, letting it burst from her in an improvised weapon. She felt as if she were turning inside out.

Geneva began to resist, slamming back against Holly's force.

Thud.

Holly jerked, her feet sliding on the grass. Oh, crap.

Thud.

Tears sprang to her eyes, sharp pangs of tension fingering the space between her shoulder blades. She could feel her heart pounding, the urgent rhythm matching the pulse in the energy flow.

Thud.

Holly stumbled, her concentration broken. The flow sputtered. Panic grabbed her. No, no, no! She opened the stream full throttle, a desperate negation of terror. Energy reamed through her, hollowing her core. She gave herself up to it completely, surrendering herself the way Elaine Carver had done. I'm going to die.

It was hard to tell what was happening. Holly could feel the portal spinning wider and wider, but Geneva no longer struggled beneath her magic.

This is weird.

Holly wasn't even sure whether she was touching the ground. She rode the pressure of the golden fire, her eyes wide-open, seeing but not seeing the physical world. She floated in a geyser of light. The flow blasted away the Dark Larceny, whatever traces remained of Alessandro's vampire mark, anything that was not truly hers. In fact, there wasn't much left at all. Her body was the thinnest shell, everything within and without filled with energy from deep in the primordial earth.

She probed the portal. The tear in reality was out of control—but if Holly slammed it shut the blast would kill her. No point in repeating Elaine's mistake.

Lore had given her an idea. Not all denizens of the Castle should stay there. Others should. Why not have a door and keep the key? Let the portal stay open, but create a means to control it?

Arts and crafts were never her thing, but Holly set to work. She cauterized the rift, burning the wound in the ether until it scarred over, folding the universe over and over until the tear in its fabric was reshaped and made useful. Holly worked quickly, but the golden light gushed forth faster than she could direct it. The effect was like swallowing water while she was swimming—except this hit her like one too many drinks. The earth was giving her undiluted power, and it was strong stuff.

The golden hum of Holly's magic amplified, the volume creeping up the way a teenager cranked up her headphones. Her perception went wild, everything she was doing suddenly lost in a firestorm of bliss. She threw her head back, feeling the tingle of energy on her throat, down her breasts. This was the kind of magic that made a witch immortal, renewed in the crucible of her own power. She was pumped, jazzed, stoked on the sheer strength of it.

Until she lost control and it all exploded like a Roman candle.