Notes: This chapter contains drug use for magical purposes. It should not be taken as a set of instructions on how to induce visions. I don't actually know what happens if you mix primrose, aconite, and salvia, but the real-world results are probably not what I've described here.

Also, thank you to peardita for pointing out where I'd fucked up my tenses.

Chapter Ten: "Siege"

Everything echoed. When he opened his eyes, there was light, but no shapes. No detail.

The last thing he remembered was the monastery in Lima, and the girl. The girl whose wounds knitted together and healed in seconds. The girl who wasn't a monster.

Cora.

The door opened. There was a vague impression of motion, and the sound of high heels on linoleum. A woman's voice, low and husky, said, "Dominic Gilday?"

He swallowed, throat dry, and said, "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," the woman replied. "You've been here for about a week, although you haven't exactly been lucid."

"Why can't I see anything?"

"You took a bullet to the back of your head," she said. "It damaged your occipital lobe. Your eyes still work, but they're sending information to a brain that can't process it."

Panic surged up into his throat, choking him. "Is... is it permanent?"

"Possibly. Possibly not."

The woman stepped closer.

"The events surrounding your injury are something of a mystery," she said. "The police have assumed it was a gang conflict, and you were caught in the crossfire."

He shook his head. "That's not what happened. There were... hunters, of some kind, and a girl, and—I don't think she was human."

"I believe you," the woman said, quiet, conspiratorial. "I think you saw something you can't explain. The universe, Mr. Gilday, is so much bigger and stranger than most people believe." After a moment, she added, "The police, however, won't believe you. It might be best to let them assume whatever they want."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not. This is just advice, from someone who's been where you are." She took a few steps back, heels clacking on the floor. "Go back to sleep. Once you've recovered, I'll find you again, and we can talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Saving the world."

The door closed again, leaving him in silence.

o

"Are all of you just going to lurk over my shoulder this whole meeting?" Stiles points at Isaac. "You. It's nine in the morning. Don't you have school? Why are you still here?"

"I thought we were allowed to skip because of the whole Ennis thing." Isaac looks at Derek. "Are we not doing that anymore?"

Derek says, "Go to school."

Isaac mutters under his breath and disappears up the stairs.

Stiles unmutes his microphone. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

The laptop's display keeps switching between Lydia Martin's face and a bunch of other people Cora doesn't recognize. And it sometimes takes a while for the video to catch up to the current speaker.

Right now, the name at the top of the screen is 'Rebecca Harlowe.' She says, "Basically, Dominic Gilday has dropped off the face of the earth. Nobody's seen him since yesterday afternoon. We staked out his house last night, but there's been no sign of him."

The video feed switches briefly to a guy in a motel room before it switches again, to Lydia. "The good news is, we know where he's going."

Stiles says, "You have an interesting definition of 'good news.'"

"We've got three field teams on the way," Harlowe says. "Two more will be ready to move by tomorrow."

"How long 'til they get here?"

The feed switches to an office where a woman on a ladder is replacing a row of fluorescent lights, but Harlowe's voice says, "Hard to say. The closest team is coming from Seattle."

There's a knock on the door.

Cora hears footsteps hurrying away, down the hall. By the time she reaches the door, they're gone. A parchment envelope lies on the floor by her feet, with 'Derek Hale' written across the front in sweeping, ostentatious cursive.

Derek comes up behind her. "Who was it?"

Cora picks up the envelope and hands it to him.

Derek breaks the seal. There's a single sheet of paper inside; he scans its contents and hands it to Cora.

To Derek Hale, Alpha of the Beacon Hills pack and heir of Lycaon:

Let this serve as official notice that I and my followers have entered your territory.

It is in both of our best interests to avoid open conflict. Therefore, I invite you to meet with me at Charron's, at 1:00 this afternoon. It is my hope that we may come to a mutually beneficial agreement, and avoid needless bloodshed.

Warmest Regards,

Deucalion

o

Lydia charges past the director's secretary and throws open the door to Heidingsfeld's office. "Deucalion is in Beacon Hills."

"I know," Heidingsfeld replies. "I just got an e-mail from everyone who was in that meeting. Sit down."

Lydia drops into the chair in front of the director's desk. He has his 'concerned boss' face on, which is never a good sign.

Heidingsfeld steeples his fingers in front of his mouth, sits there silently for a moment, then says, "I've just released Deucalion's identity and location to the FBI."

Lydia stands up again. "Director—"

"Sit down, Lydia." She sits, and Heidingsfeld continues, "They're prepared to send a task force after him, which we are definitely not."

"We've got people moving in now," Lydia protests. "We just need a little more time—"

"Lydia, we're a research institute. We don't have the resources to do this alone. Not anymore. Like it or not, this is how we operate now."

"Respectfully, Director, you're about to send an FBI task force to a town full of werewolves and supernatural malcontents," Lydia says. "This is not going to end well."

"Which is why I'm sending you and Harlowe in," Heidingsfeld says. "I need you to keep the situation in Beacon Hills under control."

"I can't guarantee success on that."

"Do what you can. There's an FBI agent here in Maryland who's been overseeing the Deucalion case. You'll accompany him to California and meet up with the SWAT team en route from Sacramento. Officially, you're there to provide them with any information they need and assist with the arrest."

"'Arrest'? They'll probably shoot him on sight."

"I'm aware of that," Heidingsfeld says. "Get a report ready. Try to leave out any references to spellbooks or werewolves. You leave tonight."

o

"This is a bad idea," Cora mutters. "This is such a bad idea, Derek. Why are you allowed to make decisions?"

Derek says, "I can't ignore a formal request to meet with the Alpha."

"Why not?"

"Historically, it's been considered just cause to declare war."

"Sending a cannibal Alpha here to kill me wasn't a declaration of war?"

"Deucalion obviously doesn't think so."

Charron's Restaurant shut down years ago, and the lot's been empty ever since. The windows are boarded up, and the building itself has started to list to the side.

Cora says, "You know this is a trap, right?"

"Yep."

They don't have the Codex with them. It's back at the loft, guarded by the rest of the pack. If something goes wrong—

Derek pauses outside the restaurant's front door. "Ready?"

Cora takes a deep breath. "Ready."

The door is unlocked. Derek pushes it open.

Marco's waiting for them, seated at one of the dusty tables. He grins, a lazy baring of fangs.

Derek says, "We're here to see Deucalion."

Marco levers himself out of the chair and disappears into the back room. After about a minute, another man emerges.

Cora says, "I know you."

The man settles into the seat Marco vacated. "Remember me now, do you?"

"You were the guy in the library," Cora says. "In Lima. I thought you died."

"I nearly did." The man—Dominic, Deucalion, whatever—gestures in Derek's general direction. "Do sit down, Derek. May I call you Derek?"

"If you have to," Derek replies, flat and cold. He sits across from Deucalion at the table. Cora stays standing and hangs back, near the door.

"I'm worried we may have started off on the wrong foot," Deucalion says.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you call sending Ennis here?"

"Ennis was a mistake," Deucalion says. "I acknowledge that. I understand you and your partner were both injured, and for that you have my apologies."

"I don't care about your apologies. What do you want?"

"An ally," Deucalion says. "I offered your sister a place at my side, and she refused. I'm hoping you'll be more practical."

Cora says, "You just want the Codex."

"The Codex Fabularum is a means to an end," Deucalion says. "Our world is bleeding to death, Derek. Your people have been hunted for so long that they're nearly extinct, and their inevitable destruction will be one of thousands."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Derek says. "You're also not the first person to use it as justification for murder."

"It's not murder, it's war." Deucalion puts his elbows on the table, leans in. "I'm trying to pull this world back from the precipice. To return it to its natural state."

"You're human," Derek says. "And you're... what, thirty-five? Forty? You have no idea what the world's 'natural state' looked like. You're trying to restore something that didn't exist."

"So I should stand by and do nothing? Like you?" Deucalion stands, hands on the table, pushing into Derek's space. "The blood of Lycaon runs in your veins, and you have squandered that potential, hiding in this insignificant little town. You could be the Wolf King, and instead you're nothing."

Derek pushes his chair back from the table and stands. "I think we're done here."

"Derek," Deucalion warns. "You don't want to be on the wrong side of history."

Without a word, Derek walks out.

The street outside is blanketed with a thick mist. Cora can barely see a foot in front of her face. She follows Derek down the street, as closely as she can, almost running to keep up.

"We're dead," she says.

"Not yet."

A high-pitched, animal giggle emanates from deep inside the fog.

Cora says, "Ever fought a crocotta before?"

"Nope."

"Think you can win?"

"We'll find out."

They duck down the side street where Derek parked his car. Cora looks back; there's a shadow in the mist at the mouth of the alley, and a pair of glowing, yellow-green eyes.

The sound of someone snapping their fingers echoes off the walls. In an instant, the mist condenses and freezes. A wall of ice forms, blocking the crocotta from sight.

The dissipating mist also reveals the figure standing at the other end of the street.

Cora stumbles to a halt. "Braeden?"

"Get in the car," Braeden says. "I don't know how long that ice wall's gonna hold up."

Marco yowls, and the wall of ice shudders as he slams into it.

Braeden adds, "Now, please."

o

"When I woke up and you were gone, I figured I'd find half of you in a shallow grave somewhere," Braeden says. "I'm glad I was wrong."

Braeden wanted to talk to Cora in private; in an apartment full of werewolves, that limited their options. So they're on the roof. Derek ordered the pack not to eavesdrop, but even that's no guarantee.

Cora says, "How'd you find me?"

"Deucalion's people came after me while I was in the hospital," Braeden says. "I started following them around. I was hoping they'd lead me to you, eventually."

"I'm sorry," Cora says. "I tried to contact you, but I couldn't—"

"Don't apologize for keeping yourself safe."

Cora sits on an air duct, opens her backpack, and pulls out the Codex. She hands it to Braeden. "Here. I stitched the last few pages in. It's finally finished."

Braeden opens the book, paging through. "Wow. Your stitching is way nicer than mine." After a moment, she snaps it shut and tries to hand it back to Cora.

Cora shakes her head. "Keep it. It's your damn project."

"It likes you better."

"It's not a dog."

Braeden laughs. "Not exactly, no. Can I show you something?"

"Sure?"

Braeden sits next to Cora and digs around in her own bag. She produces a vial of dark liquid with an oily, iridescent sheen.

"What is that?" Cora asks.

"Primrose, salvia divinorum, and processed aconite."

"Aconite?" Cora says, mildly alarmed. "Wolfsbane?"

"Processed wolfsbane," Braeden corrects. "It's practically non-toxic at this point, but it should slow your healing enough for the salvia to have an effect."

"... You want to get me high," Cora says, unimpressed.

"It's a shamanic high," Braeden says. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to. But there's something I think you should see, and this will help you see it."

Cora's gaze is drawn back to the vial. "How long will it last?"

"Five minutes, tops."

"... Okay," Cora says. "Show me."

Braeden hands her the vial. "You have to down it all at once," she says. "Try not to taste it, it's really terrible."

Cora pops the cork on the vial, tilts her head back, and tips the contents down her throat, closing her eyes and wincing at the burn.

When she opens her eyes again, she whispers, "Oh."

All the color in the world has fallen away, dimmed, but there's a bright arc of golden light rippling across the sky, and millions of tiny glowing threads crisscrossing everywhere she can see. One of them leads to Cora, curling under her ribs and twisting into a glowing knot, like a tiny star inside her heart, visible even through her clothes and skin and bones—

Braeden says, "You see it?"

"I... think so," Cora says. "What am I looking at?"

"Magic."

The thread around Cora's heart doesn't stop there. It winds away from her, down into the floor, pulled into an immense tangle at the center of four other lines: a burning red giant star.

Cora says, "Is that Derek?"

"It is," Braeden says. "An Alpha isn't the leader of the pack. He's its center."

She's part of Derek's pack. She'd hoped, but here it is, actual proof, it's real—

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

"Part of it," Braeden says. "Look at me."

There's no star inside Braeden's heart, no thread connecting her to the golden aurora in the sky. Braeden pulls a playing card out of her pocket—a King of Hearts—and holds it out so Cora can see. Then she mutters something under her breath and flicks the back of the card with her fingernail.

A thin line of light flashes down from the arc in the sky, like lightning, flowing through Braeden and into the card, which is now an Ace of Diamonds.

"Cards are easy," Braeden says. "If I wanted to turn a person into a sheep, I'd have to pull down a lot more power. If I wanted to turn a person into a sheep permanently, it would cost more power than I'm capable of pulling down."

Cora says, "You're not—"

"I'm not part of the system," Braeden says. "Most magicians aren't. Humans can't create magic. They can only consume it." She picks up the Codex. "Now, watch this."

She opens the book, and a hundred threads erupt from its pages, twisting around each other as they climb into the sky, eventually branching off and merging into the aurora above at a multitude of different points.

"Each and every one of the spells in this book is alive," Braeden says. "I don't know how, but they are. And that connection you're seeing, from the book to everything else? I've only seen one other creature with a lifeline like that, and it was a god."

The lights fade and disappear. Color bleeds back into the world. Cora shakes her head and blinks a few times. "I think it just wore off."

Braeden checks her watch. "Three minutes. Figures."

There's a noise from down in the parking lot. Cora peers over the edge of the roof and sees Scott's dirt bike pull in.

"Scott's here," Cora says. "I guess that means the meeting's about to start."

Braeden closes the book. "We'd better get down there."

o

"Playing keep-away with the Codex isn't going to work anymore," Braeden says. "Deucalion's too close."

Scott raises a hand. "Sorry, can we back up?" He points at Braeden. "Who are you? How do we know we can trust you?"

"I trust her," Cora says.

"Scott's got a point," Isaac says. "No offense, Braeden, but we know exactly two things about you: you're Cora's friend, and you're an expert on this Codex thing. That's kind of sketchy."

Braeden crosses her arms. "When I finally get around to writing my memoirs, I'll send you a copy."

"We don't have time to argue about this," Derek snaps. "If Cora trusts her, I trust her."

"As I was saying," Braeden continues. "If we try to sneak the Codex out of Beacon Hills, there's a good chance we'll be delivering it right into Deucalion's hands."

"It's a book, right?" Erica says. "This is going to sound fascist, but... can't we just destroy it?"

Braeden says, "That's not possible, either."

"Why not?"

Braeden sighs. "Who's got a lighter?"

Derek digs a Zippo out of his pocket and tosses it to her. Braeden picks up the Codex, sparks the lighter, and holds the flame up to the edge of the cover.

The flame brightens, grows, circles the Codex in a tight orbit and slingshots across the room. Everyone ducks as the ball of fire sails overhead and splashes against the wall.

"There goes my damage deposit," Derek mutters. Then, louder, he adds, "Don't do that again."

"It might be possible to destroy the Codex," Braeden says, "but the energy required to burn past the first layer of wards would glass Beacon Hills."

"Okay, I've got a question," Jackson says. "Deucalion's blind, right? So how's he gonna read a spellbook?"

"Oh my god," Boyd groans, and buries his face in his hands.

"It's not a bad question," Stiles says. "Well, no, it's a terrible question, but it raises an interesting point. It's not like the Codex is printed in Braille."

Scott says, "Maybe Deucalion has someone who'll read it for him."

Cora shakes her head. "I don't think he trusts anyone that much."

"Cora's right," Stiles says. "Deucalion's got this whole god-king-messiah thing going on. If he needs someone else to cast his super-powerful spells for him, what does that do to his image?"

"We can debate this later," Braeden says. "Deucalion will come for the Codex, and soon. Probably tonight."

"We've got help on the way," Stiles says. "Three Institute field teams, and Lydia's bringing the FBI."

Braeden says, "I've called for help, too, but I don't think any of it will be here in time."

Isaac says, "So... we're fucked?"

"Maybe not," Cora says. "Deucalion met us in an abandoned building. When he sent the crocotta after us, he used some kind of magical mist to make sure he wasn't seen." She nibbles her thumbnail, thinking. "He's hiding, even now. He won't attack by daylight."

"How is that relevant?" Jackson says. "Sunset's in a couple of hours."

Boyd says, "But we'll only have to hold out until morning."

Derek looks at Boyd. "What are you thinking?"

"We've got seven werewolves in the room," Boyd says. "This building is full of choke points. If we hold the right spots, we can keep Deucalion's guys out of the loft for hours. Maybe all night."

"Deucalion has a lot of very dangerous people working for him," Braeden says. "You could get hurt. Or dead."

"I can't order anyone to do this," Derek says. "If you want out..."

"Oh, hell no," Erica says. "This is some Helm's Deep shit right here. There's no way I'm missing it."

Boyd shrugs. "It was my idea, so I guess I can't bail out now." He nudges Erica with his shoulder. "Besides, somebody has to keep an eye on you people."

"I'll stick around," Isaac says. "Finding a new roommate would be a pain in the ass."

All three of them look at Jackson. He rolls his eyes. "Ugh, fine. I'm in."

"I'm staying," Scott says. "Deucalion's hurt a lot of people. I'm not gonna let him hurt any more."

Derek looks at Cora. She smiles at him, a quick little twitch at the corner of her lips, and nods.

"Okay," Stiles says, clapping his hands together and wincing when he hits the cast on his wrist. "I'll see if I can find the blueprints for this trash heap. We've got some planning to do."

o

Harley's waiting outside when Lydia arrives at the airfield.

"I just got a call from Stiles," Lydia says, as she climbs out of the car and retrieves her bag from the trunk. "Deucalion's moving tonight. We may not get there in time."

Harley replies, "Most people start with 'hello.'"

"Hello, Harley, how are you? Lovely weather we're having. Did you watch the Vikings premiere? Deucalion's about to kill nine people and steal an all-powerful spellbook."

"Point taken," Harley says. "The FBI guy's already here."

Lydia tucks a folder under her arm and slams the trunk shut. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"Me, neither." Harley leads the way into the hangar.

Their FBI contact is an absurdly tall man who reminds Lydia of a Roman legionnaire, or possibly an irritable bird of prey in a man-suit. He says, "You're the Institute team?"

"I'm Rebecca Harlowe," Harley says with a nod. "This is Lydia Martin."

Agent Man-Bird says, "How old are you?" like he's surprised they didn't trip over their umbilical cords on the way in.

Flatly, Lydia replies, "That's a little personal, Agent...?"

"McCall." He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. "Rafael McCall."

"'McCall'?" Lydia says. "Any family in Beacon Hills?"

"Pretty sure that's none of your business," McCall snaps.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were still asking unnecessarily invasive questions." Lydia hands the folder over. "This is for your team. Everything you need to know about Dominic Gilday, alias 'Deucalion.'"

McCall takes the folder and flips it open. "But not everything you know."

Harley crosses her arms. "Do I detect some interdepartmental hostility, Agent McCall?"

McCall glares down at the report. His jaw flexes, like he's grinding his teeth. "I'm less than enthusiastic about working with the agency that's been interfering with our investigation since day one."

"Technically," Harley says, "You've been interfering with our investigation."

McCall's glare switches targets. Lydia coughs and says, "How long until takeoff?"

"Half an hour," McCall says. "They're doing maintenance."

"Lovely. Excuse me."

Lydia strides off across the hangar, toward the open doors and the runway. After a moment, Harley follows.

"Jackass," Harley hisses.

"Ten minutes in and this is already a disaster," Lydia sighs. She gets her first look at the plan and stumbles to a halt. "That's our plane?"

Harley stops next to her. "That... is not a large plane."

"So," Lydia says, "when he said 'maintenance,' he meant 'they have to wind up the rubber bands in the propellers.'"

"We're going to die," Harley says, utterly serious. "This is the plane that killed Buddy Holly."

o

The sun is almost below the horizon.

Braeden stands in front of the big living room window, hands on her hips. "I don't like this."

Stiles unrolls several sets of blueprints onto the table, weighing the edges down with coffee mugs and what Cora suspects is a kidney in a jar. "What? The window?"

Braeden says, "Someone could get in this way."

"We're on the top floor," Stiles says. "Unless Deucalion has a horde of flying monkeys on his side, I think we'll be okay."

Braeden looks at him over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.

Anxious, Stiles says, "Oh god, don't tell me Deucalion actually has—"

"I'm gonna put up some wards." Braeden rummages in her bag until she finds a jar of paint and starts drawing runes on the glass with her fingers.

"Can we move this along?" Boyd says. "We're cutting it way too close as it is."

"Yeah, sorry. The library's on the other side of town." Stiles smooths out the papers on the table. "And Mrs. Laidlaw cornered me while I was using the photocopier. I had to chat about her hysterectomy for fifteen goddamn minutes. Okay." He pulls a marker out of his pocket and circles two points on the blueprint for the ground floor. "This building's a converted warehouse. Plenty of emergency exits, but there's only two ways into the building: the front door, and the door next to what used to be the loading docks."

Cora's curiosity gets the better of her. "Sorry, quick question. Is that a kidney?"

Everyone's attention switches to the jar.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "Stiles, I thought we agreed you weren't going to leave the kidney out where people can see it."

"I thought we agreed you were going to stop being such a princess about the kidney," Stiles replies.

Boyd clears his throat.

"Sorry," Stiles says. He hands Boyd the marker. "Go nuts."

Boyd starts marking off other points on the ground floor: narrow hallways, blind corners, forming paths to the building's two stairwells.

"We'll start here," Boyd says, indicating the front door and the loading docks. "If we can't hold the doors, we start falling back to the stairs. If we shut down the elevator, we can control the enemy's ascent to the top floor, keep them out of the loft until sunrise."

"We'll need to coordinate the retreat," Stiles says. "If one team falls back too fast, the other one's gonna get flanked."

"Which is why I brought these," Erica says. She drops her purse on the table and pulls out three military-grade handheld radios.

Scott says, "Why do you even have these?"

"I was looking for combat boots at the mall ninja store and they had walkie-talkies on sale," Erica says. "Figured they'd come in handy eventually."

All the werewolves fall silent at the same time.

"What?" Stiles says. "What's wrong?"

Cora says, "The elevator's moving."

Stiles does a quick head count. "... Crap."

The elevator stops. Cautious footsteps come down the hall.

Derek stalks to the front door and throws it open. Allison stands on the other side, hand raised to knock.

Through his teeth, Derek says, "What do you want?"

"I came to help," Allison says. "Deucalion's on his way here. And he's not alone."

"Don't let her in," Isaac yells from across the room.

Boyd says, "We can't afford to turn down help right now."

"She's a hunter," Isaac says. "Plus, she went crazy and killed a guy."

Stiles says, "If we're kicking out everybody who made poor life choices and hurt people, then Jackson needs to leave."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Is there not one fucking cheap shot you can pass up?"

Scott hasn't said anything. He can't seem to decide between staring at Allison and studiously ignoring her. Cora checks, and—yep, Allison's doing the same thing.

And then Braeden says, "Oh, shit." She turns around. "I think you all need to see this."

Cora rushes to the window and looks outside.

A thick, impenetrable mist rolls in, blanketing the parking lot and rising.

"He's here."

o

The fog makes the world feel so small. Cora shivers.

Derek, fully-shifted beside her, presses his shoulder against her leg. Cora reaches down and tangles her fingers in his fur.

Erica and Boyd stand on Derek's other side, holding hands so tightly that it has to hurt. Stiles took Scott, Isaac, Jackson, and Allison with him to cover the docks. Braeden's up in the loft, with the Codex. Just in case.

The mist swirls and parts, revealing three approaching figures: Deucalion, flanked on either side by Marco and Aveline.

Aveline has abandoned her glamor; her skin is gray and scaly, almost fishlike, and her eyes seem too big for the rest of her face.

They stop a few yards from the front door. Aveline leans over and whispers in Deucalion's ear.

"Derek," Deucalion says. "I take it you're in no mood to talk."

Derek growls, a low, drawn-out rumble that makes Cora want to whine and hide under the bed.

Deucalion sighs. "If you insist."

Aveline gestures with one hand, and the mist billows up, surrounding them. Deucalion steps back and disappears.

Thunder rolls overhead.

Marco drops to all fours and shifts. It isn't the slow, agonizing change of a werewolf; it happens in an instant, like a disguise has been whisked away.

He charges, and Derek meets him halfway. They collide, snapping and snarling.

Bodies emerge from the fog: elves, chimeras, creatures who look human but probably aren't. Too many to handle at once.

Cora feels the air move, and ducks as a blade scythes overhead. Aveline twirls the glaive and swings it at Cora's neck again. Cora deflects the blow and dodges back, closer to the door.

Something in her chest wrenches when she hears Derek's pained yelp.

Marco's trying to pin Derek to the ground, sprawled over his back, jaws clamped down on the join between Derek's arm and shoulder. Derek struggles, tries to rear up onto his hind legs, but Marco's too heavy and won't let go.

Aveline jabs the glaive at Cora's stomach. She grabs it, just behind the blade, and attempts to twist it out of Aveline's grip. Aveline hisses, revealing a mouth full of shark's teeth. She wrenches the glaive back; the butt of the stave cracks across Cora's cheek, knocking her to the ground.

Cora spots Boyd moving in to help Derek. It won't be enough.

She darts across the intervening space, hitting Marco's head at the same time Boyd slams into his flank. Marco yips, releasing Derek's shoulder, and all three of them go tumbling across the pavement.

Marco turns on them, snarling.

Boyd says, "Oh, fuck."

Derek surges up behind Marco, rolling him onto his back, pinning him. He gets his teeth around Marco's throat and rips it out with one sharp snap.

Aveline screams. The glaive sails through the air and buries itself in Derek's side.

Erica shouts, "Inside! Now!"

Boyd leaps to his feet, pulls Cora up with him. Derek's the last one through the door, and Erica slams it shut behind them.

"That should buy us a few minutes," she says.

Derek twists and whines, trying to pull the polearm out of his side.

Erica steps closer, says, "I got it, just hold still." She plants one foot on his hip, grabs the glaive with both hands, and yanks it out. "There."

Thunder rolls again, followed by a noise like a bell. The building shakes.

The radio clipped to Boyd's belt crackles.

"This is Braeden. Something just hit the wards I put over the window. I don't think they're gonna hold. Everybody needs to get back here!"

Derek looks at Cora and nods. Boyd says, "Get to the loft. We'll follow as fast as we can."

Cora sprints up the stairs, wishing they hadn't shut down the elevator. She's almost wheezing by the time she slides the loft door open and shuts it behind her.

Braeden backs away from the window, the Codex tucked under her arm. The runes painted on the glass glow a dull red.

"It's circling around for another hit," Braeden says. "We need to—"

A shadow passes over the glass. There's a blinding, fiery flash.

The window explodes inward.

o

She can't breathe. Her chest hurts. There's—something's on fire—she can't move—

Cora fumbles weakly at the long shard of glass speared through her chest. It won't move. It went through her, it's stuck into the floor—

Something's moving through the loft. Something massive.

Braeden's on the floor, on the other side of the room. Still breathing. No blood. Cora tries to call to her, but she can't get the air.

The Codex lies a few feet away. Cora reaches for it. Her fingertips brush the edge of the cover.

Hot breath washes over her. Cora looks up into a mouth full of teeth as long as her hand, flames flickering at the back of the throat.

"Move."

The wyrm closes its mouth and backs away.

Through the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision, Cora sees Deucalion walk out of the smoke.

"You should've considered my offer." Deucalion kneels, picks up the book, wipes ash off the cover. "You saved my life. I didn't want it to end like this."

Braeden stirs, struggles to her hands and knees.

Deucalion vanishes into the smoke. The darkness closes in.

"Goodbye, Cora."

Next: "Handbasket Express"