Don't throw up, don't throw up, had become my constant mantra as we navigated the mean streets of Chicago. Even with the police siren blaring, people were sometimes slow to move out of the way, forcing Murphy to juke to either side or jump curbs to avoid oncoming traffic. She'd let out a string of blistering curses, and a few of them were so creatively vulgar that I would have jotted them down for future use if I'd had the brainpower. But at this point, I wasn't even entirely sure I could hold a pen, let alone focus my eyes long enough to transcribe profanity.

"Left," Harry said, following the line of his pentacle necklace. I checked and, sure enough, it was straining to our left as if pulled by an invisible magnet. He'd wound coppery strands of Mercy's hair around the pentacle and held the cord loosely with two fingers.

"How far?" Dad asked.

"It's not an exact science," Harry said. "Somewhere close, though."

"So she's alive?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

I could almost hear the 'for now' but he had the good sense not to say it aloud. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the bulletproof window. Color streaked past in my periphery, the car moving too fast for me to get a good look at where we were. I got a sense of stolid uniformity from the houses on either side of the street. A residential neighborhood, maybe. Look at the demons, breaking stereotypes. I'd half-expected a dark, dingy warehouse or underground lair.

Murphy's police scanner popped and crackled, only occasionally spitting out intelligible words and numbers. Dad reached for the dial, turning it up as a garbled man's voice said, "Calling all available...we have...a 10-1...Wicker Park...priority one..."

"Fuck!" Murphy growled again, swinging around a corner at a speed that should have taken us up on two wheels. She narrowly avoided sideswiping a Subaru as it tried to enter the intersection. A blonde soccer mom poked her head out of her window and gave Murphy the finger. Murphy offered one in kind. Hers was more impressive. I had the feeling she'd practiced.

"What's a 10-1?" I asked, squeezing my eyes shut. The wail of the siren over my head felt like an entire brass section blaring directly into my ears.

"Police and fire unit call for emergency assistance," Dad said. "Priority one means the need is immediate assistance from any officers in the area not otherwise engaged. It can't wait for a rapid response team."

"The demon and its summoner?" Murphy checked, glancing at Harry in the rearview mirror. The few seconds cost her, and she had to brake suddenly as a fire engine came screaming through the next intersection, red and yellow lights strobing in time with the siren. It laid on the horn as Murphy came alongside it.

"Sounds about right," Harry said.

"All units to...Oakley Boulevard...an evacuation is...children trapped on the third floor..."

"It's the high school," I whispered. "I think it took her back to the library."

That felt relevant too, but when I tried to fish for the answer, more stars burst before my eyes. I ended up with my face buried between my knees, drawing in shallow breaths to stave off the insistent need to vomit. My hair and shirt were already stiff with the stuff. If I'd been less terrified, I'd have probably passed out. Only one thought kept my flagging eyelids from slamming shut. Mercy. The demons had a lock of my hair. If I closed my eyes now, I might never open them again.

My head jerked up when we hit the line of speed bumps just outside the schools. The traffic signals were flickering wildly, their circuitry going haywire under the press of magic in the air. I could feel it building over the school like a storm cloud, roiling with potential and the impatient urge to strike. Greasy black smoke poured from the windows and doorways, falling over the parking lot like a nebulous cloak. The lights of patrol cars and fire engines flickered inside the pall like lightning bugs, there and gone. Even the wail of the sirens sounded far away.

Murphy threw her car into park inches from the cloud, jerking us against our seatbelts. Then she was out, pacing toward the swirling black smoke. Dad cracked Harry's door and then he was out too, jogging a few steps to catch up to her retreating back. He dug in his coat pocket and produced a small globe. He tossed it underhand to Murphy. She caught it reflexively and frowned down at it.

"What's this?"

"It's complicated. Long story short, it's a focus. Smear a little blood on the surface to create a link. It will help you fight your way past any mind-altering effects of that stuff. It's strong enough for two." He gave Dad a significant look.

Dad shook his head. "No. They're my children, Harry. I'm not abandoning them. You have to stay close to protect Molly. I'll stay close to protect you."

Harry turned, apparently in too much of a hurry to argue. Then he looped an arm around my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing at all before throwing me over one shoulder. I would have been lying if I didn't say the casual display of strength was kind of hot. It would have been nice to be well enough to enjoy it. As it was, I could barely walk or keep my eyes open, let alone run and fight. My current battle strategy was 'sack of potatoes' and I was sticking to it.

"Where's the library?"

"First floor," I said, struggling to catch my breath. The air was thicker than normal, more liquid than air and so oily I choked. Harry could probably find it on his own with enough time, but with a curse bearing down on us, seconds were crucial. "By the rear fire exit down the hall from.." Another round of hacking coughs. "Principal's office."

"This way," Dad said, giving Harry a push in the right direction. "Follow me."

Dad broke into a dead sprint and Harry followed close behind, his long strides eating up the ground. The parking lines blurred into one continuous streak of yellow and black. Harry's shoulder was digging into me, pressing against my already queasy stomach. I doubted he'd appreciate it if I threw up on his leather duster, so I clamped my eyes and mouth shut as he ran.

I wasn't sure how long it took to round the building. Two minutes? Five? The thud of my heart was the only measure I had, and it was racing as fast as Harry. I didn't dare open my eyes until he slid to a stop. Then instantly regretted doing it when Dad pried open the fire exit. It felt like he'd thrown open a furnace door letting a condensed wave of heat blast into our faces. It dragged tears from my eyes. I couldn't breathe until Harry dropped to his knees and into the pocket of relatively cooler air near the floor. A sickly green light was pouring from the open library doors. A male voice was speaking in a rolling, liquid tongue that I couldn't understand, voice rising steadily to be heard over a high, keening scream.

"Mercy," I croaked.

I performed an ungainly roll when he set me down, coming to a stop on my side, back braced against the wall. The floor was feverishly warm and rolled beneath me, expanding and contracting like the beat of a giant's heart. Concentrated malice beat a tattoo against my brain. The thing was gleeful. Anticipatory. The time was almost here.

"Stay right here," Harry said quietly, fixing me with a hard stare. "No hero stuff."

I gave him a weak thumbs up. Heroism wasn't an option at the moment. I'd have to drag myself forward on my hands and knees, flopping on my belly like a worm as I tried to ride to the rescue. Wouldn't that just strike fear into the hearts of the damned? Maybe they'd condescend to shiver a little before stomping my head in.

Harry and Dad stayed on their knees, moving toward the open doors as quickly as they dared. Dad stood first, clutching a door to support himself with one hand, gripping his M9 tight in the other. Harry sprang to his feet more nimbly than my Dad, hiding his lean frame behind the other. At some signal I hadn't seen, they moved, Harry's staff blazing into brilliant light as they advanced together. He thrust it toward the unseen figures inside with a furious shout of, "Forzare!"

But instead of blasting Mr. Richards (or whatever lay on the other side of the doors) off it, his, or their feet, the spell hit a wall, rebounding back through the door. It hit Dad and Harry at almost the same moment, lifting them off their feet before slamming them hard against the concrete wall. Dad's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the ground, leaving a red trail as he slid down. Harry was a little luckier, turning in time to take the blow on his side, rather than the back of his head. It still snapped bones, and he crashed to earth, curling around whatever was broken. His eyes were unfocused and glassy with pain, fixed on a point just inside the doors. Mercy's screams grew even louder and more frantic as they fell.

Well, shit.

It looked like the heroism fell to me after all.