The shock of my sudden submersion knocked a stream of cloudy brown bubbles from me, and I watched them spiral to the retreating surface for a confused second before what was happening really registered. Something was dragging me toward the bottom and since the Nevernever was fae territory, I could only assume its intentions were far from benign. This certainly didn't look like Summer territory.

My mind spun slowly like a lazy susan, too fried by my recent confrontation and sudden drop into marshland to do anything quickly. I had no idea what had a hold on me or how to stop it from dragging me further down. I had to do something. The surface was retreating with every passing second. But what could I do? If I released my grip on Anna, she was done for.

Oh God, she was still unconscious. In all likelihood, she was already drowning. Shit. Shit, what could I do?

"What's got a hold of us, Lasciel?" I hissed in her general mental direction.

"There are many species of water fae," Lasciel mused. "But judging from the location and the fact it has opposable thumbs I doubt it is a selkie, kelpie or a nokken. I'd say you're likely dealing with a hinkypunk or a grindylow."

"Just great. How do I get loose?"

My lungs were beginning to burn and the pressure of the black water gripped every limb like a vice. Anna went completely limp in my arms and I got the sense she wasn't breathing any longer. No, no, no! We'd come too far for this to be the end of her.

"There are individual methods, of course. But to harm it in any significant way you'll need the bane."

"The bane?"

"The fae detest cold iron. Employ it against them."

Great. Just fucking great. I was fresh out of iron.

Wait. That was a lie. I still had the chain curled into my pocket, along with my wands. I just had to get the little bugger where I could see him before I could employ it. I groped for my wands, pulling them free. I directed the tip of one downwards.

"I'm almost wiped, Lasciel. Give me a boost?"

"But of course," she purred. "I am ready when you are, my host."

I expelled the last few bubbles of air in my chest and muttered an incantation. It was lost in a stream of bubbles but still did its job. Unseen force lashed out of the tip of my wand. Every rune on its surface glowed a vivid red-orange as Lasciel's hellfire doubled the force of the spell, propelling me upward at dizzying speed.

My head cleared the water seconds later and I gulped in the air gratefully. Anna's head lolled against my shoulder, dark hair plastered to her face, a marshy water plant curled like a noose around her neck. I tucked my wand between my teeth for a precious second and cleared the plant. It didn't help a damn thing. She was immobile, as silent and still as a stone.

I had to get her onto dry land. She needed CPR. Right now no oxygen was flowing to her brain. I had five minutes at most before irreparable brain damage occurred. She could wake up a vegetable if I didn't get her help soon.

I spun in a thrashing circle, looking desperately for any place I could lay her flat. I found my answer about ten feet away. The overturned hull of a ship bobbed sluggishly in the water.

Another long-fingered hand grabbed for my ankle as I tried to move toward it. I hissed another word at the hinkypunk, blasting the creature back to the depths. The water displacement aided me, pushing me five feet closer to my goal. The smell of sulfur hung thick in the air, increasing the thick fug already hanging over this place.

My arms shook with the effort of lifting Anna's dead weight onto the hull of the ship. It rolled and threatened to deposit her back into the water at a moment's notice. I didn't dare climb up after her. What could I do? Think, Molly, think.

"Move aside, my host," Lasciel murmured into my ear.

"No," I snapped back automatically. I'd done it once before and it had horrific consequences. I couldn't let the Fallen have more leverage over me than she already had.

"Time is of the essence, Molly. If you want her to survive you will have to trust me."

Trust her? A Fallen? If someone had told me last year I'd be facing this moral dilemma I'd have laughed them right out of town. Now the question has been posed to me in all seriousness. Can I trust Lasciel? Probably not. But did I have a choice? Not really.

Keen desperation tipped the scales in her favor and I nodded. "Do it. Save her."

The second Lasciel had my consent I was shoved aside, her immense, thrumming presence bypassing me easily. It felt a lot like childhood when Daniel and I would squabble over toys. At one point he'd shoved me from the front of a toy car and slid into the driver's seat instead. It's like that but on a grander scale.

My hands moved without my direction and magic pulsed through me, hot and wild, a more concentrated form of what I'd been doing before. I could see the thoughts taking shape in my head, the complexity of the spell that Lasciel was forming. I knew that I'd never have been able to do it. Not now, when I was tired, scared, and battered. Probably not for years to come, when I had a finer grasp on magic.

The human body is sixty percent water, on average. It's in our blood, our muscles, our skin, our brain, and our heart. It was theoretically possible to draw all that moisture out, yank it free by magic. It was dark, forbidden stuff for a reason but possible if you had the right amount of power. Lasciel was focusing on just one portion of Anna's body, on the water that filled her lungs like a pitcher. It was tricky work to isolate only that water. More than that, to leave enough moisture in Anna's lungs to let them function properly afterward.

It took concentration to do it and she ceded just enough control to me to allow us to work in concert. I kicked at all hinkypunks who approached with the heel of one combat boot when they tried to come near while Lasciel performed her spell. She didn't need words. Lasciel's magic was far beyond incantations, at this point. It only ever was an aid to a mortal wizard to rely on words. Magic was intent and intent was in the mind.

I watch in stunned silence as Lasciel drew water from Anna's lungs. It arced out of her in a brown gout of liquid and the second it was gone, Lasciel slammed a hand down onto Anna's chest, releasing force in tiny, controlled bursts. Magic CPR without all the energetic thrusting of compressions. Control like that was almost inhuman. If it had been Harry or me trying it, Anna would have ended up lodged halfway through the deck.

I almost sobbed in relief when Anna's body bucked and she drew in a spluttering breath. Her eyelids fluttered, though they didn't open. She was alive. Still unconscious, but alive. Thank God.

"He had nothing to do with it," Lasciel grouched.

"Thank you, Lasciel," I whispered, for the first time completely sincere with the Fallen since we'd met.

The hinkypunks had stopped advancing. Either they were scared of me or just waiting for the opportune moment to strike. I was betting on the latter.

She didn't acknowledge my gratitude. I could feel her tensed in the back of my mind, picking up on something my conscious brain had yet to register. I went still as well, straining my ears over my own locomotion through the water.

For a few seconds, all is still. And then it began. A soft, keening wail. The sound of utter despair saturated the air so that it was almost leaden, the grief bearing down on me like a physical weight.

The sound raised every hair on the back of my neck. It carried out over the water and I scanned my surroundings again. Amongst the bobbing orbs in the distance, a shape moved. Tall, humanoid, and unmistakably female. She moved with slow grace, her white gown trailing in the water behind her. She didn't seem to notice the filth clinging to her. She kept her face buried in her hands. The wailing continued, growing louder. Great, hiccuping sobs that drew involuntary tears from my eyes. She was hurting. Hurting so much. I had to help her.

Lasciel gave me the mental equivalent of a slap, manipulating my senses so there was a bit of physical sensation as well. The smarting pain cleared my head just enough to let me think.

"It's a psychic attack, my host. Keep that mind and it will be less likely to deceive you."

The woman was nearer now. Dark, bedraggled hair fell around her face in stringy lines. Her white gown was filthy. And now that the overpowering grief had abated, I could feel the malevolence rolling off her in a wave of pure, nauseating force. She raised her head from her hands at last, eyes focusing on me through the veil she wore. They were dark and fathomless and red-rimmed from crying.

"Shroud," Lasciel corrected me. "She is wearing her funeral garb."

My heart dropped into my stomach. I don't need Lasciel's conformation a second later to know who I was facing and just how screwed I was. Because I knew this tale. Heard it in ghost stories from friends and in late-night specials on TV, when all illicit viewing occurred at the Carpenter House.

"La Llorona."