The split-second between the squeeze of the trigger and the shot was just enough time to throw my arm up to defend my face. Barely. I wasn't sure I'd have managed it without Lasciel there to aid me.

I didn't manage a large shield. Just enough to protect my head from the oncoming projectile. In the small space, the hundred little cross patees looked like stars bursting in my vision. The impact of the bullet knocked me back a step and I collided painfully with a pew. A nasty curse escaped me and I couldn't help but flick a guilty glance up at the stained glass Jesus again. Sorry for using your name like that J-Man.

Esme fired again, and this time I was ready for her. I ducked beneath the pew, holding my shield steady. The shot went wide, blowing a chunk the size of a kumquat out of the solid oak back. I had to grit my teeth hard against a sound of pain when a shard about an inch long lodged itself into my right shoulder and a dozen smaller splinters of wood sprayed into my neck and cheek like they'd been launched from a small but particularly cantankerous porcupine. I was lucky to have the shield up, or it would definitely have blinded me.

The shots sounded like cracks of thunder rolling through the sanctuary. I was really missing the spacious proportions of a cathedral right about now. At least there would be more objects to shelter behind, less chance of the shot hitting a wall and ricocheting to hit something or someone vital. This sanctuary was barely bigger than the Carpenter living room. It was like shooting fish in a barrel and I was the unlucky mackerel.

I grit my teeth and tried to come up with a plan. This was supposed to be my glorious ingress into the Fellowship of Saint Giles. If I couldn't complete this mission, I was pretty much useless to everybody. What I came up with was slapdash, and unfair to Esme, but it beat the hell out of crouching like a coward, just waiting to die.

Drawing upon some of the seemingly endless reserves of energy that Lasciel provided, I shoved a hand out, shouted a word, and upended the pew, sending it feet in the air and arcing down toward Esme's head. She had just enough time to see what was coming for her and shot at the thing in an almost comical attempt to knock it off course somehow, as though it was the only thing she could think to do.

The projectile hit, and there was a series of horrific crunching, grinding, and popping sounds, accompanied by the thick slide of meat and liquid within Esme's body as her organs shifted into new and unnatural cavities. I approached her warily and dared a look over the edge of the pew. I retreated quickly, bent double, and gagged.

Esme lay supine on the faux wood laminate flooring, eyes wide, mouth locked into the wide 'O" of a shocked scream. She'd never give voice to it, though. Her chest sagged beneath the end of the pew and, where it was not covered by the makeshift flying battering ram I'd flung at her, I saw white rib bone jutting through her designer blouse. She sucked in air little by little, but it was just a futile reflex at this point, the mind's feeble protest against the fact that the body was dying.

The sickly-sweet coppery tang of blood hung heavy in the air. Esme's legs jutted from beneath the pew in a way that might have looked cartoonish. She reminded me just a little of the Wicked Witch of the East, that unnamed, unloved character that Dorothy had crushed without remorse before the story had even gotten underway. Funny that the horror of that is never really mulled over. The thought that maybe, no matter how bad she may have been, no one deserved to die like that.

I just stood there, gawping like a moron for several stunned seconds. I hadn't meant for this to happen. I'd hoped it would distract her. Maybe break a bone or two if she couldn't leap out of the way in time. Something to give me enough time to make a break for the door without being shot at. I hadn't expected her to just stand there and do nothing to save herself.

I might have stayed fixed into useless immobility for a while longer if the wail of a police siren hadn't cut through the cushion of numb shock. The shots had attracted the attention of mortal police. I had to get out of here before they arrived. If I was detained there would be questions, none of which I had satisfactory answers to. Worse, if I were detained, it gave the Wardens ample opportunity to slay me. That meant I needed an escape fast.

I'd learned my lesson about leaping into the Nevernever willy nilly after my encounter with La Llorona. I couldn't leap through a way without knowing what was on the other side. Which left me one option.

Screwing my eyes shut, I reached over the edge of the pew toward Esme. I didn't want to see her, lifeless and still like a smashed porcelain doll, so I made my way by feel. In some ways, that was probably worse. Without my sight, it was hard to guess whether the viscous liquids my fingers trailed through were blood or something fouler. I found what I was looking for fifteen seconds later.

Esme's purse had been hiked up onto one narrow shoulder, and I tugged it off of her with some difficulty, stirring the contents within until keys rose to the surface. I clutched the key fob and sent up a fervent prayer that the Lexus wasn't going to give out on me after a few blocks. Then I sprinted back out the way I'd come, bursting into the chilly mid-morning air like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels.

My hands were shaking, coated in a thick layer of crimson. I scrubbed them off on the jeans, cursing myself for not having the foresight to wear something darker. I felt naked without my gear, shaken by the consequences of my forceful evocation. I stumbled a little when I reached the front yard, sliding on a slick patch of mud, pitching forward toward the ground.

That stumble probably saved my life. A streak of flame no bigger than a ballpoint pen streaked through the air where my head would have been just moments before. I spun just in time to see a group of three gray-cloaked figures come sprinting up the sidewalk toward me. The leader was a formidable-looking man with grisled brown hair. In that respect, he almost reminded me of my dad. He was solidly built, and also bearing a sword. But that was where the similarities ended.

I wasn't convinced this man had ever smiled in his life. The lines on his face leant to the impression of middle age, perhaps older, and every one of them was carved into his skin by a solid determination to be as miserable as possible. He wore a suit jacket and slacks beneath the gray warden's cloak, a combination that clashed and might have made me laugh if the sight of him weren't so incredibly terrifying.

The flame had come from one of the younger wardens that flanked him. The girl I recognized. Wizard Emory, who'd been flanking Warden Boyett during the Omni Hotel showdown. The other man was a little older than she was, Hispanic, and ruggedly handsome in a way. He flashed me a very small smile when our eyes met, but it evaporated the next second, almost as if it had never been.

I attempted once more to flee but got only about five steps before they struck.

There was no directive to stop, no offer of quick and painless death by these three. Perhaps that had been a one-time offer, or maybe it was just Boyett trying to save himself the effort of actually fighting me. Whatever the case, the leader of the little band had only to nod to the other two and they were in motion, moving to flank me. The Hispanic man on my left, the slight blonde on my right, with the grisled leader at the rear. They formed a crisp triangle, and I'd have to make it past the younger Wardens to make it to the Lexus.

"Catherine Lenhardt." The leader had a hint of gravel to his tone, though it lacked any sex appeal. It was just another layer of grit that added to his already terrifying aura. "I advise you to keep still. This need not be messy."

I bared my teeth at him, fury coiling tight low in my gut. The utter unfairness of the system still galled me. What gave them the right to play judge, jury, and executioner? They didn't know my life. They had no idea what had brought me here. And contrary to popular belief, the use of black magic hadn't made me a junkie. I wasn't turning into some sort of despot.

"Fuck off," I snarled.

The corner of his mouth lifted just the barest fraction as though my answer amused him. Then he was in motion, the strike of his sword fluid and graceful, despite the somewhat boxy proportions he sported. I raised a hand to counter the blow, shield springing into place.

Only for the sword to slice through it with a soft snick of sound, as though it had been made of saran wrap. I yelped, dancing back a step, leaning heavily into Lasciel's power to make me stronger and more agile. The sword's blade missed by mere inches.

"What the hell?" I thought furiously to Lasciel.

She shifted restlessly inside my head. "A Warden's silver sword is bespelled to negate all other enchantments. As well as being physically deadly, they are useful when facing magical foes. You cannot rely on your magic to win this battle."

My heart kicked up into a gallop. No magic? How the hell was I supposed to defeat these three without magic? I wasn't a warrior. Besides a few self-defense lessons with my father, I knew next to nothing about defending myself. Certainly not against trained killers like these. If I made it out alive, I'd need to address that oversight.

"You may still use magic, Molly. Just do not resort to direct attacks. Use your surroundings to your advantage. But first you must move. They are coming."

Our conversation had taken a fraction of a second. Communication with my Fallen was as instantaneous as thought. Convenient at times like these. During the moments I had while the grisled man recovered, I scanned the lawn. There was depressingly little to work with. Just a cross and a welcome sign planted in the front corner of the wilted lawn. On the other side, near the parking lot was a little border of cracked asphalt and gravel before the row of reserved parking signs.

It'd have to do.

I threw up a veil hard and fast. I knew the trick wouldn't last for more than ten or fifteen seconds if that. All three of them would have access to their sight, and be able to spy me, even though I was invisible to the naked eye. Which meant I had one shot at this.

I launched myself toward Emory, the smallest of the assembled Wardens and the nearest. She was blinking at the space I'd disappeared and then whipped her head around to see where I'd gone. It took her a few seconds to realize what I'd done and another second to open herself to her sight. And by then, it was too late. I rammed my shoulder into her hard, putting my entire body weight behind the blow, aiming for a football-style tackle.

Emory was better than that, of course. It knocked her back into the brick siding of the church and caused her to drop her silver sword, shaped into a slim katana, but it didn't take her off her feet or even injure her. She'd get her breath back soon enough. I stooped and retrieved the sword. It would be useful to have and wise to keep out of Emory's grasp.

Her sword in hand I sprinted for the Lexus. Shimmering into visibility about halfway there. I flung a hand out toward the lot and shouted, "Kaze!"

A gust of arctic wind picked up and swept in an arc over the parking lot, picking up several chunks of the loose asphalt. I flung the wind-bound projectiles behind me, not bothering to see where they landed. At least one of them impacted flesh, because there was another nasty snap of bone and then a low groan of pain.

I took off at a dead sprint, keys clutched tightly in one hand, the sword in the other. The hard plastic of the key fob bit into my palm, but I held onto it for dear life. That car was my only hope of escaping this alive, unless I wanted to chance another foray into the Nevernever. I'd do it, if that's what it came down to, but it would almost certainly force me to abandon my newfound comrades. I didn't imagine I'd be welcomed with open arms if I left them in the lurch.

A knife whizzed past my ear, and a quick glance back showed the Hispanic man with another in hand, ready to throw. The leader took one step forward and very calmly said a word. I couldn't' hear it. Didn't have to in order to understand its meaning well enough. The ground beneath my feet rolled and bunched like a rug. My footing slipped and I went down, face impacting the dirt so hard my teeth clacked together.

My heart went into palpitations as he surged forward, sword raised for a strike. I wasn't going to be fast enough on my own. I couldn't get to my feet fast enough. The blow had pretty much cleaned my clock. I'd list like a drunk if I stood now, and then he'd lop my head clean off.

"Tsuchi," I croaked.

And just like last time, a jut of rock punched out of the earth, faster this time without feet of water to impede it. It battered my ribs and knocked the breath out of my lungs. It had come up at an angle and launched me up into the air like the world's worst gymnast off of a springboard. It launched me the remaining feet and sent me crashing into the hood of the Lexus. The hood dented under my weight and I rolled and was a little disappointed I hadn't recovered enough of my bearings to make it a smooth motion like the one action stars did in the movies.

Instead I fell in a heap on the opposite side of the car, shielding from the Warden's gaze by the ton of metal. I jammed my finger down on the unlock button and it thankfully responded, locks shooting up with dull clunks. I scrambled into the driver's seat, pushed the keys into the ignition and spun the car around the lot in a screech of tires, tearing off down the road as fast as I could go. It couldn't hurt. I was already on the cop's radar, and I didn't see how this fustercluck could get any worse.

I barely paid attention to the streaky blur of color as I jetted down the streets toward the Cardenas house. Damn my magic. A cell phone would be really freaking useful right about now. I didn't have a sending stone, a radio, or hell, even a pair of rusty tin cans connected by string. No way to tell Hannah that things had gone so spectacularly wrong with Esme and that we needed to abort the mission before her cover was blown as well.

I slammed the breaks hard when I reached the Cardenas home and the car made a grinding sound of protest as I slammed it into park before the forward motion had even stopped. I was out the door moments later and running up the drive. The Cardenas home was a little cottage-style home with powder blue siding and a gabled roof. The place was pristine, not a detail out of place. Except for the Nissan SUV parked in front of the garage. Hannah had rented it in advance and had used it to drop me at the police precinct. They were here, thank God.

The door swung open as soon as I knocked and Hannah appeared in the doorway, flanked by Nixon. A little slice of the neat living room was visible beyond them. John and Penelope were secured with zip ties, tape slapped over their mouths and they were being closely guarded by Salem.

"Where have you been?" she asked testily. "And where's the social worker?"

"Dead," I panted and shoved my way past them into the living room. It was spacious, done up in whites and grays, giving it a tidy. modest feel. "She was a practitioner and guessed I was coming for her. She shot at me. I'm just lucky to be alive. The wardens showed up ahead of schedule and then I participated in a police chase. Let's get this information and skedaddle. We're going to have to try this again somewhere with fewer practitioners, I think."

Hannah's breath came out half-sigh and half-groan. "You don't do things by half-measures, do you Lenhardt?"

I didn't answer. I was shaken and growing weary. I needed to do this before I lost steam. Could things go right for me, just once? Was that too much to ask? How was it possible that the universal odds kept rolling snake eyes where I was concerned?

I stalked over to the pair on the couch, eyes bouncing from one to the other before I finally settled on Penelope. I hunkered down in front of her, grimacing when she flinched away from my extended hand. I got a firm grip on her chin and forced her to look into my eyes. Hers were a light hazel that offset her light golden tan and her sleek black hair.

Then the soulgaze began.

Penelope Cardenas's mind was a rat trap apartment crawling with vermin. A real place, once upon a time where she'd suffered hunger and the fear of a parent who had more love for a bottle than for her. She'd grown up poor, feared neglect, hunger, and poverty more than anything else. Was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to never return to it. I might have pitied her, once upon a time. I didn't have that luxury any longer.

I reached deeper, groping into her mind for the information I sought. I knew how to employ a more delicate hand than this. Psychomancy was a subtle art and I knew I could be good at given time. My magic leaned toward the finer-tuned parts of magic already. But there was no time now. It was only a matter of time before someone came for us. Police magical or mundane would arrive soon enough. What I was about to do to Penelope was like taking a melon baller to her brain.

I registered her cries of pain dully as I scraped the answer from a hidden vault. Baron Roscoe Alnwick normally resided in an underground club located in the downtown of Boise. Known by only by a certain type of client, it was like an undead hotel and gourmet restaurant rolled into one. We'd find him there, in the secure living quarters, sheltering behind a phalanx of guards.

"Got it," I muttered. "Let's go."

I turned away, cringing at the knowledge of what would happen next. Penelope and John would die. Cyanide was a quick and agonizing end. Something they deserved. But that didn't mean I liked it.

Salem leaned forward, about to insert a needle into the crook of John's elbow. Penelope was making soft sounds of pain through her gag. I focused very hard on anything else. Like the shapes moving on the sidewalk outside. Then alarm flashed through me as said shapes turned the corner and strode into the yard. The alarm morphed into full-blown terror as the shape simply shattered the door and waltzed in, shedding the pretense of white middle-aged man, transforming into a slimy, flabby thing with rubbery black skin, a batlike face, and a maw of sharp teeth. I knew what it must be, though I'd never seen one in person. Penelope must have gotten a message to her vampire master before being captured.

The thing was joined by four more, quickly outnumbering us. I knew I shouldn't have tempted fate. Things could always get worse.

The vampires charged.