Instead, I looked back at the table.
The map was a mess of colored lines and sigils, but the focus was clear: Palo Duro Canyon, the “thinnest” spot in the veil between worlds. It was where the local tribes had said the spirits walked. Where the early settlers went mad with visions. Where tonight, we’d make our stand.
Archon lifted a hand, and all eyes turned to him.
“Maltraz is clever, but he cannot defeat unity,” he said, his voice echoing in the silent house. “There is power in purpose. In loyalty. In love. Let that be your shield.”
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then Bronc said, “Let’s do this.”
I took one last look at the map, tracing the red circle with my finger.
Brie, I thought. I’m coming.
The whole house moved at once, a living thing. Wolves loped out the door, witches whispered their last incantations, vampires melted into the dark. The angels followed, silent and certain.
I trailed after them, heart thumping, head clear and clean.
Menace grabbed my arm. “You see Maltraz, you don’t try to kill him. You can’t—not in that space. You focus on thetarget.”
Archon nodded. “If you linger, you risk more than your own soul. The longer you’re inside, the more the hellspace bends reality. That’s how Maltraz wins.”
Kazimir finally spoke, his accent rolling out smooth as silk. “You are brave, Gunner. But don’t let it blind you. Sometimes the deadliest traps are the ones that look most like home.”
I looked at him, and for the first time, saw the flicker of respect in those old, ancient eyes.
At dusk, the entire compound blurred into motion. Wolves and witches and the occasional vampire swept across the grounds with a purpose and an urgency I hadn’t seen since we moved against Greenbriar. I watched it all from the front porch, the last sliver of sun catching the glass in Bronc’s hand as he barked out orders. I could taste the battle in the air; copper and grit and the old, cold tang of fear dressed up as adrenaline.
The plan was simple, as all good suicide runs were: Get in. Get Brie. Get out before Maltraz realized we’d come to burn down his house. Bronc and Wrecker would drive the lead vehicle; I’d ride with them, Menace too, because apparently if you’re going to run headlong into hell, you might as well do it with royalty at your back. Doc and Big Papa took the second truck, with Arsenal and Aspen in their back seat. The rest followed. Juliet, Harper, Maddie, and Ms. Pearl stayed behind to manage the fallback.
Parker and Savannah were everywhere and nowhere, tailing the convoy in the tech van controlling the comms. Savannah drove while Parker parked her ass in the back of the van, where she was already streaming live feeds from several drones back to the house and to their location. Everyone had been given instructions to watch the screens for anything out of theordinary. “I don’t care if it’s a naked angel, or a tornado made out of bees. You report it,” Parker instructed.
I loaded up in the back of the Expedition, the seat already stinking of Wolf and sweat and gun oil. Wrecker sat in front of me, arms folded over his chest like he was riding to a picnic. Menace was next to me. His white-blonde hair spiked up, glowed in the dying light, and I caught a flicker of the scar on his jaw when he glanced over at me.
“You ready, Gunner?” he said, voice calm and lethal.
“I’m fucking getting my mate back,” I replied.
He smiled, sharp and clean. “That’s the spirit.”
Bronc led the convoy, his truck’s engine growling so loud it made my bones itch. In the mirror, I saw Arsenal’s truck, the man himself barely visible behind the wheel. Aspen sat in the back with Big Papa a look of pure murder on her face. I wondered what it would feel like to have two kinds of magic burning through your blood, but mostly I was grateful she’d be on our side when the gate opened.
We hit the highway hard; the sun melting down behind us and the road stretching flat and endless ahead. Every few miles, I saw another car, another piece of normal, and wondered if any of the humans had the slightest clue that monsters were at war just beyond the reach of their headlights.
The Palo Duro Canyon cut through the plains like an axe wound, the road falling away to a lip of orange and blood-red rock. I’d been here as a kid, back when my grandfather used to hunt jackrabbits and tell stories about “the old ones” who still walked the cliffs at night. Now the parking lot at the rim was empty except for our trucks, the air cold and sharp with the promise of a coming storm.
Bronc called a halt at the lot. I climbed out, boots crunching gravel, and took in the gathering. Everyone was already in position: Wrecker sweeping the perimeter with his eyes and his Glock; Arsenal and Aspen heads together, arguing over a battered duffel full of charms and medical gear; Dochunched over the hood of the truck, loading magazines with iron-tipped rounds while Big Papa said a prayer over the open box. Aspen and Oscar pressed sigils on the boxes of ammo so that should they hit their demonic targets only a gooey mess will be left. Disgusting, but effective.
Rafe pulled up in a midnight-blue Escalade that looked like it had never been dusted in its life. He brought with him a woman I recognized instantly as Gwen—pack witch, sorceress, and the only human alive who’d ever gotten Rafe to shut up for more than a minute. She walked in Arsenal’s shadow, eyes steady, lips pursed, the air around her faintly crackling with the promise of something arcane and deadly.
The angelic contingent made their entrance without a sound. Archon and his four Seraphim stepped from nothing onto the sand. They wore robes that seemed iridescent in the fading light, their faces so perfect it hurt to look at them for long. They stood at the edge of the parking lot, eyes turned to the canyon, hands folded as if waiting for a train. Their wings were folded, no flaming swords in sight; just presence. The kind that made everything else in the world seem a little less real.
They moved everyone to the mouth of the canyon. Archon spoke first, his voice rolling out like a choir in a stone cathedral. “This is as far as we go,” he said, raising his chin toward Bronc. “Dominion Law forbids us from crossing into hellspace unless the Creator specifically commands it. We will open the path and hold it, but what happens inside is your fight alone.”
Bronc nodded, grave. “We’re ready.”
Archon’s gold eyes fell on me. “Are you?”
