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“Clearly you haven’t seen Sleeping Beauty. Besides, I’m not interested in putting an entire island to sleep—only you.”

“I’m ready for him, Maya,” Harriet yelled.

And I was doing my best to get him there, but the stubborn werewolf stood his ground.

“You know the old saying about horses, don’t you, Maya? You can lead him to water, but you can’t make him participate in a ritual.”

“What if I throw in a free pitcher of beer?”

The werewolf was unamused. He lurched forward and wrapped both hands around my head, like the claw that extracts a toy from the machine.

“Submit,” he growled.

Pain detonated inside my skull.

I staggered, dropping the glaive and the sword. Even strapped to my body, my other weapons felt miles away. Keith was in my head—prying, searching for doubt, fear, the soft mortal parts that would allow his god’s blood entry.

I dropped to one knee.

No.

I forced my thoughts into a blade. Narrow. Sharp. Mine.

He pushed harder. My vision blurred.

Then cool fingers brushed my jaw.

Keith.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

I did.

It was like looking directly into the sun. It burned.

From the darkness, a long fiery object arced through the air and slammed into Keith’s shoulder.

The werewolf’s grip slipped for half a heartbeat.

It was enough.

I surged up, drawing the smallest weapon in my possession—a thin, delicate blade. No flourish. No warning.

The blade took him clean through the eye.

His hold shattered like ice dropped on marble. The pressure in my skull dissipated.

Keith howled, covering his eye as blood spilled from the wound. “You’re going to regret that,” he snarled.

“If you hope to do this ritual,” Harriet called, “you need to either subdue his sorry ass or knock him unconscious.”

Keith wiped the blood from his eye. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“I would love to, but murder is apparently against the rules and regulations.” From behind him, Meemaw swung the handle of her broomstick and made contact with his skull. The wood split in two.

“Well, shit,” the crone said, staring at the splintered broomstick.

“Take care of her,” Keith said to no one in particular.