All of Mahon’s fur was gone now. Pus drenched his sides. The great bear of Atlanta spun and slapped the second plaguewalker’s head. The creature’s skull cracked, like a broken egg.

The third plaguewalker raised his hands. A stream of foul magic poured from it. The flesh on Mahon’s sides rotted away. Bone gaped through the holes. Oh my God.

The bear threw himself onto the last creature and missed, collapsing. I lunged between the plaguewalker and Mahon. The creature stared at me, its eyes glowing green dots on a rotting face.

I sliced. The plaguewalker flitted away, as if made of air.

The blood armor on my hands turned black. Bits of it began to chip away.

I thrust Sarrat into the plaguewalker’s chest and withdrew. Foul slime dripped off the blade. The creature seemed no worse for wear. I wasn’t doing enough damage.

Curran landed atop the plaguewalker and locked his hands on the creature’s shoulders. The plaguewalker shrieked. Curran’s hands blistered. He roared and tore the creature in half. The pieces of the plaguewalker’s body went flying.

The first corpse was re-forming.

“Curran!” I screamed, pointing with my sword.

He spun around. The first plaguewalker was rising like a zombie from a horror movie.

A white tiger landed next to us. Dali opened her mouth and roared. Magic emanated from her, sliding over me like an icy burst of clear water. The pieces of the plaguewalkers rose up, melting as if the air itself consumed them.

She purified them. Wow.

I dropped to the ground by Mahon. The Bear shrank into a man. The skin on his torso was missing. His hands and face were a mess of boils. Oh God. Oh my God.

Curran, still in warrior form, knelt and cradled the dying man.

Mahon saw him. His lips shook. He struggled to say something.

“Best . . . son. Best . . . could ever have.”

“Shut up,” Curran told him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Best . . .” Mahon whispered.

Nasrin knelt by Mahon, chanting.

Curran rose. His gaze fixed on my father’s chariot.

My father had to die.

“We take the shot!” I yelled at him.

He glared at me, his eyes pure gold.

“I’m on my land. I’m strongest here. We can end this now!”

A pale light slid over his body. He fell on all fours, growing larger. All traces of humanity vanished. Only lion remained, the biggest lion I had ever seen, woven from bone, flesh, and magic. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t an animal. He was a force, a creature, a thing that was beyond the understanding of nature’s human stepchildren.

I grabbed Curran’s mane and vaulted onto his back. He didn’t even notice. He charged across the battlefield toward the chariot and my father in it. We burst into the melee like a cannonball. He tore and bit. I sliced and cut, and we forced our way through the bodies, through the flesh and blood, closer and closer to my father.

He turned around.

He saw us coming.

Our gazes met.

Curran leapt, sailing above the mass of people. I raised Sarrat. We would end this here.

My father saw the promise of death in my eyes. In that fleeting instant he understood I knew we were bound and I didn’t care.

We landed in an empty chariot. My father had vanished.

Curran roared. I clamped my hands over my ears as the chariot beneath me shook.

He leapt off the chariot and raged across the battlefield and I raged with him until there was nobody left to kill.

EPILOGUE

“WHAT IS IN this flower crown?” Fiona sniffed the air.

“Smells odd, doesn’t it?” Andrea said.

“Good things,” Evdokia told her.

“She will thank us later.” Sienna winked at me.

I stood in a huge tent set up in the Five Hundred Acre wood, while Fiona, Andrea, and Julie put the final touches on my wedding outfit. The night had fallen, the magic was in full swing, and the tent was lit by bright golden globes Roman had found somewhere and set up. The light was warm and cheerful, the tent smelled of honeysuckle, and all my friends were here. For some odd reason I felt completely terrified.

The three witches of the Witch Oracle had come in to bring a flower crown woven of beautiful white flowers that looked like tiny tulips with pointed petals, and never left. Dali had come in for something and never left either. Desandra brought fruit and parked herself in the corner. Adora sat quietly by the entrance. I had a feeling she had decided to guard it. Martina, Ascanio’s mother, was munching on some pastries next to her.

The flap of the tent opened and Martha came in, followed by George.

Behind her Mahon’s voice roared. “I will have cider if I damn well please.”

Martha sighed. “The man is in a wheelchair. He lost half his weight. He’s bald like a cue ball and all he wants is his cider.”

“Let Dad have his cider,” George said. “He earned it.”

“He’ll be sick tonight, mark my words.”

George grinned. “Here, Kate, we brought you a glass of wine. For courage.”

Only three days had passed since the battle. I’d offered to postpone the wedding, but Curran insisted.

Martha walked up to me and patted my cheek. “You look beautiful. That boy has no idea how lucky he is.”

“I’m sorry. We should’ve waited.”

“No.” Something hot and angry flashed in the older woman’s eyes. “Don’t you dare be sorry. That man may have almost taken my husband from me, but he won’t take the joy out of my son’s wedding. We celebrate. That’s what Mahon wants and this is what I want.”