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Shifting right, Westvane met the on-coming assault. Black wings slammed into tawny ones. Fists pummeled. The smell of blood rolled up the hallway.

Avoiding the fray, Truly backtracked as the guys fought, searching for an opening. Priestly’s back was to her. His wings acted as a barrier, protecting him from a rear assault, but…

Maybe if she tripped him, Westvane would get the upper hand.

The brawl couldn’t go on, although… Truly frowned at Westvane… he certainly looked like he was enjoying beating the crap of out Priestly. Though, even backpedaling, the Electi continued to hold his own, getting his own licks in against an opponent who out-matched him in size and strength.

Westvane drove his rival across the entryway.

Blood running from a cut over his eye, Priestly slammed into side of the staircase.

The chandelier rocked, swinging overhead.

Truly searched the side table for a weapon.

She grabbed the base of a heavy lamp. Ripping the shade off, she raised it like a club, waiting for her chance, timing her attack and —

A streak of white blew past her. A clang rose above the cacophony of fighting. Priestly’s head lolled on his shoulders. An instant later, he hit the floor.

Shocked, Truly stared at Earl.

“What the hell, girl?”

“Ah…”

Chef hat askew, he pointed the cast iron skillet he’d slammed into the back of Priestly’s skull at her. “Bringing a strange Electi home! Are you insane?”

“Excellent question,” Westvane said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

Her brows popped up. “How is this my fault? I told you to leave him there.”

“You told me not to kill him,” Westvane said, correcting her.

“Leaving him there was implied.”

He scoffed.

“Great, just great. One of the queen’s guard in Earth Realm — total disaster,” she snapped, tempted to toss Priestly out of her house, back into theEcotone, knowing she couldn’t. The Electi would wreak havoc in there. Ruin the peace. Obliterate the quiet. Though, maybe the sea serpents would cooperate and eat the idiot. Jamming her hands onto her hips, she scowled at Westvane. “What are we supposed to do with him now?”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to suggest torture.

“I swear,” Earl said, cutting him off, glaring at her. “Trouble. Nothing but trouble… that’s what the two of you are.”

Shades of Montrose.

Truly stifled the urge to laugh. The gargoyle would’ve scolded her, too. Although with a few more foul words inserted into the lecture. And as ever, she would’ve ignored the gargoyle’s reprimand, just as she intended to disregard Earl’s.

Staring down at an unconscious Priestly, she nudged him with her foot. “Seriously, though — what we going to do with him?”

Finding a secure place to keep him came to mind. Locking him down seemed the best strategy. The Wendigo had taught her a few things. Westvane had added to her lessons. Allowing a lethal warrior with magical abilities free rein inside her house — and Philadelphia — would end in disaster.

“Well?” she asked, picking a broken plume off the floor. “Any bright ideas?”

“Other than killing him?”

“Next,” Truly said, tone sharp. “Think of something else.”

Amusement in his eyes, Westvane shrugged. “It’s your house, princess. Your plan.”