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“I’ll distract it. I’ll keep asking questions. But the metal pole—Fred, you need to bludgeon it. Victoria, Bellamy—you need weapons. Go find some.”

They hesitate, and then peel off from the group. But I watch as the harpy’s eye follows them, and then it launches from its place to circle the separated prey.

“Careful,” I call out to Bellamy, and then I lose sight of both them and the harpy, and have to run around a corner. Fred darts ahead, pole raised, and I hear her grunt and Victoria scream. The harpy’s talons wrench at a fistful of Victoria’s hair. There’s an awful tearing noise. Horrifying, like the scalp itself is peeling from the skull. Then a blow lands. There’s an affronted oof as Fred swings and the pole collides with the harpy’s belly. It lets go, squawking, and dives again. Victoria dodges ungracefully, sprawling in the dirt and rolling. Blood weeps from her scalp. Bellamy is screaming; it’s pandemonium, chaos. The harpy spins in the air, talons flexed; skin is caught, peeled, flayed from flesh. Bellamy howls as part of his forearm is ripped free.

Leo shoots from behind me, and everyone screams, then; the bullet goes wide, nearly hitting Silas.

I breathe deep and shout, “Quomodo huc mundo veneris?”

How did you come into this world? I demand an answer. I pray for it. The harpy pays me no mind. Fred swings wildly with the pole.

“Fera innaturalis, tibi praecipio ut audias!”

The insult gets its attention, so I hurl another. “Turpi femina!”

The harpy screeches and caws, furious, and turns all attention to me. I repeat my question: How did you come into this world?

The harpy looks at me, seething, hovering high and out of range of Fred and her weapon. It spits and moves to circle above me, unnaturally wide eyes focused on me at every turn.

The harpy screeches, mournful and twisted:

“Tractus sum huc.”

I have been drawn here.

“Ego sum Canis Iovis, spirita venti.”

I am the hound of Zeus, the spirit of the wind.

Then, with laughter, “Miasmam olfacio et merentos molesto.”

I smell miasma and torment those who deserve it.

“Inclusus sum hic, sed epulum datum est.”

I am trapped here, but given a feast.

I shake my head at it. “Cur non discedis?"

Why don’t you leave?

Something like a mournful wail sounds, a soft and distant cry that seems to echo from the opposite side of the greenhouse.

“Iuppiter me non audit.”

Zeus does not hear me.

“Sorores meae me non audiunt.”

My sisters do not hear me.

For a second, I feel sorry for it. And then it plunges for me. I am surprised by my own tranquillity as I watch the unnatural jaw open, sharp stained teeth bearing down on me. Thaddeus, in my mind, tells me to wait. To hold. Hold. Distantly, my heart pounds; throbbing in my chest, adrenaline swamping me. I go near blind with it.

Then: I move.

“Shield your eyes!” I call to the others.

Someone asks what—I have no time to answer. A second before those talons rip into my face, I drop to my knees with the sparker I’ve pulled from my pocket. I raise it. Click.