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The blades clashed in a burst of sparks.

Hobbles scrabbled free of the pile of his cousins at Adam’s feet and bolted across the ridge—or hurriedly staggered, rather. Scarface rolled over with a groan, and Ralph lurched to his feet.

Adam yanked his attention from the glowing sword fight to give Ralph another kick, wrenching the machete from his hand.

The hilt fell into his grip in a way that felt beautifully right. Adam smiled—and looked up to see Jacobs running toward him.

“Parry him!” Constance screamed at Neil as Julian made another swipe. “With the sword! You have to—oh bugger it, anyway.”

Constance let go of Ellie and ran toward them.

Julian swung again. The swords locked, and with an expert turn of his wrist, Julian ripped the scimitar from Neil’s grip. The ancient blade clattered to the ground.

Julian raised his flaming sword, his eyes flaring with anger and disdain. “You’re far more trouble than you’re worth, for a bloody scholar!”

He readied himself for a killing blow—and Constance hit him.

She twisted her hands in the back of his coat, shoving a boot between his legs. With a neat and practiced pivot, she swiveled her torso—and flipped Julian over her back.

Jacobs reached Gaps, who stood in the middle of the chaos looking utterly bewildered as he juggled a pair of rifles—his own and the one Adam had recently thrown into his face. Jacobs snatched one of the guns from his grip without so much as a hitch in his pace.

Time slowed. The rifle rose in Jacobs’ hands, moving with expert grace as he pivoted—turning to bring it to bear on Neil.

Adam felt the familiar slick grip of the machete in his hand and made a rapid calculation.

“Hell,” he bit out, and let the knife fly.

Jacobs caught the flashing movement of it out of the corner of his eye. He twisted with the reflexes of a cat, dodging the blade—and losing his shot. Before he could line it up again, Adam hit him like a train.

They both went down as Ellie shouted his name. Adam grabbed the rifle, his hand closing on the barrel where it lay pinned between them as they rolled across the ground. Jacobs wrenched at it, but Adam gritted his teeth and kept his hold—then slammed the heel of his other hand into Jacobs’ chin.

Jacobs’ head snapped back in what Adam knew from personal experience was a dizzying and damned painful blow, but his hold on the gun stayed firm. He shook off the hit, his eyes blazing with fury mere inches from Adam’s face.

Adam saw a cold calculation flicker through them, and Jacobs pulled the trigger.

The crack of the shot roared in Adam’s ear, deafening it. The barrel of the gun flared with heat, burning through the skin of his palm.

Adam roared with pain, forced to snatch his hand away.

Jacobs kicked loose. Adam went sprawling, and Jacobs swung the rifle around to point at Adam, where he lay on the ground.

Adam went still.

So did Jacobs.

By the entrance to the tomb, Julian staggered to his feet. Constance stood between him and Neil in a posture of martial readiness.

Julian’s eyes narrowed at her with furious outrage. “That’s it! This engagement is over!”

“We have never been engaged!” Constance shouted back, exasperated. “What will it take for you to get that through your thick head?”

Julian’s expression chilled, his mouth twisting with obvious viciousness. “This is far less civilized than the sword—but needs must.”

He whipped a pistol from his coat.

Behind Constance, Neil lunged across the ground. His hand closed around the hilt of Julian’s discarded sword.

He swung it up as he scrambled to his feet, pointing it at Julian by Constance’s side.