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Lisbeth, the technician from Ohio, nervously approached.

Through clenched teeth, Merritt forced, “She’s likely dead,” and peered at the fog, which billowed toward them far faster than any natural fog could move. It graced the tips of the island now, still growing. How much longer could they possibly have?

If Owein couldn’t stand up to Silas, which of them ever could?

“Hogwood.” Pankhurst spat the name like a curse and threw his pipe into the weeds, stomping on it hard enough to snap the wood. “Get inside, everyone. We need to prepare.”

“You don’t have the numbers.” Owein’s eyes were trained on the fog, their gray color hardened to steel. “Silas led your people on a wild-goose chase before circling back here. You need our help.”

Chill bumps ripened on Merritt’s skin. Squeezing his sobbing wife, he shut his eyes and reached out, deep and wide, the way the Druids in England had taught him. He sought to read not one great tree butthe presence of a million blades of grass and leaves of clover. His consciousness swept over them, too quickly to really hear what they said. Wisps ofwaterandnight?andeatgraced his awareness. He focused on those, stretching his spell farther, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the orders barked by the English lord.Water. Water? Night. Food. Still. Water. Bug. Water. Eat. Dark. Heavy—

His eyes snapped open, instantly severing his connection with the squashed blade of grass.Dark. Heavy.

Footfalls.

“He’s there,” Merritt croaked, releasing Hulda and pointing past the Babineaux house. South, and slightly west, of where they stood. “He’s coming fast.”

“Lord, help us.” Pankhurst’s hand trembled as he reached into his vest for a match. “Run.”

Lisbeth bolted right back into the Babineaux house, but Hulda ran for Whimbrel. Owein knew why immediately—Merritt owned firearms. The Babineauxs didn’t.

“Quickly!” Pankhurst hissed, ushering them in the same direction. It would be better to draw attention away from Lisbeth and Blightree. Owein pressed a hand to Fallon’s back, urging her after Hulda and Merritt.

He was halfway to Whimbrel House when a punch of air struck his back, sending him flying.

Owein landed hard on reeds and loam, skidding several feet on his shoulder. “Go!” he shouted to the Fernsbys, picking himself back up with empty hands.Emptyhands. He cursed. Lisbeth’s vial, the serum—where had it gone?

A figure clothed darkly from neck to toe approached from the west. Reaching into his pocket, Owein pulled out the grease pencil. Beforehe could use it, however, Fallon snatched his arm, trying to haul him to his feet.

He grabbed her elbow instead. “Go with Hulda. Protect her.”

“I can fight!” she protested.

“Huldacan’t,” he pleaded.

Fallon’s green eyes shifted back and forth between each of his own. Then, mercifully, she ran for Whimbrel House.

Silas called out something as he neared, but Owein didn’t understand it. Instead, with the pencil, he wrote on the inside of his forearm:

Kill Silas

The Man in Black

With Black-and-White Hair

He is Bad

Fight Him

He felt thewhooshof moving air to his left. Another kinetic spell. Not aimed at him, but at Hulda and Fallon. Owein surged to his feet, but not before Aster, the brave, stupid dog, bolted at the newcomer. Before she could get her teeth on him, Silas shoved her aside with another spell, earning ayipin response.

Owein thrust out discordant movement from his person, ripping up the island between himself and the stiff-legged Silas as chaos spun and tore. The man leapt to the side, landed on his feet, and sprinted toward him—

Wait, what?

Owein looked down at his arm.Kill Silas.

The confusion ebbed, and Owein bolted to meet him.