Power pulsed through her, around her, in those hushed moments before light broke the dark. She saw it in her mind’s eye, the troops poised, positioned strategically around Central Park. The warriors crouched in other parts of the city, ready to block, to cut down any who tried to break through the lines.

They held, the men, women, witches, warriors, elves, faeries, shifters, all who’d fought for weeks for a city smothered in black magicks. All who’d fought to bring the light back.

Like the statue of Prometheus, she thought, this city could, and would, shine again.

As the light blinked through the haze in the east, through the towers that stood even after two decades of war, she drew her sword, set it to flame.

Saw the answering flame of Duncan’s, the tipped fire of Tonia’s arrow, the surge of light from every direction. At that signal, she pointed her sword east, pulled light from the burgeoning sun.

Day burst like a bomb.

And they charged.

They rooted the enemy from burrows, flushed them from trees, drove them in so her northern troops broke through to take more ground.

Swords slashed, magicks clashed over ground, melting snow turned into a bog that sucked greedily at boot and hoof.

PWs who hadn’t escaped the city, who she knew were now used as DU fodder, ran in panic to be attacked by both sides. Taibhse swooped, tore strips from a panther shifter as Faol Ban joined to fight off a pack of wolf shifters. Through the scream of crows ripped the screams of men, so the melting snow ran red.

She took Laoch into a steep climb, rising into wind that whirled with those clashing magicks. She sliced through the wings of a dark faerie, sent her spiraling to the ground. Below she saw the ground shake under a platoon of her men, and hurled fireballs at the clutch of Dark Uncanny who worked to open the earth beneath them.

She wheeled Laoch in midair, saw that Vivienne’s commander kept his word. His troops surged in from the north, trapping the enemy between walls of warriors.

Diving east she fought with her father, pumping power and flame against the hail of black lightning. It sizzled to the ground, scorched.

“Drive them in,” she shouted, ignoring the enemy who fled. They would meet yet another wall in Troy’s battalion.

“Keep the heat on,” Simon shouted back. “We’ve got this.”

Trusting he did, she galloped south.

She joined with Will, then Starr, pushed through to Poe in time to help fight off an attack led by the blur of rushing elves, a rain of arrows. She swept them back, sent them tumbling in a whirlwind.

“Fast fuckers.” Poe swiped at the mud on his face.

“You’re bleeding.”

His breath came fast, but he shook his head, flexed his impressive biceps. “Just the meat.”

In answer Fallon leaned over, pressed a hand to his arm to close the wound. “Drive them in.”

“You got it, boss.”

She raced toward Mick’s troops, and charged a Dark Uncanny as he flashed lightning from his hands. Laoch impaled him on his horn, shook him off.

“We’ve got some wounded,” he called to her.

“Medics and reinforcements are on the way.” She pivoted to strike out at the next attacker, then streaked to Tonia. “Mick needs some help.”

Gripping Fallon’s hand, Tonia swung up with her. “Let’s take a ride.”

They flew up, circled. Tonia’s arrows flashed down, finding mark after mark. “Like old times,” she said.

“There, Travis is moving in to back Mick up. Drive them in,” Fallon ordered. “Drive them in.”

“Meda and her horsemen—women—are sure as hell doing just that. Jesus, Mallick and Duncan have merged, and they’re kicking ass. Drop me off that way. I want in.”

Tonia leaped down onto an outcropping of rock, arrow already nocked, then flying into the belly of a tiger.

Through the mud and the blood, the scorching flames, the cutting wind, they fought, pushing, pushing the enemy inward, closing in around them like the walls of a well.

She saw the spread, the rise of black wings, felt the streak of power slap the air. For a stunned moment she thought: Eric. But she’d buried the ashes of her uncle herself, had salted the earth over them.

Still, she sent Laoch in pursuit.

Up, up, high above the city, beyond the crows that screamed, he turned.

No, not Eric, but every bit as twisted and dark.

He smiled, lips curving in a face as handsome and smooth as a carved angel’s. She realized almost too late he’d drawn her away, isolated her.

When he threw the first strike of lightning at her, she blocked it with her shield and pivoted to stream flame from her sword at the attacker who’d swooped in on her flank.

He swept away the fire as a third charged in.

She thought of Mallick’s ghosts, wondered why neither of them had thought to practice in midair.

They combined power, heaved it toward her. She dived, felt the heat of it blow past her—and felt Laoch’s quick start of pain. But he never faltered, streaking up, wheeling as she slashed out, caught a wing, followed through with a gale that tumbled the wounded one into the second.

As they flailed, she blocked a blow from the first, pushed back.

They regrouped, the handsome one, the wounded one, a female with dozens of flying black braids. She steadied Laoch for the next attack.

Duncan’s voice sounded in her head. Make room.

“No, don’t—”

But he flashed behind her, sliced his sword so the flame from it lashed out like a whip. It struck the one she’d wounded, seemed to curl around him as he shrieked. The fire simply enfolded him, left a trail of bitter smoke as he fell.

“Which one do you want?” Duncan asked her.

“The male. Son of a bitch.”

She lashed out, again and again. A strike, a block, a sweep of power. He had more than he should—who knew what bargain he’d made with some devil to increase his power.

“We’re wasting time. Give me your hand,” she ordered.

“Busy here.”

“Your hand!”

She reached back, gripped it. Light sparked from the joining, power meeting, merging. With it, she threw what she had at the dark angel, felt Duncan loose his own.

That power cut through them like glass. They didn’t shriek. They made no sound at all as they fell.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. You are.”

She didn’t feel the pain until he pressed a hand to her hip to heal the slice and burn.

“Easy,” she snapped. “Go slow. Laoch is burned—left hind leg. I need to get him down, tend to him.”

Duncan shifted, looked down and back. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

“He’s hurting.”

She took him down slowly, started to search for the safest spot so she could see to him. “Duncan.”

“Yeah, I see. Down’s a good place to be. We’ve got what’s left of them trapped, just the way we lined it up.”

She landed softly, slid off.

“I’ve got him,” Duncan told her. “I’ll fix him up. You finish this.”

“All right.” She stroked a hand over Laoch, then moved through the thick circle of her troops.

There couldn’t have been more than a hundred left inside that circle. So many more lay dead, dying, or wounded on the ground. A coven of witches ringed the circle, forming a shield against any dark magicks the vanquished might attempt.

Fallon stepped through them as well. She lifted her sword with one hand, her shield with the other.

She pulled power, more power, from the streaks of sun that burned through the haze.

“Feel the light entwine you. Know the light will bind you. Your powers I here block and on them close the lock.”

She waited a beat, and the coven added their voices to hers.

“The net around you, one and all, holds tight. Restrained, rebuked dark powers by the light. For you have chosen this destiny. As we will, so mote it be.”

She turned to Troy. “You’re unharmed.”

“Yes. And you?”

“Close enough. You know where to take them.”

“We do. The evil in them remains even if their powers are locked.” Almost casually, Troy flipped back her long spill of hair. “They’ll likely kill each other before they’re done.”

“Their choice. The island we chose can sustain them, or be their graveyard. It’s all a choice.”

She turned away to check on Laoch. Mick fell into step beside her.

“We could both use a dip in the faerie pool about now.”

She looked at him, herself, both coated with mud, streaked with blood, smeared with soot. “The faeries will have our asses if we washed this much away in their pond.”

“That’s a point. You had me worried up there.”

She rubbed a hand on his cheek, smearing more mud. “I’m down here now.”

He smeared mud back, grinned at her. “I didn’t know you could do that. You know, lock up the dark magicks.”

“We couldn’t have if you hadn’t cut down their numbers, gotten them cornered. And if we didn’t have a full coven ready with the incantation.”

She closed her eyes, breathed. “We took back New York, Mick.”

“Sure as hell did. I’m going to go find my dad. Gonna clean up, drink a bunch of faerie wine.”

“I’m right there with you.”

He did a backflip, a series of tumbles that made her laugh.

And on the final spring, the bolt struck him. In the back, and through to the heart. He fell like a stone on the boggy ground of battle.

“No, no, no!” Whipping out both sword and shield, she leaped to him, raised the shield over him to protect him from the next bolt.

The black dragon glided overhead. On his back rode Petra.

She heaved fire, scattering troops, but her eyes, those mad eyes, never left Fallon’s. Her hair, her wings flowed, black on one side, white on the other.

“You think this is over, cousin!” She shouted it, let her laugh ring out. “You think this matters? But he mattered, didn’t he, you weak, stupid bitch. He mattered to you. Oops, gone now.”