Before the rider could change speed or take on altitude, and while the Harley was still leaning toward the rider, I hauled my left foot up onto the seat and sprang at him, still holding the now-emptied Winchester in one hand.

I slammed into the rider, but whoever he was, he was strong. I had the power of the Winter Knight at my disposal, but compared to the rider, my strength was that of a child. He threw a stiff-arm into my chest and nearly sent me tumbling—but I grabbed onto his sleeve, and as he fell I simply hung on. That changed things. It wasn’t an issue of strength against strength. This made it a contest of mass and leverage versus muscle, and muscle lost. I dragged the rider from his saddle and we both hit the rough ground at speed.

My hand was torn from his arm on impact, and I remember trying to shield my head with my arms. The Winchester flew clear of me, too. I could see the rider tumbling as well, silver fire blowing up from the shadowy mask around him. I stopped tumbling yards later, and frantically staggered back to my feet. I spotted the Winchester lying a few yards away and leapt for it.

I grabbed the weapon, but before I could load it, I heard a footstep behind me and I spun, raising the gun up over my head, parallel to the ground. It was in the nick of time. I felt the staggering power of an enormous blow, and a sword rang against the steel of the Winchester’s octagonal barrel.

Kringle recovered from the block swiftly. Scraps of shadow mask hung from him, but he still wore the armor and a bloodred cloak and hood trimmed in white fur. His sword was silvery and unadorned, and he whipped it through a swift series of strikes. I blocked frantically with the Winchester, but I knew enough about fighting to know that I was utterly outclassed. He’d have that sword in me in a matter of seconds.

So I ducked, sprang back from a backhanded slash, and raised the rifle to my shoulder as if I were about to shoot.

That stopped him, forcing Kringle to twist to one side to avoid the theoretical bullet—and when he did, I slammed every bit of will I had into a lance of magical force. “Forzare!”

Kringle slipped aside, incredibly nimble for a man his size, and the strike missed him completely.

It did not miss the base of the ruined wall behind him.

What must have been a couple of tons of aged concrete collapsed with a roar. Kringle was fast and skilled, but he wasn’t perfect. He kept himself from being crushed, but several large stones clipped him and sent him staggering.

I let out a primal scream and rushed him. I hit him at the shoulders, and he was too off balance to bring the sword into play. We both crashed to the ground, but I wound up on top, kneeling over him, gripping the steel barrel of the Winchester in both hands, holding it like a club.

Kringle froze, staring up at me, and I suddenly realized that the night had gone utterly silent. I glanced around. The Wild Hunt had surrounded us, horses coming to a stop, their riders watching intently. Hounds paced nervously around at the horses’ feet, but came no closer. The Erlking was there, too, his shadow mask tattered, greenish blood smearing the visible armor on his shoulder. His right arm hung limply. I turned back to Kringle.

“Join, hide, or die,” I growled. “Those are your options when the Wild Hunt comes for you.”

Kringle narrowed his eyes. “Everyone knows that’s true.”

“Not anymore it isn’t,” I growled. I got to my feet, slowly, and just as slowly I lowered the rifle. Then I extended a hand to Kringle. “Tonight, the Hunt is joining me.” I swept my gaze around the silent assembly, filling it with all the steel and resolve I had. “I just put the Erlking on the bench and laid a beat-down on freaking Santa Claus,” I told them. “So you tell me. Who’s next? Who comes to make an end of the Winter Knight, a peer of the Winter Court and Mab’s chosen? Who is at the top of this food chain? Because tonight is Halloween, and I am damned well not afraid of any of you.”

Firelight eyes stared at me from all around and nothing stirred.

Then Kringle’s chuckle began rumbling up out of his throat, a pulsating sound of deep and hearty mirth. One of his huge hands closed on mine, and I hauled him back to his feet. I glanced over at the Erlking as I did. I could see nothing of his face, but he nodded his head toward me, very slightly. There was something ironic about the way he did it, and I sensed a kind of quiet amusement.

There was a low rumble as the Harley came purring slowly over the ground toward us. Karrin stared at the scene, her eyes wide, and drew the bike to a stop next to me.

“Harry?” she asked. “What just happened?”

“A change of leadership,” I said, and swung one leg over the Harley to hop up behind her. Even as I did, shadows began to whirl and slither. They crawled up Kringle’s legs, restoring the concealing mask—and as they did, they also started climbing the Harley and both of the people sitting on it.

It was a bizarre sensation. Everything about my physical perception sharpened, and I could suddenly sense the world around me with perfect clarity. I could feel the other members of the Hunt, knew exactly where they were and what they were doing on sheer instinct—an instinct that guided them, as well. The night brightened into a silvery fairyland that remained night while being as bright as the noonday sun. The shadow masks became something translucent, so that if I peered closely enough, I could see what was behind it. I didn’t do much peering. I had a feeling that I didn’t want to know what was behind all of those shadows.

Karrin twisted the throttle on the Harley nervously, gunning the engine—but instead of a roar, it came out as a primal screech. The cry was instantly taken up by every single member of the Hunt, even as Kringle, his shadow mask restored, remounted his steed and whirled it to face me.

“Sir Knight,” Kringle said, inclining his head slightly to me, “what game amuses you this fine, stormy evening?”

I started loading shells from the ammo belt into the Winchester, until the rifle was full again. Then I levered a shell into the pipe, slipped a replacement into the tube, shut the breach with a snap, and felt a wolfish smile spreading my mouth. “Tonight?” I asked. I raised my voice to address them all. “Tonight we hunt Outsiders!”

The bloodthirsty screech that went up from the Wild Hunt was deafening.

Chapter

Forty-two

“Pipe down!” I shouted. “We’re going quiet until we get there!”

The Hunt settled down, though not instantly. Karrin revved the Harley’s engine, and it was completely, entirely silent. I could feel the vibration of the increased revolutions, but they did not translate into sound. The shadows around the Harley shifted and wavered, and after a second I realized that they had taken on a shape—that of an enormous black cat, muscled and solid, like a jaguar. That was astounding to me. Magic was not some kind of partially sentient force that did things of its own volition. It wasn’t any more artistic than electricity.

“Okay,” I said to Karrin. “Let’s move.”

“Uh,” she asked, without turning her head, “move where?”

“The island,” I said.

“Harry, this is a motorcycle.”

“It’ll work,” I said. “Look at it.”

Karrin jerked as she noted the appearance of the Harley. “You want me to drive into the lake.”

“You have to admit,” I said, “it isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever asked you to do. It isn’t even the craziest thing I’ve asked you to do tonight.”