It wasn’t until the flash of light from the shot illuminated him that I recognized Ace, his expression panicked, his gun aimed at a point ten feet to my left. The light flashed and burned his face into my retina for a moment as the dark returned.

And the tugboat was silent again.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the Erlking to finish his work. Maybe three minutes later, a chorus of hideous screams went up from the lake’s surface, and the Hunt howled its triumph and circled into the sky, horns blaring, hounds baying. I saw green fire burning fiercely from the spot the Hunt had started carving, and then the barge started to list toward that side as the water poured into her. Barges aren’t warships, or even maritime vessels. If they have belowdecks spaces at all, they generally aren’t fitted with flood compartments and sealable doors. They sure as hell don’t have automatic systems. They’re just soup bowls. Poke a hole in the bottom, and a bowl isn’t gonna hold much soup.

I didn’t feel like getting Titanicked, so I hustled over to the spot where I’d boarded the tug. There was a roar from the shadow-tiger mask around the Harley, and Murphy swept up alongside the boat. I leapt down onto the back of the bike in a single smooth motion, which I felt was cool, and landed with way too much of my weight on my genitals, which I felt was not.

“Go, go, go,” I gasped in a pained falsetto, and Murphy peeled away from the doomed ships.

Within moments, the Hunt had fallen into formation around me again, and the Erlking was laughing maniacally, whirling his sword over his head. The shadow mask over one leg and a section of his ribs had been torn away, and I could see wounds beneath—but already the shadows were stretching over them again. “I love nights like this!” he bellowed. “I love Halloween!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty badass,” I said in my wobbling, creaky voice.

“Sir Knight,” he said, “that was passably done, but from here I believe it shall take more experience and expertise than you possess to continue the Hunt. Do I have your leave to resume command and pursue these Outsider vermin in a more appropriate fashion?” he asked me.

“Uh,” I squeaked. “You aren’t going to come after me with it, are you?”

He broke into laughter that could have been heard for miles. He was smiling so hard, it went right through the shadow mask, turning his face into a crazed jack-o’-lantern of soot and fire. “Not this night. I give you my word. Have I your leave?”

Rather than answer the Erlking in my Mickey Mouse voice, I gave him the thumbs-up.

The Lord of the Goblins threw back his head and let out another screech, and his steed began to gain altitude. The rest of the Hunt followed him.

“Uh, Harry?” Karrin said.

“Yeah?”

“This is a motorcycle.”

It didn’t register for a second, and then I blinked.

We were cruising down the surface of Lake Michigan, and it was chock-full of monstery goodness—and we had just left the Wild Hunt.

“Oh, crap,” I said. “Head for the island! Go, go, go!”

Murphy leaned hard into a turn and opened up the throttle. I looked over my shoulder at the Erlking, wheeling in the skies above the lake, spiraling higher and higher, the Hunt following after. We went by a couple of Zodiacs so fast that their occupants didn’t have time to shoot at us before we were gone.

Then the motorcycle slowed.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“We can’t hit the beach at this speed,” Karrin shouted back. “We’ll pancake ourselves into those trees!”

“I don’t really feel like taking a swim tonight!”

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Karrin snapped. She leaned the bike into another turn, one that angled our direction to run parallel to the shore, and cut out the accelerator.

I felt the Harley slowing, and for a second I thought I felt it beginning to sink.

Then the Erlking cried out again and dived, his horse sprinting straight down, trailing the fire of the Hunt from its hooves. The rest of the hounds and riders followed in formation, and their horns and cries rebounded around the night.

Then, maybe a second before they hit the water, the Hunt changed.

Suddenly the Erlking wasn’t mounted on a horse, but on a freaking killer whale, its deadly-looking black-and-white coloration stark in the night. Behind him, the other steeds shifted, too, their riders screeching with excitement. The hounds changed as well. Their canine bodies compressed into the long, lean, powerful shape of large sharks.

Then the whole lot of them hit the water in a geyser of spray, and the Harley promptly fell into the water of the lake—

—and onto sand just under its surface. The bike slowed dramatically, pushing me up against Karrin, nearly pushing her over the handlebars, but she locked her arms straight and held, drawing the bike up onto the shore of the island. She rode the brake until we’d come to a halt, about five feet short of hitting one of the big old trees on the island.

“See?” Karrin said.

“You were right,” I said.

She looked back up at me, her eyes twinkling. “You are so hot right now.”

I burst out into a hiccuping laugh that felt like it could have veered off into manic or depressive at any second, the pressure and terror of this entire stupid, ugly day finally getting to me—but it didn’t. There were no enemy ships right on hand, and no one had launched grenades at the island since the Wild Hunt’s attack had begun. There might have been Outsiders in the water, but apparently the Hunt was occupying their total attention. For the moment, we were alone, and Karrin started laughing, too. We laughed like that for several moments. We each tried to speak, to say something about the day, but it kept getting choked off by the half-hysterical laughter.

“Grenades,” I said. “As if a date has to have—”

“. . . look on Molly’s face . . .”

“. . . know he’s a dog but I swear that . . .”

“Santa Claus smackdown!” Murphy gasped finally, and it set us both into gales of laughter that had no wind to support them, until finally we were just sitting with her small warm form leaning her back against my chest, in the darkness.

Then she turned her head, slowly, and looked up at me. Her eyes were very blue. Her mouth was very close.

Then I noticed something.

The second barge, whose tug Murphy had torched with her grenade, was moving.

I stood up and climbed off the bike, my eyes widening. “Oh, crap,” I said.

From there, I could see that Sharkface stood calmly on the surface of the lake at the rear of the barge, his cloak twining and writhing all around him. His arms stretched forward in what was clearly a gesture of command. The waters at the rear of the barge boiled with Outsiders, most of them at least partly out of the water, and it took me only a second to work out what was happening.

They were doing an Evinrude impersonation, slamming their combined mass and preternatural strength against the rear of the barge. The burning tug was still a massive column of smoke and flame in front of the barge, but the barge was definitely moving—and it was close to shore.

Eerie green and scarlet light flashed in the depths of the lake, soundless and random. Sharkface had been smart. When the Hunt entered the water, he must have sent the lion’s share of his Outsiders against them—while he and a few others came back up to the surface to ruin the crap out of my potential romantic moment.