THE wind-up clock screamed at ten till six. Rose got up and went about her regular morning ritual: making coffee, fixing lunches, putting on her Clean-n-Bright uniform. She barely had a chance to taste her first cup of coffee when Georgie wandered out of his room, sleepy eyed, his hair tousled. He ambled over to the window and yawned.

"Would you like some Mini-Wheats?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

"Georgie?"

Georgie stared out of the window. "Lord Sesshomaru."

The demon brother from their comic book? "I'm sorry?"

"Lord Sesshomaru," he repeated, pointing through the window.

Rose came to stand behind him and froze. A tall man stood at the edge of the driveway. A cape of gray wolf fur billowed about him, revealing reinforced-leather armor, lacquered gray to match his cape, and a long elegant sword at his waist. His hair was a dark, rich gold, and it framed his face in a glacial cascade that fell over his left shoulder without a trace of a curl. She'd seen that hair before, just before its owner leaped onto her truck.

The pommel of the second, much larger sword, protruded above the man's back. The man's gaze fastened on her. His eyes flashed with a white glow, like two stars. Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck.

"That isn't Lord Sesshomaru," Rose whispered. "That's much, much worse."

"What?" Sleep fled from Georgie, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"That's a blueblood. Get Jack and get the guns. Hurry!"

ROSE walked out on the porch, carrying a crossbow. Behind her, Jack lay at the left window with his rifle and Georgie lay at the right.

The blueblood towered like a spire of gray ice just outside the ring of stones. Tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, he seemed knitted from menace and magic. It's the wolf cape, Rose told herself. Made him look bigger and scarier than he was.

She stopped just before the ring of wards and looked at his face. Her heart skipped a beat. His features were carved with breathtaking precision, combining into an overwhelmingly masculine yet refined face. He had a tall forehead and a long straight nose. His mouth was wide, with hard narrow lips, his jaw square and bulky, yet crisply cut. It wasn't a face whose owner smiled often. His eyes under thick golden eyebrows froze the air in her lungs. Dark grass green, they smoldered with raw power. She suspected that if she stepped over the stones and touched his face, he'd spark.

Rose leaned her crossbow on her hip and took a deep breath. "You're trespassing, and you aren't welcome."

"You're rude. I find it unattractive in all people, women especially." His voice sent a light, velvet shiver down her spine. It matched him, deep and resonant. Now that the first impact of his impossible face had worn off, she saw a network of small scars near his left eye. He was real, all right. He bled and scarred just like the rest, and that meant he wouldn't find bullets in his chest amusing.

"Get off my land and be on your way," she said. "I have two rifles trained on you as we speak."

"Two rifles manned by children," he said.

Damn Georgie. He shouldn't have let himself be seen. "They won't hesitate to shoot you," she assured him.

"I can rip through your wards with one blast. Bullets make no difference to me," he said. A white sheen rolled over his irises and melted into their green depths.

Ice skittered down her spine on sharp claws. He could, she realized. This wasn't an idle threat. He wasn't the first blueblood she'd fended off, but none had talked or looked like him. People said that the true aristocrats, bred for generations deep within magic, were striking. If that was true, he must've come from the dead center of the Weird. "What is it you want?"

"What do you think I want?"

She gritted her teeth. "Let me make this completely clear: I won't sleep with you."

Surprise flickered in his eyes. Thick eyebrows crept up. "What? Why?"

Rose blinked, lost for words. He actually found it shocking that she didn't fall over herself to spread her legs.

"I'm waiting for an explanation."

Rose crossed her arms. "Let me guess. You're the fourth son of a blueblood family down on its luck: no title to tempt an heiress and no inheritance money to purchase a noble bride. You've heard about the mongrel Edger girl who flashes white and decided that since you can't have an heiress or a title, you can at least sire a brood of powerful babies, so you came to shop for a bride in the Edge. I have no time for people like you."

"Trust me, you've never met anyone like me." He made it sound like a threat.

"You mean an arrogant snob who'd force a woman into his bed without any regard for her feelings? Actually, I've met plenty. Been there, done that, bought a T-shirt."

He frowned. "What do shirts have to do with anything?"

"There's nothing for you here. Go away, or I'll make you gone."

He grimaced. "You're rude, vulgar, and you speak in an atrocious fashion. You'll take so much work before you can be presentable. And you actually feel that you're a suitable spouse for me?"

That hurt. "That's right. I'm rude and vulgar. A mongrel. That's why you should leave me in peace. Run along to your fancy ladies. I'm sure one of them will gladly fall on her back for you and be overjoyed to pop out a litter of bluebloods. I won't marry you, and I won't be your mistress. Leave us be."

"I have no intention of leaving until I get what I want." He stated it as a fact and fixed her with his gaze. Fear blocked her throat. There was no give in those eyes and no mercy. Only savage magic and iron will.

"If I wish it, you'll marry me. Shooting me, running me over with a vehicle, or trying to sour my disposition will do nothing to help your cause."

She raised her chin. "I'll fight you to the end," she promised. "You'll have to kill me." She jerked her crossbow up, sighting his chest.

"I have no intention to hurt you. Go ahead and fire," he said. "I won't count it against you - it will save me some breath."

She shot him.

It happened so fast, she barely saw it: a thin shield of purest white flashed in front of him, striking the bolt in midair. The metal and wood disintegrated. He looked down on her. "Your bullets and your bolts can't injure me."

Rose bit her lip, fighting a shiver. It took all of her will to continue glaring at his face.

The menace in his eyes eased a bit. "I understand why you insist on being unreasonable. This is to be expected, considering your upbringing. Still, we have a dilemma. I mean to have you as my bride. You mean to refuse me. A man's home is his refuge. I have no wish to share mine with a feral cat who spends all her time sharpening her claws and thinking of inventive ways to flay me when my guard slips. Nor do I want to fight you, especially not with the children here. They might be accidentally injured, and witnessing our violent clash wouldn't be good for them. There's a traditional way to resolve this. Challenge me."

"What?" Rose blinked.

"Give me three challenges," he said. "Three tasks. I'll excel at each one. When I succeed, you'll come to me willingly and you'll obey me."

"And if you fail?"

He permitted himself a half smile. "Don't concern yourself with that possibility. I won't."

"If you fail, you'll go away and never bother us again."

He shrugged. "Yes, that's how those things are usually worded."

Rose's mind sped through the possibilities. "And if I refuse?"

A white glow frosted the green irises. The magic swelled around him, building. It buckled in his grasp, plain even through the two lines of wards. He was monstrously powerful. She got the message loud and clear.

Rose bit her lip. She had no choice. She couldn't risk fighting him straight on, not with the boys here. He was very strong, and she wasn't a pushover. He was right - if they clashed, the boys might get hurt just from the collision of their magics. Besides, she wasn't sure she could win a direct confrontation. But challenges? She could do challenges. If you can't outfight an enemy, outsmart him, trick him, swindle him - do whatever it takes to win. That was the Edger way.

"Three tasks," she said, managing to sound upbeat. "Whatever I wish?"

"Within the realm of possible," he said. "I can't pluck the moon from the sky and hang it around your neck."

"I want you to swear to the terms," she said.

He sighed. "Very well."

He pulled a narrow knife from his belt and showed it to her. The rays of the rising sun gleamed, reflecting from the wicked metal profile of the blade. "I, Declan Riel Martel, ade Dominik, ade Logran, ade Rotibor, Earl of Camarine, Lord of Longshire, Svyator, and Veres, hereby swear to fulfill three tasks given to me within the next two weeks by . . ." He looked at her.

"Rose Drayton." He owned more titles than TitleMax. Maybe he could pawn some of them off, if he was short on cash. With his looks and pedigree, surely some Weird duchess or baroness would gladly marry him. What was he doing here, shattering her life?

". . . Rose Drayton, provided they are within human limits. I swear to cause no harm to Rose or her family and lay no claim upon her or her loved ones while I'm engaged in this challenge. Should I fail, I swear to leave Rose Drayton and her family in peace . . ."

"Alive and uninjured," Rose put in.

"Alive and uninjured. Should I succeed, I'll gain a right to claim Rose Drayton."

He sliced his palm. Magic lashed at Rose. She stumbled back. The ward stones rose a foot above the ground, trembling in empty air in a struggle to deflect the surge of his magic, and crashed back into their spots.

"Your turn." He held the knife out, handle first.

Rose hesitated. He did swear. The oath was binding. He couldn't cause her any harm. She stepped over the ward lines and reached for the knife. Her fingers closed over its carved bone handle, shaped like the head of a snarling cat. "I, Rose Drayton, promise to give . . ." God, she couldn't even remember his names, there were so many. ". . . you three tasks. If you successfully complete them, I promise to come with you . . ." She paused. What exactly followed? She had to word it in the best way possible.

He beat her to it. ". . . and be pleasant and agreeable."

"That will take a miracle." She had expected him to add "and sleep with me." The way he put it left her some wiggle room.

"You're right," he said somewhat mournfully. "We did agree on human limits."

"And be pleasant and agreeable," she bit off before he changed it and backed her into a corner. "I so swear."

"Hopeless. The clumsiest oath I've ever heard. You've had no education at all, have you?"

She sliced her palm. Magic burst from her in an exhilarating rush, surprising in its intensity. The stones rose, shivering once more, and fell. She might not have his education, but she had plenty of power and a brain. She would handle him.

He nodded matter-of-factly. "You're mine."

She felt sick to her stomach. "We'll start on the weekend," she said, drawing herself to her full height. "Two days from now. During the week, I have to work."

He turned and walked away without a word.

Rose stared after him. He was the sword that had just sliced her life in half.

The screen door banged open. She turned to see both boys on the porch. Jack glared after the blueblood. His eyes were angry. "You shouldn't have promised, Rose!"

"I didn't have a choice." She strode back to the porch. "He is very, very strong."

"What if he takes you away from us?"

"He won't." Rose looked after the retreating gray figure. "He's a noble. He's used to people falling over themselves to cater to him. But we're not his servants. We're Edgers. He might be stronger, but we're smarter. We just need to stump him with a challenge. Don't worry. I'll think of something."

"Can we hide in the Broken if we lose?" Georgie asked.

She sighed. "That was very smart, Georgie, but no. We can't. First, my promise is binding. If I break it, it will come back to me in a very bad way, and I'm not sure being in the Broken would keep it from catching me. Second, some people from the Weird can enter the Broken for a few days without consequences. Even if we ran, there's a chance that he would find us . . ."

And he was a lot stronger, too. Just the breadth of his shoulders alone showed the kind of strength she had no hope of countering. She had a feeling that if she shot him, he'd spit the bullet out, sling her over his shoulder, and drag her all the way into the Weird.

What she really needed to do was to stay home to make sure she could pick the kids up from the bus stop and watch over them. But they had to eat, and missing a day of work wasn't an option. Her job, as bad as it was, was precious. Only businesses with ties to the Edge hired Edgers - the rest wanted a social security number and a driver's license, and hers wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. There were places unaware of the Edge that hired illegal aliens, but competition for those jobs was fierce, and they mostly wanted muscle for manual labor. She could be fired in a blink of an eye, and there would be a line of Edgers ready to take her place.

"It doesn't matter," Rose said firmly. "We won't run. This is our home. We're going to do what Edgers do best: we'll fight dirty. But we don't have to do anything about him till this weekend. For now, we just have to watch ourselves and think. Grandma can't pick you up today. She's off checking on something with Adele Moore deep in the Wood. And I have to catch a ride with Latoya, because our truck is out of gas. When you get off the bus, I want you to come straight home. Do you understand? Don't talk to anyone, don't linger, come straight home, get inside, lock the door, and don't open it to anybody. Especially him." She nodded in the direction the blueblood had gone. She fixed them with her stare. "Repeat it back to me."

"Come straight home," Georgie said.

"No lingering," Jack said.

"Get inside and lock the door," Georgie said.

"Don't let the blueblood in," Jack finished.

Rose nodded. It would have to do.

ELSIE Moore hummed softly to herself. It was near eleven o'clock. Time for the brunch. It was going to be a very special brunch, too: she wore her pretty blue dress and had her favorite baby blue silk ribbon in her hair. The sun still shone bright, the weather was pleasant, the garden flowers pretty, and the row of stuffed animals gazed at her with adoration in their plastic eyes.

Elsie smiled prettily, taking her seat at the green plastic table. "Mr. Pitt, Mr. Brosnan, Mr. Clooney, Mr. Bean, how do you do? Shall we have some tea and biscuits? It's always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Bana."

The bears looked suitably impressed with her excellent manners. As they should be - she was a lady.

She picked up the tiny plastic teakettle with little pink roses on the side and held it over Mr. Brosnan's cup. The soft fuzzy paws reached for it.

She tsked. "Mr. Brosnan, I am shocked at your manners. You must wait until I've served the tea to all the gentlemen."

The bear dropped his paws, looking ashamed at being chastised.

A nasty feeling crept down her back, as if someone had poured cold goose fat onto her skin. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore it. This was going to be a lovely tea.

The feeling intensified. The sickening slimy magic stuck to her, trying to worm its way through her skin into her bony back, and deeper. It was trying to get inside.

Elsie dropped the teakettle and turned around.

It stood on the edge of the lawn, a thing knitted from shadows and darkness. It didn't like the light and stuck to the shadows cast by the shrubs, blending into the gloom, so the only thing she could see clearly were its eyes: two slits of uniform, slightly luminescent gray, like slanted holes into a skull stuffed with rain clouds.

She threw a teacup at it. "Go away!"

The thing didn't move. A second pair of eyes opened above the first, the same dirty gray. The top pair looked at the teacup rolling harmlessly in the grass. The bottom pair stared straight at Elsie.

The dreadful feeling along her back grew stronger. The cold slime slid its way around her neck and down. A faint prickling singed her chest and back, as if a dozen tiny needle-feet tested the durability of her skin.

Elsie screeched and swiped at the cups, grabbing the little plastic pieces in a frenzy and hurling them one after the other at the baleful eyes.

"Grandma?" Amy emerged from the house, wiping her hands on the corner of her apron. She ran over on pudgy legs. "What's the matter?"

Elsie pointed with her shuddering fingers at the dark thing. Amy brushed her curly blond hair from her face and squinted at the shrubs. "What?"

"It's trying to get me! It ruined everything!"

"The bush? The bush ruined everything?"

"Not the bush, the thing!" Elsie pointed straight at the creature.

Amy bent to look in the direction of her finger. "Grandma, there's nothing there but an old crape myrtle shrub."

Elsie slapped her cheek. "Stupid girl!"

Amy drew herself to her full height. "Now that was un-called for. Into the house with you. Looks like you need a pill."

"No!"

"Yes."

Elsie tried to scratch, but Amy was stronger and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She was lifted to her feet and guided firmly inside the house. She twisted her head and saw the dark thing slink to the table. She shrieked, but Amy just wrestled her forward.

A huge maw split open beneath the four eyes, revealing jaws seeded with wicked teeth. Elsie could do nothing but scream as the monster bit into Mr. Bana, ripping the small body of fur and stuffing in half.

ROSE heaved a large service vacuum into the back of the Clean-n-Bright service van. Latoya and Teresa were still inside Kaplan Insurance. Latoya was chatting up Eric Kaplan, while Teresa finished the bathroom. Eric was a handsome fellow, and he did a very good impression of a happy-go-lucky, none-too-bright type of guy. Latoya thought she could wrap him around her finger. Rose had her doubts. It was Eric's job to get people to like him and buy his insurance, and judging by the swanky office, he was rather good at it. He had succeeded where his uncle Emerson had failed. Unfortunately, his uncle Emerson also ran Clean-n-Bright, which made him her boss, and he wasn't half as pleasant as his nephew.

Rose leaned against the van. Worry sat in the pit of her stomach like a big heavy clump of lead. Dread had plagued her all morning, and she just couldn't get rid of it. Usually she could figure out the cause of her anxiety - money worries, more often than not - but today she just worried in general. It wasn't enough she'd run into a wold; now there was a blueblood to deal with.

She'd mentioned the wold to Latoya and Teresa, who made shocked noises, and then Teresa reported she'd run into Maggie Brewster the other day. Maggie, a gentle cross-eyed girl, had the foresight. According to Teresa, Maggie said something bad was coming. She couldn't say what exactly - Teresa didn't think she knew - but she could tell that feeling it scared Maggie out of her wits.

Maggie had been wrong before. She had predicted a hurricane last October and was convinced they'd all be blown away. Instead they got clear skies and June weather.

But Maggie had been right before, too. And that worried Rose. She felt as if an invisible storm was gathering and she was on the edge of it.

Rose shut the van door and jumped. William stood right next to her.

"Hi," he said.

She gulped. "God, you scared me."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." He leaned against the van. "I was just driving by on my way to a job, saw you, and thought I'd say hi. How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you." Here he was, handsome and willing, yet she didn't feel anything romantic. Her heart didn't "flutter." The realization was kind of freeing. Rose smiled. She was right. She didn't need to go on a date with him.

"How did the first day of school go?" William asked.

"It went fine."

He grinned. "They didn't have to tie Jack to his chair? He doesn't look like he could sit still for longer than five minutes."

She laughed quietly. "He's a good kid."

"Both of them are good kids." He nodded. "Is there any way I can talk you into lunch?"

She shook her head, smiling. "I don't think it would be a good idea, Will."

"Why not? It's not like I'm going to maul you."

She looked into his eyes and caught a glimpse of the same thousand-yard stare he'd trained on Peter Padrake back in the comic shop. He hid it right away, but it was there, waiting inside him. Rose hesitated. This wasn't going to be easy. "Sometimes two people meet and there is a connection of sorts. An instant attraction. You look at somebody and wonder what it would be like. I don't wonder that about you. You're a nice handsome guy. And I want to like you in that way, honestly I do, but there's just nothing there."

He just kept smiling, his grin plastic on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That's harsh, and I feel bad about it, but I don't want to lead you on."

"Rose Drayton."

The voice stopped her in mid-word. She turned on her heel, her hands clenching into fists. "Brad Dillon," she said, her voice dripping with venom.

Brad looked just like he used to look in high school, when they'd dated. He had picked up a couple of new tattoos and his nose was now pierced, but other than that, he was same old Brad. Still the same hot brown eyes and handsome face. Still looking like he wanted to punch somebody, the arrogant prick. She used to think that smirk was sexy. Now she wanted to slap it off his face.

Her gun was in her tote inside the van, and Brad wouldn't exactly let her get it. Without her gun, out here in the Broken, Brad had an advantage. He was bigger and stronger, and Rose had seen him fight enough times to know she couldn't take him by herself. But she would make it expensive for him.

Brad fixed his gaze on William, sizing him up. "Don't know who you are and don't care. Just want to know what you're doing with my leftovers?"

Rose braced herself. In a second William would slug him, and when he did, Brad would come right back at him. William looked strong, but Brad was no pushover and he fought hard and dirty. She tensed, ready to jump right in.

William looked at Brad with a slightly bored expression.

"She's a lousy fuck," Brad said. "I feel sorry for you."

William said nothing.

Brad tried again. "I'd wear two rubbers if I were you. If you go bareback with that whore, your cock might fall off in the morning. You don't want what she's got."

William's stare gained a harsh edge, but Rose couldn't tell if he was pissed off or scared. "This thing you're trying to start isn't worth my time," William said. "Are you done?"

"No."

"Get on with it. I'd love to chat, but I'm getting kind of hungry."

Brad looked slightly confused. "Screw off, asshole."

William shrugged. "Anything else?"

Brad glared at the two of them. She tensed, expecting him to leap at them, swinging. He hovered on the edge of violence, muscles playing along his jaw. Come on, she thought. Bring it. She almost wished he would.

"Your new man's a pushover." Brad sneered.

He was backing down. Rose waved her hand, trying to hide relief. "Keep on walking, Brad."

Brad turned on his heel and stalked off. Must've decided the odds were against him.

William smiled, looking nice and pleasant, that same flat smile glued onto his lips. "Old boyfriend?" he asked.

She nodded. "Something like that."

"Back to what we were talking about," he said. "I appreciate that you leveled with me. But I think if you gave me a chance, I'd change your mind."

"I doubt it," she murmured.

The door of the office swung open, and Teresa emerged into the sunlight. Short, stocky, and dark, Teresa took one look at William and stopped, drinking him in.

"I have to go," Rose said.

"Till next time then." William took a step back and strode off.

Teresa raised her eyebrows at her. Rose shook her head and climbed into the van. She had enough trouble as it was. She needed to get through the day, get home, make sure the boys were okay, and think up some challenge for the blueblood. She felt bad about cutting William's wooing short, but it was best this way. It wouldn't go anywhere between them. Concentrate on important things, she told herself.

THE day slowly cooled down to evening. Jack slipped outside the door and sat on the porch. The old wood was warm under his legs, heated by the late afternoon sun. He squinted at it, a bright yellow coin in the sky. Shiny.

Rose said to stay inside, but inside was boring. He stayed inside the whole day, in school, and he was good and didn't fight with anybody, didn't even scratch Ayden when he tried to steal his eraser. He ate the nasty fried fish sticks without complaints, even though they tasted like dirt mixed with some kind of mystery meat. He didn't get any warnings or yellow tickets, and now he wanted to be outside. What's the point of going to school if you can't go outside after? Besides, it was only four, and Rose wouldn't be home until five-thirty or even six.

He sat silent, watching the woods with wide-open eyes. Listening. So many little sounds. A bird, somewhere far to the north, screaming at an intruder to its tree. Angry, feisty squirrels swearing at each other in their squirrel chatter. He watched them play chase up the blue spike pine. The skin between his knuckles itched, wanting to split under his claws, but he sat still - the pine's branches were too skinny. He couldn't climb them. He'd already tried twice, and they'd broken under him both times, leaving him scratched and smudged with sticky tar.

A big bug landed on the board next to him. It was dark blue and glossy. Jack held absolutely still.

The beetle waddled along the wooden plank on black chi tinous legs. Jack tensed, following it with his gaze. Pretty, shiny bug.

Footsteps approached from inside the house. Georgie, about to ruin the fun.

The beetle's back split, releasing a light fan of shivering, gently unfurling wings. The bug waddled on across the porch. Jack crept after it, soundless and slick.

"Jack, we're supposed to stay inside," Georgie scolded through the screen door.

The bug stopped at the end of the wooden plank, as if considering the plunge to the green grass below.

"Go away!" Jack mumbled through his teeth.

The beetle's wings trembled again. The two halves of its back rose, like another pair of hard blue wings above its insect shoulders.

"Jack, get back inside! Rose said . . ."

The beetle's wings sped into a blur, and it launched itself into the air.

Jack pounced.

He cleared the porch in a single leap, snapping at the beetle with his fingers, and landed in the grass, empty-handed. Missed!

Georgie jumped out onto the porch. "Come back here!"

Jack chased after the beetle. It flew left, then veered right, a fat bright buzzing thing on a whirl of cream wings. He leaped, so high for a second he was flying, and caught the beetle between his palms. "Gotcha!"

Sharp legs pierced his skin. He laughed and peeked between his fingers.

"Jack!" Georgie's voice rang like broken glass.

A stench lashed his nose, bitter and harsh, followed by a creepy feeling that something cold and slimy had dripped on the back of his neck. He whirled.

A beast stood on the grass. Five feet tall, it balanced on four skinny legs, its body turned at an angle, its head facing Jack. Its chest was deep, and past it, its body slimmed down, each of its ribs clearly visible, before terminating in powerful hindquarters. It looked like a racing dog. At first glance, the beast's hide seemed almost black, but when the sun touched its spine, the thick skin stretched over the beast's back turned a dark smoky purple tinted with black and green, like a bad bruise. It had no fur, only a row of short, sharp spikes running down the backs of its legs and along its spine.

The beast's head was long, very long, but without any ears. Two pairs of long slanted eyes stared at Jack with dull, weakly glowing gray, like fog backlit by headlights.

In his adventures in the Wood, Jack had looked into the eyes of a dire wolf, a fox, a bear, and countless other things for which he had no name, but none of them had eyes like that. They were cruel eyes. Cruel and merciless like the eyes of a gator.

The wards would keep it away. The wards . . . Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw the lines of ward stones - several yards away.

Jack froze.

He was vaguely aware of Georgie on the porch. His brother took one small step back. The beast raised its front leg, with a huge paw made of long clawed fingers, and stepped forward.

"Don't move!" Jack breathed.

Georgie became still as a statue.

The beetle slid from Jack's open fingers and crawled up the back of his hand to take flight. Jack didn't move, didn't even blink. His every instinct screamed at him that to move was to die, and so he stood petrified, caught in his terror.

The beast opened its mouth. Its lips drew back, revealing black jaws filled with terrible bloodred fangs. The gaze of the four eyes pinned Jack in place.

Jack swallowed. The bracelet on his wrist grew hot, but he knew that if he took the bracelet off and changed shape, the beast would get him for sure. He had to get behind the wards. That was his only chance. If he ran, the beast would chase him. He knew by the way it was built, lean and long-legged, that it was fast. It would catch him and rend the meat off his bones.

He shifted slightly, sliding a mere inch back along the grass.

"Right," Georgie's trembling voice called.

Jack turned a little, terrified to take his gaze off the four eyes, and saw the second beast padding slowly along the ward line. The second beast caught him looking and stopped to show him a forest of narrow red fangs. It would catch him if he moved. There was no escape. He was cut off.

Jack's heart hammered in his chest, as if trying to break free. The loud beat of his pulse filled his ears, pounding in his head. The world turned crystal clear. Jack inhaled deeply, trying to keep from getting dizzy.

"Don't move," commanded a quiet voice.

Jack turned his head. A few yards away the blueblood stood at the edge of the lawn. The giddy relief that had filled Jack vanished. The blueblood was an enemy, too.

The man stepped forward. His fur cloak lay behind him in the grass. Smoothly he pulled a long, slender sword from the sheath at his waist. His eyes looked past Jack, at the two beasts.

"Back toward me very slowly," the blueblood said.

Jack remained put. The blueblood wanted Rose. He couldn't be trusted.

The beasts advanced.

"I won't hurt you," the man promised. "You must come closer. Now."

A scent drifted down from him, a light, spicy aroma of cloves.

The blueblood was human. The beasts were not.

Slowly, as if underwater, Jack took a step back.

The beasts stepped forward in unison.

"That's it," the blueblood said. Jack clenched on to that voice and took another slow step.

The beasts moved closer.

A third step.

He saw the muscles bunch on their legs and knew they were about to charge.

"Run!" the blueblood barked and sprinted to him.

Jack dashed. He flew across the grass like there were wings on his feet. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the dark shapes veering to flank him. They would catch him, they would . . .

A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him forward, past the man into the grass. Jack rolled, coming to a crouch.

The left beast leapt into the air. The blueblood slashed with his sword, and two halves of a dark body fell into the grass, twitching. The blade shone again like a sliver of moonlight, and the second beast's head bounced off the lawn.

The blueblood raised his hand and sank a short burst of white into the left beast, first one half, then the other. Acrid smoke rose, scratching the back of Jack's throat. The beast's legs stopped quivering.

The blueblood put another shot of white into the head of the second beast, turned, and bent down. Jack felt himself scooped off the ground, and he clutched onto the man's neck. Enemy or friend, he didn't care. The blueblood was warm and human, and he had a big sword.

"You did well," the blueblood said.

Jack held on tighter. His body shook and shivered, as if he were freezing.

Georgie ran off the porch and halted at the ward line, looking white enough to be dead.

The blueblood carried Jack to the line of wards and nodded at Georgie. "Move the rocks."

Georgie hesitated only for a minute.

FRIDAY, Rose murmured to herself, striding up the road to the house. Tomorrow was Friday, payday. She'd get her three hundred bucks and put some gas into the damn truck. Kitty ears or not, she wouldn't go without gas again.

All afternoon she had been plagued by anxiety. It started the moment she watched the kids board the bus and kept building and building, until it blossomed into a full-blown dread. The kids were well equipped to handle two hours at home by themselves. They knew how to shoot both the rifle and a crossbow, and they were safe behind the wards. But the worry spurred her on, and a mile from the house, she shouldered her tote and broke into a jog. She turned onto their narrow dirt path and ran past the bushes and into the yard.

Three dark stains dotted the grass, smoking, spreading foul magic into the air. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut: the thick rotten stench of greasy roast burned over a fire and left to rot. Rose gagged and sprinted up the steps to the house. She tore the door open, cleared the living room, and burst into the kitchen.

The boys sat at the table, watching the blueblood noble at the stove. He held a frying pan in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other.

Rose barely noticed as her tote slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor, the gun making a dull clang.

The four of them stared at each other.

The blueblood flipped a pancake with a short toss of the pan.