around. He knew he hadn’t said the cuss word out loud, but it never hurt to make sure nobody heard him.
So Declan was a bad guy. But Declan had saved Jack. And he didn’t seem mean. There were many kinds of mean: mean like Kenny Jo, who was always angry about something. Mostly, Kenny was angry about his dad leaving him. Georgie understood being angry about that, but still, his own dad left, and nobody saw him going around picking fights with people.
Then there was mean like Olie, who was too stupid to know when he was being mean. Olie killed a puppy once because it bit him, smashed her head with a rock. The puppy hadn’t known any better. She was just playing. Olie cried afterward, because he felt bad. Georgie heaved another sigh. It took him two days to put the puppy’s head back together with his magic, and when he’d raised her, she still didn’t look quite right. He’d concentrated on fixing her so hard, he got sick, and then Rose cried.
And then there was mean like Brad Dillon. Brad was cold and vicious. There was something wrong with him.
But Declan had no meanness. Jack thought his swords were awesome. Georgie agreed about the swords, but he’d watched Declan make a ghost of the beasts that had attacked Jack, and in his opinion, that was even better. Georgie held his hand out, closed his eyes, and pretended to call up the beast. Except if he could do it, he’d do it even cooler. Maybe have some dark smoke swirling about him. And his eyes would be shiny. And maybe he’d say some mysterious incantation. Or not. Maybe it would be cooler if he said nothing. And if he had a sword, it would be long and slender. Like Grandpa’s blades.
A drop of cold, slippery magic touched the back of his neck and slid down along his spine as if something rotten had splattered him with its nasty juice. Georgie gagged. His eyes snapped open.
A beast stood in front of the house on the path. The color of an old bruise, it stared at him with four slanted gray eyes.
Georgie froze. Jack taught him to never run from animals that could catch him. If he ran, the beast would chase. He didn’t know if it could get through the wards to catch him, but he didn’t want to find out.
The beast put one paw forward—it was a long ugly paw. Most animals had toes, but this one had fingers tipped with wicked red claws. The paw touched the ward, testing it. A stream of nasty magic slithered toward Georgie. He sensed its hunger: sticky, cold, starved, it wanted to wrap itself around him and suck out his magic. He swallowed. His heart beat so fast, it was trying to jump out of his chest.
Behind the beast, where the path curved, Declan stepped out of the bushes. Georgie glanced at his face. Declan nodded wordlessly, coming up behind the beast on soft feet, silent like a fox creeping through the Wood. Georgie stared at the beast.
The beast opened its mouth and showed Georgie his teeth: big, sharp, and red like blood. Its magic waited, hungry, ready to pounce on him and gobble him as soon as he moved.
Declan pulled a huge sword from the sheath on his back.
Georgie stared directly into the beast’s eyes. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Declan struck. The sword sliced though the air in a shiny metal arch and cut the body in two.
“You okay?” A bolt of white flashed from his hand into the dead beast.
Georgie remembered to breathe and swallowed. Nausea tugged at his stomach. Desperately trying not to hurl, he dragged himself up, picked up a ward stone, letting Declan in, and once the blueblood stepped over the line, he dropped the stone back in place and went to slump back on the porch steps.
Declan came to sit next to him. “Lean forward,” he ordered. “Put your head down, between your knees. That’s it. The sickness will ease up in a minute.”
Georgie bent forward, his head low. Slowly the nausea receded.
“That was smart,” Declan said. “Staring the hound down.”
“I didn’t want it to know you were there.”
Declan nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
The beast’s magic shivered. Georgie sat up. Next to him Declan put his hand on his sword.
A foul gray liquid spilled from the hound’s carcass. The flesh and bone melted, turning into pale goo. The magic curved around it, twisting like cotton candy on a stick. Dark vapor streamed from the surface. The puddle shrank, and the vapor grew darker and solidified into a tall man. A long cloak with a hood hid him, pooling about his feet and turning into smoke at the edges.
Georgie sucked in a sharp breath. The man’s magic pressed on him, trapping him like a huge heavy slab of rock. Fear skittered down his arms, leaving goose pimples.
“He can’t hurt you in this form,” Declan’s quiet voice said next to him. “His magic might slither in, but it will be weak. Show no fear. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
The vapor man turned to them. “Ah. I wondered who shot off a military-grade flash wave in this forsaken place. Just had to see for myself. I had a glimmer of hope it was my dear brother, but I see it’s just you.” His voice was soft and gentle, but for some reason it chilled Georgie all the way to his bones.
“What’s with the cloak?” Declan said.
The man ignored him. “And who would you be?” The darkness of the hood swallowed the man’s face, but Georgie knew the man’s eyes fixed on him, pressing down on him like a great weight. Magic snaked from the man in long, translucent tendrils of dark smoke. They licked the ward and slithered through it.
Georgie stared with wide eyes as the magic crept closer. It was hungry . . . So very hungry.
Declan flashed. A screen of white shot from him, stinging the tendrils. The dark magic recoiled.
“Keep your claws off the kid,” the blueblood growled.
Georgie breathed a little.
“Mmmmmm.” A low deep sound rumbled in the phantom man’s throat. “As brash as ever, Declan.” The magic swirled around him, each translucent tentacle encircled by a thin vein of dark purple. The puddle rolled forward, and the man advanced.
Georgie sat frozen. Declan was right there, and he didn’t move. He just sat there, looking slightly bored.
The puddle touched the ward and stopped.
“Interesting,” the man murmured. He raised his arms, elbows close to his body, hands up. The sleeves of the robe fell back, revealing long, slender fingers stained with a mottled patina of purple and yellow. Just like the hounds’ hides, only pale. “Let us see,” he said softly, stretching “see” into a snakelike whisper.
The magic shot from him in an explosion of darkness and clamped on to the ward, biting at it, trying to pull it apart. The tentacles flailed and jerked, but the ward held. The man glanced down, and the magic tendrils struck at the closest ward stone. They clamped on to it and twisted, trying to jerk it up.
The man arched his back, straining. His dark magic pried the rock loose. The puddle at his feet shrank faster.
Georgie’s heart beat so fast inside his chest he thought it might explode.
The ward stone rose two inches. A pale network of translucent reddish magic stretched from it, burrowing down into the ground, as if the stone had roots.
The man’s rigid body shook with strain. The stone gained another inch of height, pulling more red roots out of the ground on both sides with a creaking sound. He clawed at the air. The ward stone shivered and crashed down into place.
Declan laughed, but it was harsh and cold, and Georgie wasn’t sure what was more frightening, the dark man or the way Declan bared his teeth.
“They know how to root their wards,” Declan said.
The man flicked the sleeves of his robe back over his hands, first left, then right. “No matter,” he said. “I’ll still kill them all.”
“Not while I’m here, Casshorn.”
The man turned to Georgie, and once again, he felt as if the man’s gaze pierced him and clenched his heart in a cold fist.
“Boy . . .” Casshorn said. “I shall make you a deal. Remove the stones. Let me in. I’ll let you and your family leave. You can trade your lives for Declan’s. After all, he can’t be anything to you. You probably met him only a day or two ago.”
Georgie swallowed. His thoughts broke to pieces and ran in all directions, and no matter how hard he tried,
