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“What are you doing?” Dautre said.

Adam drew his sword.

“Disobeying the king.”

“Good.”

“Let’s go test Argent’s makeover.”

Dautre eyed the blade. “They’ll be out of your reach, hovering as they do.”

“No, they won’t.”

Setting his sights on a banshee, Adam vanished. Using his new trick, he dipped back toward his body and reappeared above the banshee.

The sword did not miss a beat, staying with him. He fell and sliced. The banshee looked up, at the last moment, and died in a spray of sluggish blood. One voice in their horrible chorus fell silent as Adam landed with a hard thud. His knees would be pissed tomorrow.

Next to him, Dautre copied the move, landing with far more grace, his own blade extended. The banshee he’d killed fell on either side, cleaved in two.

“Might I suggest another, shorter jump to ease your landing?”

“Why land at all?”

Dautre cocked his head in approval.

Adam sighted another target and jumped again. He did not have time to see if Dautre kept up. The banshee shifted in the second he’d been gone so rather than appearing atop it, he could only slice awkwardly as he descended. The thing screamed and twisted, its tentacles intent on ending him from multiple directions, but he jumped again. Appearing behind it, he kicked out, his boot connecting with the back of its neck.

They fell together. Another jump, and he landed atop it as it touched the ground, crushing it into the soil. He drove the blade’s point downward and called its magic. The thing turned to ice and shattered.

He tried not to think of Sonya’s hand, broken on the floor.

He took several heaving breaths. He was tiring quickly. The trick was effective but exhausting.

The banshee chorus rose and fell.

Across the plain the white horses dashed. Gunfire sounded. Lighting flashed and ice shards flew as the elves unleashed their spells.

The Lost Ones, those who had not succumbed to the song, either ran in a panic or fought both elf and banshee in desperation. Many of the tents were on fire and the taste of melting plastic and burned possessions filled the air.

More banshees were rising, summoned by the song.

Adam stared a breath too long.

“Adam!” Dautre shouted. “Down!”

He dropped to the ground, thankful for all the school drills about a fire, as a strand of banshee hair raced past where his head had been. Rolling, Adam vanished and reappeared, sword in hand.

The banshee must have been watching him fight. He didn’t surprise it. It twisted in place, its body swiveling inside the cloud of tendrils. The banshee met his gaze and smirked. It opened its mouth to scream, but only a gurgle came as the tip of Dautre’s sword appeared in its mouth.

He’d teleported so his blade was inside the thing. He sliced up, splitting its skull, and it slumped.

“Thanks,” Adam gasped.

In the sky, gray split the emerald twilight. Cracks opened on the horizon.

“What is that?” Dautre asked in horror.

“It’s the Between.”