Dead to the World

blundered ahead, trying not trip over the debris on the floor. The witches’ paraphernalia, bowls and knives and bits of bone and vegetation that I couldn’t identify, had been scattered in the scuffle. A clear spot opened up unexpectedly, and I could see an overturned bowl and one of the knives on the floor at my feet. I scooped up the knife just before the cloud rolled back over it. I was sure the knife was supposed to be used for some ritual—but I wasn’t a witch, and I needed it to defend myself. I felt better when I had the knife, which was real pretty and felt very sharp.
    I wondered what our Wiccans were doing. Could they be responsible for the cloud? I wished I’d gotten to vote.
    Our witches, as it turned out, were getting a live feed from the scene of the fight from one of their coven sisters, who was a scryer. (Though she was physically with them, she could see what was happening on the surface of a bowl of water, I learned later.) She could make out more using that method than we could, though why she didn’t see just a bunch of white smoke billowing on the surface of that water, I don’t know.
    Anyway, our witches made it rain . . . in the building. Somehow the rain slowly cut back on the cloud cover, and though I felt damp and extremely cold, I also discovered I was close to the inner door, the one leading into the second, large room. Gradually, I became aware that I could see; the room had started to glow with light, and I could discern shapes. One bounded toward me on legs that seemed not-quite-human, and Debbie Pelt’s face snarled at me. What was she doing here? She’d stepped out the door to show the Wiccans which way to find safety, and now she was back in the room.
    I don’t know if she could help it or not, or if she’d just gotten swept up in the madness of battle, but Debbie had partially changed. Her face was sprouting fur, and her teeth had begun to lengthen and sharpen. She snapped at my throat, but a convulsion caused by the change made her teeth fall short. I tried to step back, but I stumbled over something on the floor and took a precious second or two to regain my footing. She began to lunge again, her intent unmistakable, and I recalled that I had a knife in my hand. I slashed at her, and she hesitated, snarling.
    She was going to use the confusion to settle our score. I wasn’t strong enough to fight a shape-shifter. I’d have to use the knife, though something inside me cringed at the thought.
    Then from the tags and tatters of the mist came a big hand stained with blood, and that big hand grabbed Debbie Pelt’s throat and squeezed. And squeezed. Before I could track the hand up the arm to the face of its owner, a wolf leaped from the floor to knock me down.
    And sniff my face.
    Okay, that was . . . then the wolf on top of me was knocked off and rolling on the floor, snarling and snapping at another wolf. I couldn’t help, because the two were moving so quickly I couldn’t be sure I’d help the right party.
    The mist was dispersing at a good rate now, and I could see the room as a whole, though there were still patches of opaque fog. Though I’d been desperate for this moment, I was almost sorry now that it’d arrived. Bodies, both dead and wounded, littered the floor among the paraphernalia of the coven, and blood spattered the walls. Portugal, the handsome young Were from the air force base, lay sprawled in front of me. He was dead. Culpepper crouched beside him, keening. This was a small piece of war, and I hated it.
    Hallow was still standing and completely in her human form, bare and smeared with blood. She picked up a wolf and slung it at the wall as I watched. She was magnificent and horrible. Pam was creeping up behind her, and Pam was disheveled and dirty. I’d never seen the vampire so much as ruffled, and I almost didn’t recognize her. Pam launched herself, catching Hallow at the hips and knocking her to the floor. It was as good a tackle as I’d ever seen in years of Friday night football, and if Pam had caught Hallow a little higher up and could have gotten a grip on her, it would have been all over. But Hallow was slippery with the misty rain and with blood, and her arms were free. She twisted in Pam’s grasp and seized Pam’s long straight hair in both hands and pulled, and clumps of the hair came off, attached to a good bit of scalp.
    Pam shrieked like a giant teakettle. I’d never heard a noise that loud come out of a throat—in this case