Magic Rises

semicircle, shielding Desandra. She screamed.
    Aunt B ripped a banner down and dropped it on the floor. Curran lowered Desandra onto it, turned, and jumped, changing in midleap. A moment and he tore into the werewolves next to Mahon. The remaining two packs moved away, hugging the wall to avoid being caught in the carnage.
    George moaned in Derek’s arms.
    “Hold on,” he told her.
    “I’m okay, I’m okay,” George said.
    “I need clean water,” Doolittle called out. “Beatrice . . .”
    “It’s under control,” Aunt B said. “Not my first time reattaching a limb.”
    “Can I be of assistance?” Saiman asked.
    “Have you ever delivered a child?” Doolittle asked.
    “Yes, I have.”
    “Good. We have to perform a C-section. One of her unborn is trying to kill the other.”
    “Fascinating,” Saiman said.
    A werewolf dashed our way. I sliced his legs, Raphael slit his throat, and Andrea shot him through the heart.
    Isabella marched to us, her sons in tow. “I will see—”
    “Don’t,” I warned.
    She opened her mouth. Eduardo shifted, gaining a foot in height and another across the shoulders, and bellowed at her. Isabella took a step back.
    Desandra howled, a sharp cry of pure pain.
    At the other wall Curran and Mahon raged, tearing werewolves apart. The last of the shaggy bodies stopped moving. Curran and the giant bear were the only two left standing. Mahon swung and hit Curran, huge claws raking a bloody trail along his gray side. Curran roared. Mahon rose on his hind legs. Curran lunged forward, locking his arms on the bear, and took him to the floor.
    “It’s me,” he said.
    Mahon snarled.
    “It’s me,” Curran repeated. “George is safe. It will be fine.”
    I held my breath. Sometimes werebears snapped and went berserk. That was how Curran had become the Beast Lord—he had killed a mad werebear. But Mahon was always calm. He was always in control—
    Mahon reared, tossing Curran aside like he weighed nothing. Curran landed on his side and rolled to his feet. The bear bellowed and ran straight into the door, taking it off its hinges. A moment and he vanished down the hallway.
    “Fucking animals,” Hugh said, disgust on his face.
    A deep voice rolled through the castle. “I’ve seen enough.”
    Everything stopped. Astamur stood in the doorway.
    Hugh turned. “Who are you?”
    Astamur opened his mouth. No sound came, but I heard him in my head, clear as if he stood right next to me.
    “I am the shepherd.”
    The rifle in his hands flowed, as if liquid, turning into a tall staff. Astamur looked at Hugh. “For twenty years I watched you. You’re bad for this land. You’re bad for my people. Tell your master he wasn’t welcome in the mountains when he was young. He is not welcome still.”
    “Cute,” Hugh said. “Kill him.”
    The nearest Iron Dog moved toward the shepherd.
    Astamur raised his staff. I felt a spark, a tiny hint of magic, like a glimpse of a titanic storm cloud in a flash of lightning. The butt of the staff hit the floor. A brilliant white light drowned us, as if a star had split open and swallowed us whole.
    * * *
    The floor shook. Thunder crashed, slapping my eardrums with an air fist. Next to me the shapeshifters clutched at their ears, screaming. The floor shuddered under my feet. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Things swung into focus slowly: an empty space where Astamur used to be and a widening crack crawling upward through the wall. A gap sliced the floor to the right of me, fifteen feet wide and running all the way across the great hall and into the hallway. Bright blue flames shot out of the gap, cutting the great hall in two. We, the Volkodavi, and the vampires were on one side. Curran, Hugh, the Iron Dogs, and the Belve Ravennati were on the other.
    Astamur had split the castle in two. Holy shit.
    I turned to Curran. The flames burned between us.
    Curran took a running start.
    A vampire fell off the ceiling into the fire, bursting into flames. The fire seared undead flesh. He blazed bright like a sparkler and vanished into a cloud of ash.
    “No!”
    Curran veered, avoiding the flames at the last second. Oh good. I exhaled.
    Desandra shrieked, and then a child cried, a weak mewling sound. I glanced back. Saiman lifted a newborn boy, wet and bloody. A moment later Doolittle handed a second infant over to Aunt B. She turned. The thing in her arms wasn’t a human baby. It wasn’t a wolf, it wasn’t a cat, it was a strange creature