their might, until their combined light at least equaled that of a very good lamp. That gave the three of them enough light to see by that they could scramble, if not precisely run, through the camp and into the ruins. Thank the good God that we always lay out an orderly camp, Giselle thought, as she jumped over wagon tongues and skirted the edges of glowing fire pits. Then they reached the edge of the ruins and the going got slower, as they had to avoid fallen stones or risk breaking a leg. The wisps seemed to know which way Cody had gone, from the direct path they were taking. Bless you little ones! she thought at them, and in answer they glowed just a little brighter.
They fled through the ruins and then into the woods beyond them. The vast number of fallen branches and yet more stones made the going slower—and here, as opposed to the opposite side of the ruins where they had camped, there was a lot of undergrowth that even the wisps were having a hard time pushing through. They all slowed to a crawl. And now . . . now Giselle thought she could hear . . . music? Dancing music?
Rosamund cursed, and hung her crossbows on her belt as she shoved her way past some bushes. “Give me the gun!” she shouted to Fox, who tossed it smoothly to her. She caught it and sped up, the wisps increasing their speed to keep ahead of her.
What does she know?
And then, they burst into a clearing.
No.
A graveyard.
Nothing grew here but moss, as the entire graveyard was heavily overhung with trees that must have kept the spot gloomy and dim even at noontide. The headstones were old, old and small, and many of them had toppled over. But that was not what made Giselle stumble to a halt.
It was the sight of Cody Lee being whirled around in a dance in the center of the graveyard, clearly against his will, by nine ghosts.
At least, Giselle assumed they were ghosts.
They were all female, and all wore something like a nightdress made of some tattered material. They all glowed, and were as transparent as any sylph; in fact the entire graveyard glowed with a strange, blue, unearthly light. But they had no wings, their hair had been shorn, and they all wore expressions of fierce glee as they concentrated on passing Cody from one to another in the wild dance. There was music coming from all around, but it didn’t sound modern, it didn’t even sound like the dance music played for the Maifests. It was frenetic, and Giselle couldn’t even recognize what sort of instruments it might be being played on. If there were instruments at all. It wasn’t exactly faint, and yet it sounded as if it was coming from a great distance.
There was a faint, foul stench of rot here, of things that were long dead. And it was freezing cold, Giselle’s breath puffing out in clouds.
Cody looked terrified, as well he should, as he passed from partner to whirling partner. He also looked exhausted, and these spirits did not look as if they intended to let him rest, not even for a moment. Can you force someone to dance long enough that he dies of exhaustion?
For one moment, Cody was on the very edge of the group, about to be tossed back into the middle. That was when the coach gun roared, shattering the music, as Rosamund fired into the midst of the spirits, literally shattering them as well, for a moment at least. Cody managed to stumble free, to stagger to Fox’s feet and fall, panting. But the spirits gathered themselves back together again, and now they were fully aware of the interlopers. They bared their teeth in ferocious snarls, and began to flow toward them, and a wave of paralyzing fear preceded them.
But with a cry that was more like a squeak than a battle trumpet, Giselle raised her hands—and her winds. And behind the winds came her army of Air Elementals and Fox’s owls.
Shrieking and screaming, the Elementals dove at the spirits, weapons flashing in their hands—swords and knives of glass, ice, silver and bronze, and their own claws if they had such things. The owls lashed out with wicked talons, slashing their way through the horde. Where they cut at the spirits, ribbons of . . . whatever it was they were made of . . . separated from