breathed.
Archie was grappling with one of the attackers, when he caught sight of Catherine and the blood on her hand. His eyes were wild, but their meaning was perfectly clear.
Go! he mouthed to her. Now!
She retreated back through the pantry and into the dining area, trying to decide what to do. Archie was a good fighter, but he would need her help. Catherine gripped the pommel of her whipsword tightly. She could feel the motions it would take to jump into the fray.
A gush of blood ran down her leg.
At that moment, one of Archie’s attackers flew through the living room doorway and crashed into the dining table, blood pulsing from his throat—a fatal wound.
One down. Was it possible that Archie could beat all three of them? It was possible, she granted, but by no means certain.
If she helped him, would the baby survive? Would she? Promise me, Catherine, Archie had said. And she’d promised.
“Dammit!” she whispered again.
Her whipsword still clutched in one hand, Catherine grabbed the journal from the nursery and the athame and lightning rod from the safe, then moved back into the pantry.
“Where is she?” one of the attackers said again.
“I told you, she left!” Archie spat. The pain in his voice made Catherine pause. “Only a fool would stay here with me.” The words were directed at her; he was begging her to go. Catherine heard him cry out angrily, the way he did when he thrust his sword in practice. There was a thump of a body against the living room floor.
“Are you going to dance around, or are you going to fight?” Archie said, baiting one of his attackers. Catherine’s hopes rose. He was still standing? He was still winning?
She lifted the door in the pantry floor. It opened onto a set of narrow, steep stairs. The building was an old one, owned by Archie’s family, who had believed firmly in alternate routes of escape.
Catherine moved down the tiny set of stairs in almost complete darkness. The passage was so narrow, she had to descend half-turned to the side, navigating her pregnant body carefully.
The stairs ended in a sort of hall. Dark and narrow and low, it reminded her of the tunnel beneath Mont Saint-Michel. She could hear her own breathing like the rhythm of a steam train. She was not used to moving. She was already tired. Her belly brushed the opposite wall as she moved along beneath the living room. A chink of light hovered above her, a crack between two of the living room floorboards. The sounds of the fight came down to her clearly.
She heard something else also. There was noise behind her, from the pantry stairs. Boots approaching. One of the attackers was following her.
“Where did your friend go?”
That was Archie, speaking almost directly above her.
“My brother’s gone to find her,” another voice said. “He’ll find her! But you’ll be dead by then.”
Archie bellowed in rage, and there was a sound of bodies colliding with each other, and then with the floor.
Catherine struggled to turn herself, so her right arm, her sword arm, was toward the back, between her and her pursuer.
“I hear you,” said a soft voice, only yards away. “Stop. He wants us to kill you. But I don’t have to. Give me the journal and your athame, and you can go.”
She could see the glint of a weapon in the sliver of light through the living room floor. Catherine dropped the journal, and her athame and lightning rod. She cracked out her whipsword and swept it upward. It collided with her pursuer’s own whipsword.
A shadow blocked the light, and she saw Archie’s face above. He was pressed into the floor, struggling.
“Archie!” she yelled.
He opened his eyes and found her in the darkness below. He was gritting his teeth.
“Go!” he hissed. “Go!”
Her own pursuer struck out with his sword again. Catherine struck back, but her arm faltered under the blow. She was weak. Blood was still running down her leg. She would die, her child would die, Archie would die.
She felt a crackle of electricity around her ears and noticed the high humming in her mind. The focal. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. She had to give herself over to it, let it help her, or this would be the end.
Immediately she felt her mind expand. Her attacker was striking again. She blocked him more easily this time, shoving his weapon into the wall. Archie was above her, grappling with his opponent, groaning. All she could