Fear.

  Paralyzing fear.

  Thankfully, or better said, unfortunately, I’d experienced it enough to know that it could be overcome. I sucked in a breath and pushed, casting the fear back into the far corners of my mind, where my nightmares went to dwell. A breathless cry escaped my suddenly dry lips, and I forced my legs to carry me out through the back hallway.

  Tobin and Alberad had already reached the rear exit and were waiting by the door. I swept past them and into the alley, stumbling two steps before crashing into a dark clad figure.

  The smell of old cigarettes and cheap booze filled my nostrils in the split second before my face mashed into his chest. For a brief moment I thought it was one of the wraiths. Then my eyes cleared to reveal the hustler I’d seen watching me from the alley.

  His arms snapped around me before I could pull back, his hands closing together against the small of my back. I tried to pull away, but he held me pinned, my gun hand trapped against my own hip.

  “Well now, look what I got.” His mouth peeled apart to reveal a meth-toothed smile, and his pupils loomed large in my vision, their round fullness revealing more than any drug test could. He shifted at the waist, rubbing himself against the front of my body as he let out a low, singsong sound of happiness. “You know what they say, finders keepers. And I think I’m going to keep you long enough to—”

  My neck snapped forward, and my forehead impacted against the bridge of his nose with a resounding crack. His grip faltered and his dilated eyes blurred as he stumbled back. His hands came up to his face, and some not nice words spilled from his mouth, but I wasn’t listening. I was still focused on the wraiths we’d just left, and every instinct inside was telling me that we needed to be far away from here. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that with this hustler in front of me, which meant he needed to be dealt with. Fast.

  I shifted my gun in my hand and swung my arm up and around. I couldn’t remember ever reading about anyone being pistol-whipped in the balls before, but it proved surprisingly effective. The hustler let out a breathless cry and his knees folded inward, his hands dropping as he fell to the ground in a curled ball. A brief moment of triumph surged in my chest, but it was fleeting, especially when something crashed against the door we’d just exited.

  “Sergeant!” Tobin screamed.

  I spun around to see Tobin and Alberad holding the door closed. Something crashed against it a second time, causing the entire frame to tremble. Evidently the wraiths weren’t done with us yet.

  “Get back!” I screamed and adopted a shooter’s stance.

  Tobin and Alberad sprang to either side as I raised my pistol and fired twice. Both shots blasted through the door, and that same horrid cry rang out, echoing through the alley and causing my skin to crawl.

  “Go!” I screamed.

  Neither Tobin nor Alberad needed any encouragement. We took off, sprinted the length of the alley and rounded the corner onto Fairfield Street. Instinctively, I started to turn south, toward where our car was parked, but a flash of movement caught my eye, a shifting in the shadows near the alleyway.

  “Not that way!” I pumped the brakes, skidded on the roadway and nearly wound up flat on my butt before I managed to catch myself. My free hand hit the street, and I jerked around and raced back the opposite way, Tobin and Alberad quickly following suit.

  We ran north past multi-story brownstones on either side of the street. Always before I had enjoyed the Back Bay area, but today it had adopted a menacing aura, its alleys and nooks filled with large shadows that threatened to come alive at any moment.

  A white painter’s van honked as we raced across Newbury Street, the driver gesturing angrily as we sprinted by without care for the crosswalk signal. As my foot touched down on the opposite side, a man’s screams erupted, originating from where we’d left the hustler and echoing through the Back Bay.

  There was no way for anyone to pretend they didn’t hear the sounds of commotion, and the people making their way along the street turned toward the sounds of distress, peering and squinting back in the direction we’d just come.

  The hustler’s screams were horrid, filled with fear and pain. They urged us forward, carrying us north to the next city block. We passed onto Commonwealth Ave and raced through the intersection, our feet touching grass on the other side.

  The Commonwealth Avenue mall is often called the spine of Back Bay. A narrow pathway that ran east to west, lined with grassy areas, park benches, and historical statues. As we passed beneath the canopy of trees, I became aware of Alberad’s heavy breathing. A quick glance back showed him faltering, and I slowed my pace to let him to catch up.

  No sooner did I draw my eyes away than another wraith appeared. It stepped out from behind the tree directly to my left, emerging as if born from the shadows, its robe billowing as it swept between us. Instinct kicked in and I dove forward, rolling once and coming up to my feet before spinning around. Behind me, Alberad screamed and Tobin jerked to a halt, his feet slipping in the grass. The pair hit the ground as the wraith loomed over them, sword held high.

  I snapped my arm up, drew a bead with my pistol, but a gauntleted hand appeared from behind me before I could fire. It snapped up and caught me under the arm, redirecting my pistol up into the air as it spun me around. The wraith’s other hand closed around my throat, the sudden cold causing my nerve endings to scream as the frigid metal burned my skin. Bostonians are used to cold, but this was as if the wraith had come straight out of the freezer. I opened my mouth to scream, but the wraith’s grip tightened, cutting off my air.

  Fear surged through me, and I brought my opposite hand around and struck the side of the wraith’s face. I expected to hit flesh, or maybe bone. Instead, my hand struck something vaguely reminiscent of Kevlar or hockey padding. I had a sudden flash of those Kendo practitioners, the ones who meet down at the Athletic Club and whack at one another with makeshift katana swords formed from bamboo.

  A low hiss of air escaped the wraith’s mouth, wafting over my face with the scent of dry soil buried beneath the snow. His grip tightened, and black stars appeared along the edge of my vision, dancing toward the center. My arm dropped and my feet started kicking involuntarily, jerking spasms wracking my body. I had a distant realization that consciousness would flee in the next few seconds, unless I did something fast.

  So I phoned a friend.

  Not a literal friend. But a blade crafted by someone who cared about me. My arm came up and my hand closed around the grip of Warman’s Blade, a sudden surge of warmth and strength pushing back the cold just long enough for me to draw it from its sheath.

  I brought my hand up and drove the blade into the meat of the wraith’s forearm. The tip of Warman’s Blade struck the metal gauntlet, but if the wraith had been counting on that to turn the blade it was sorely mistaken. Warman’s Blade was top notch, and the tip punched through the gauntlet as if it were made of aluminum foil, striking down into the flesh beneath.

  A sharp, piercing cry erupted from the wraith’s mouth, and the frigid fingers around my throat disappeared as it screamed. Warman’s Blade cut a line through the gauntlet, and presumably the flesh beneath, as the wraith jerked back its arm.

  My heels hit the earth, and I stumbled back, crashing against the waist-high wrought iron fence and using it to steady myself. The summer air hit my lungs with a gasp, banishing the frigid cold in a painful exhale. The black stars were still dancing across my vision, and I blinked rapidly, clearing my gaze just as the wraith recovered.

  It clutched its wounded hand against its chest but had already drawn its sword with the other. It shot in, leaping forward like a modern-day fencer, its blade on a direct line toward my midsection. Fear flashed through me, along with the realization that I wasn’t going to be able to avoid the blow. Best I could hope for was to take the wraith down with me. It was a grim prospect, but in that brief second, I gritted my teeth and vowed to go down swinging.

  Or in this case, shooting.

  Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. As the wraith lunged forward, a figure rushed in from my left and drove his shoulder into the wraith’s midsection. The blow was solid, and the force of the impact lifted the robed specter off the ground and sent it flying half a dozen steps. It crashed to the earth, the back of its cowled head striking the grass with a heavy thud even as its sword slipped from its grasp.

  It took me a second to realize I wasn’t dead, then another fraction of a second to take in what was happening around me.

  Tobin and Alberad were battling the second wraith. Tobin had armed himself with a stout tree branch. He brought it around in wide, vicious swings, keeping the wraith at a distance even as he circled. Opposite him, Alberad wielded a set of keys, sprinting close and jingling them wildly near the wraith’s head in an effort to keep the specter distracted before dancing back.

  I pushed myself off the fence and drew to within six or seven feet, raising my arms and aligning my pistol sights on the center of the wraith’s back before my finger hesitated on the trigger. I’d seen a lot of weird stuff over the past year, and one thing I’d learned along the way was to never take what was presented in front of me at face value.

  Take the wraiths. My brain knew they weren’t undead specters, no matter how my heart might try to argue, but I had a sudden image of firing my gun only to watch the bullets pass through the wraith’s shadowy form and strike Tobin and Alberad. A sudden chill swept down my spine, all of this happening in less time than it takes to describe, but the implications were damning, and I suddenly realized just how limited my gun could be.

  The wraith must have felt my gaze on its back, because it whirled suddenly, bringing his sword around in a scything arc. I snapped back, bending at the waist as the sword’s tip flashed past my face. It brought a rush of cold air that chilled my lips, and floating particles the color of ash that burned my eyes. I blinked against the sudden pain and stumbled back, managing to maintain a grip on my pistol.

  Tobin shot in and drove his branch into the wraith’s knee. It hit with a meaty thwack, and the wraith screamed, and brought its sword around, but the stout gardener danced clear of its swipe, screaming and shaking the branch in defiant rage.

  As the wraith turned, my rescuer shot in. I got a better look at him this time and was stunned to realize I recognized him. It was the muscular, surfer looking guy I’d seen back at the apartments. By the time recognition dawned, he’d shot within spitting distance of the second wraith, and I noted two things gripped in his hands. The first was a jeweler’s soldering torch, identical to the one I’d seen inside Alberad’s store. The second was an aerosol spray cannister of jewelry polish. He depressed the atomizer, and a steady flow streamed out, soaking the wraith’s back an instant before he brought the flame into the spray’s path.

  The aerosol spray took to the flame, blasting a steady stream of fire onto the wraith’s robe, which immediately caught fire. A scream of fear and pain ripped up from the wraith’s cowl, and it turned to flee.

  Two steps brought it over to its fallen comrade, and it tripped on its prone form, landing atop him in a fiery, armored crash. The second wraith’s robes caught the flame, fire racing along the side of its body even as the air filled with the acrid stink of burning cloth. The pair screamed, their horrid cries erupting from their flailing forms.

  Amidst the screams I caught wind of another sound. That of half a dozen swords being pulled from their sheath. I raised my head as another wraith stepped out from behind the trees one block east. It wasn’t alone either. Two additional wraiths flanked it, each with swords drawn. A sudden prickling sensation appeared along the back of my neck, and I turned to see a mirror image, that of three wraiths wielding swords, closing in from the west.

  A hand seized my arm, and I turned to find myself face to face with our rescuer. From here, I realized he was older than I initially thought, and not handsome, although there was a certain roguish slant to his face that some women might have found appealing. His eyes were pond blue, and the lines at the corners of his mouth were suggestive of someone who smirked more than they smiled.

  “This way,” he said. “Quickly.”

  I hesitated. A part of me wanted to stay and fight, but I knew I couldn’t battle the wraiths and keep Tobin and Alberad protected. Fleeing was the only real choice we had.

  So we ran.

  We sprinted past the brownstones and the cars parked along the side of the road and ignored the curious and alarmed looks of those we passed. We ran as fast and as hard as we could, until we eventually ran out of road. All the while I never looked back, but Tobin did, and I heard him exclaim.

  “They’re still back there!”

  I gritted my teeth and forced myself forward, reaching the street’s end where I was greeted by a waist-high, rusted chain link fence that led to a five-foot drop. I holstered my pistol and Warman’s Blade, then made my way up and over, balancing along the ledge in order to assist the others. Once we were all over the fence, I led us across six lanes of roadway to the edge of the Charles River, then hesitated at the other side, unsure which way to turn until our rescuer took the lead.

  He led us down a paved bike path, circling around the shore to where the bridge lay. There, nestled against the stones and tied off to a nearby tree, sat a square little pontoon boat.

  “They’ve got eyes all along the roads,” our rescuer explained as he seized the rope. He undid the knot and swiftly wrapped the frayed cord into a circle as he led us into the boat. “Try to flee, and they’ll follow. This is our only escape.”

  “It’s not much of an escape,” I said.

  “You’re familiar with the adage about beggars and choosers, I presume?”

  Fair point.

  We loaded up into the boat, Alberad and I at the head, Tobin and our rescuer near the back. He dumped the rope onto the deck, then inserted the key and pressed the Start button.

  Nothing happened.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, before he tried it again. This time the engine gave a little rattling cough, more of a hiccup, then fell silent.

  “Uh—” I began, but he cut me off.

  “Not a word! You,” he motioned to Tobin, “check the motor!”

  Tobin nodded and dropped to his knees beside the motor. He fished around for a long moment before our rescuer screamed, “Well?”

  “I don’t see anything!” Tobin shook his head and shifted to his right, yanking open the panel in the deck and peering down. “It’s the battery! Someone disconnected the wires!”

  Our rescuer cursed and raced back, dropping down onto his knees beside him. The two of them spoke in harsh whispers, hands disappearing down into the panel hole. While they worked, I kept my eyes on the shore, one hand on my holstered pistol. No wraiths appeared, but it was difficult to see due to the steep incline and the heavy tree cover. I wouldn’t notice them until they were right on us, and by then it would already be too late.

  “I’ve got it!” Tobin said. “Try it now.”

  Our rescuer nodded and leaped to his feet. He sprinted back across the boat, seized the ignition key and gave it a turn.

  The engine roared to life, and a font of water gushed up without warning. For a split second, I thought it was the engine that had caused it, but then I saw the gauntleted hand appear and realized what had happened.

  The wraith emerged from beneath the water and seized Tobin by the front of his torn shirt. Tobin’s scream echoed up through the air as the wraith pulled, dragging his upper torso over the deck’s edge, but I was already in motion by the time the sound reached me.

  I sprinted across the length of the boat and threw myself into a baseball style slide. The rough deck burned a stripe up the length of my thigh as I slid, but I didn’t flinch and my foot impacted directly into the space where the wraith’s mouth should have been.

  Some girls go to work in nice heels, but I wasn’t one of them. I wore boots with thick soles and plenty of ankle support. And they hit hard. The wraith’s head snapped back, and its hand snapped open, arms flailing as it toppled backward into the water.

  I seized Tobin’s sleeve as I passed him and pushed with all my might, forcing his upper torso back up over the deck’s edge even as I continued on.

  My feet went over the boat’s edge, then my knees, and finally my waist. All at once, my bottom half dropped into the Charles River. My feet disappeared into the water a second before the cold stabbed through my pants. A breathless cry ripped up past my throat, and my grip faltered, my hand slipping off the deck’s edge. I made a desperate grab as the engine roared and the boat bucked, pushing away from the shore, but my fingertips missed the deck rail by several inches.

  I hit the water with a loud splash and my head disappeared below the surface, sight and sound vanishing as the black water enveloped me. Some distant part of my brain was screaming, warning me that I wasn’t alone down here, but the cold had driven the breath from my lungs, and my muscles refused to respond.

  I started to sink, feeling myself being dragged down, but a hand pierced the water and seized my arm. Strong fingers clasped my wrist and jerked me up. My head broke the surface, and I drew in a long gasp.

  The boat pulled away from the shore, spraying water and dragging me along behind it for several seconds until the grip around my wrist tightened. With a great heave, it lifted me up out of the water and over the boat’s edge.

  I toppled onto the deck next to Tobin. The stout gardener was soaked and muddy and still holding tight to my wrist. His gaze met my own, fear reflecting back as the boat carried us out into open water.