“Bohemian!” a voice boomed, shaking the cabin walls. Pinta and Sinta rushed to the window.

“They’ve surrounded us,” Pinta said, turning back to Adelia.

Jeremy noticed a meat-tenderizing mallet in his hand. Had he been carrying that the whole time? It had a metal head with sharp tenderizing points on both sides and a well-worn wooden handle.

“Lots of energy here, boy, the violent kind,” Pinta said, hefting it in front of his face when he noticed Jeremy looking. “Same man pounded animal flesh with this for forty years, and our princess infused even more head-smashing goodness.”

“I’m not a princess,” Adelia said, clenching her jaw. “Sinta, be ready. If it’s a fight we can’t win, I’ll knock, negotiate terms, and then hold Crag off while you get everyone out.”

“I’m pretty sure we can’t win,” Sinta said. “There are at least a hundred of them out there, and they don’t seem normal.”

Jeremy snorted. “What’s normal?”

Sinta glanced back at him from the window. “They’re different; I’ve never seen Moirai like that.”

Adelia walked to the window and peered out, and Jeremy followed.

“I see you,” the same voice floated into them, calm now, almost taunting, which seemed even scarier to Jeremy. Standing to the side of the window, he peeked out, looking for Crag, the owner of the voice. Jeremy knew it was him speaking. Who else would it be? But all thoughts fell away as he took in the nightmare world of red-skinned demons milling about on the cabin’s lawn. They were all different shapes and sizes. Some of them had horns, and some had wings; all had angry red eyes that matched angry red skin. The human-sized demon Folk wore everything from tattered business suits to blue jeans and chain mail armor.

Jeremy ducked out of the window and pressed his back to the wall, sucking in deep breaths. It was a vision straight out of his father’s world. The commune preacher’s words crashed into his mind: damnation and demons. His hands trembled as he remembered the first sermon in that small church down the road, his tears after they left, and his father’s smack when he said he didn’t want to go back. But this wasn’t delusional faith or biblical literalism; these were real demons and witches. How often had that old preacher carried on about witches and how they tore families apart? That hadn’t crossed his mind before. He glanced over at Adelia. They’d have burned her as a witch, engulfed her in hate and flame, his father, sister, even his mother, and definitely Derby, the fiery preacher who held the commune together. Fear and damnation. But she was his friend, and at the moment, as he looked at her clenched jaw and determined stare, he knew she was ready to face down a yard full of real-life demons to protect them.

“They’re not right,” Pinta said from the next window over.

“Are they really demons?” Jeremy asked.

“Do you like my army?” Crag asked, stepping forward a few paces from the porch. His raspy southern drawl didn’t match his refined exterior. He looked like any other businessman that Jeremy would readily avoid. The only difference was that his gray suit covered deep fiery red skin, and his eyes were red orbs, much too large for his face. Jeremy had the impression of an enormous body squeezed into a human frame. Looking over at Adelia, she lifted her chin defiantly, as he’d seen before the fight with Crag’s minions in Ardmore. This was different, though, and he wondered if she could hold her own in this fight.

“You will not take our Sanctuary,” she snarled.

“I take what I want, Hapsburg spawn. You won’t stop me. I see you.” Crag took another step toward the cabin, not touching the front porch but inches from it.

“I see you. Exile of your Sanctuary. Thrown out by your own Folk. I don’t care if you’ve conquered a thousand Sanctuaries, you will not have this one,” Adelia said.

Crag lifted his nose, smelling the air. He had not seen her, Jeremy thought, not her true power. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“He is born from a battlefield,” Adelia said, as if reading words scrolled across his red-skinned face. “I see charred houses. Innocents slaughtered. His Folk were wild, dwelling in barns and ruins. There are blue and gray colors, some red. The Civil War or American Revolution, maybe.”

Jeremy peeked around the corner again but couldn’t make anything out. “How do you see that?”

“He’s letting me see.”

“Are they Moirai?” Jeremy asked.

“They exiled him for attempting to overthrow his Sanctuary’s lord, or what passed for one with the wild Moirai.” She licked her lips and swallowed, glassy-eyed and staring. “But he returned and….”

A smile crept over Crag’s lips. His white teeth shone brightly against the dark red of his skin. “That’s right, bohemian. I took them all and made them mine, and I’ll do the same to you.”

“We can’t hold them off,” Sinta said. “We have to knock.”

“Why do they look like that? Are they glamored?” Pinta asked.

“I don’t think so. Jeremy, what do you see?” Adelia asked.

He poked his head out again, holding onto the window frame so he wouldn’t shake. As far as he could tell, they were what they were, furious demons ready to destroy everything in front of them. He couldn’t see their names or read their history as he’d done in the Black Hills. They were simply a writhing mass of rage and hate wrapped in nightmare red skin with horns, teeth, and claws. The winged ones swooped over the others, screeching and crying things he couldn’t make out.

“They’re demons,” he whispered, pulling back from the window and wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He knew it was his imagination, or he assumed it was, but he could feel the fire and brimstone when he looked at them. His father’s and Derby’s voices warred for dominance in his mind, unintelligible sermons full of fear and hate. Scenes from reoccurring dreams that woke him in a cold sweat. But these demons weren’t a dream; they were right in front of him.

“Easy, Jeremy,” Adelia said, pressing her hand to his arm. The melody of her voice, soft and caring again, brought the world back into focus. “Breathe in and out.”

“But how did they change into this, these… whatever they are?” Pinta asked. “And why? What difference does this make to the Folk? It doesn’t matter what the faithless bastards look like unless he means—”

“To conquer humans,” Adelia said.

Jeremy shivered and imagined what people would do if they saw Crag’s army walking down the street. “But they have to stay in a Sanctuary, right?” he asked. He glanced out the window and saw Crag pacing in front of the cabin, muttering to himself or maybe chanting; it was impossible to tell. Lines of color trailed behind him as he moved back and forth. “Why doesn’t he come in and attack us?”

“The cabin is protected and has a glamor on it, so he can’t tell how strong or what traps we’ve laid. That’s why it took them so long to find us, too. Sinta is very good with intricate crafting,” Adelia said.

“What’s he chanting, and why are there lines attached to him?”

“What do you mean?” Sinta asked.

“I mean, I see cords or something coming out of his back; they’re swirling everywhere. They’re colorful, and I think they might connect to some of the other demons,” Jeremy said.

“He’s bound them? Is that possible?” Pinta asked.

“I don’t know,” Adelia said.

“I can’t see it,” Sinta said.

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to be bound to other Folk. It would drive you mad. I feel the gold every second of the day; it’s history and power. It was bled over, stolen, recovered, for thousands of years, thousands of lives. That’s why it’s so powerful. I can feel it all, but it happened in the past. But to share a bond with another living thing would be real-time emotion sharing… unbearable. Jeremy, lend Sinta your sight so she can see. She’ll know what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked.

“Like this,” Sinta walked over to Jeremy and beckoned for him to kneel. “I hold your face like this.” She reached up and cupped Jeremy’s face in both hands. “May I?”

“Why not,” Jeremy said. His hair stood on end, and his spine tingled, a million fingers running up and down his back and over his scalp. The world went dark, but he could still hear.

“You’re fine,” he heard Sinta’s whispered voice. “I’m just going to have a look.” His heart fluttered painfully in the darkness before an explosion of light overtook him. He blinked and realized he was lying on his back, looking up at the cabin’s ceiling and the bottom of Adelia’s skirts. Was there an explosion?

“We have to knock right now!” Sinta cried. Her voice teetered on the edge of a scream, and Jeremy saw that she had leaped back, crouching like a beast fighting the urge to attack or flee.

“What did you see?” Adelia asked, taking a step back from the window.

“It’s not… I don’t know… he’s mutilated them, gouged out their essence, and enslaved them somehow. He’s drawing power from them; it’s unclean, corrupt,” Sinta said, edging back to the woodstove.

“How is that possible?” Adelia asked, looking out the window. Crag was studying the porch now, standing unnaturally still. The sky broiled into a red and black mass of swirling clouds above him, and he closed his eyes. Scattered drops of heavy, viscous rain fell like blood from the sky.

“Surrender your Sanctuary. Serve me, and live.” Crag’s voice was calm, a neutral tone of command amplified by the turbulent red and black clouds above. A lightning bolt reached out across the sky. “You and your bag of gold will serve me well.”

Adelia shuddered but lifted her chin defiantly, clenched jaw flexing in time with clenched fists.

“Adelia, don’t. He’ll devour us and take Kenneth’s Cabin. We can’t stop him. We have to knock,” Sinta said.

“Can I come with you?” Jeremy hadn’t thought to ask before. He stared at Adelia as she stared at Crag fiercely. Her warring urges showed on her face. She wanted to lash out at him, but she didn’t want to endanger them. She was powerful, he’d seen that, but Sinta was probably right this time. “Adelia?” he said.

She turned her head, slowly shifting her gaze to his face. Nothing changed in her expression, but she clenched her jaw even tighter. After a moment, she must have made up her mind because she suddenly rushed past him to the woodstove. Standing in front of the flames, she swept her hands back and forth and chanted a few whispered words.

“Who knocks at the raceway?” A voice asked, a tone of crackling flames.

“Adelia of the Knights of the Cross, of St. Francis Hospital. I speak for the Folk of Ardmore and Kenneth’s cabin,” she said, turning toward the fire. Jeremy gaped. Of the knights of what and St. Francis? That was a very Christian-sounding name, which sent another shiver down his spine.

“I thought she was Czech, and why did Crag call her Bohemian?” Jeremy asked.

“Shhh,” Sinta hissed beside him.

“I see you,” the voice in the flames said. “What is your request?”

“We seek Sanctuary,” she said.

“Why do you seek Sanctuary?” the voice in the flames asked. There was a loud explosion, and the cabin shook violently.

“He just sent one of his demons up the porch, poor bastard,” Pinta said. “Cabin is holding. Maybe the protective weaves will keep them back.”

The front door bulged on its hinges before springing back into its usual shape.

“It won’t,” Sinta said. “He’s just feeling out how much power is here. We have it concealed well. He has enough to walk through our door without flinching, but he doesn’t know that yet.”

“We are under attack,” Adelia said to the flames.

“Who attacks you?” A head formed in the flames, like a red and orange version of Pinta. It tried to look past Adelia, but couldn’t seem to get the right angle.

“Crag and his hoard. He has taken Ardmore and now seeks our sanctuary,” she said.

“How many to come?”

“Twenty and a seer,” she said.

The flame head considered for a moment before responding. The cabin trembled as Crag and his minions continued to test the defenses. Jeremy wondered what kind of fight it would be if they broke through the barrier. If he was going to die, he at least wanted to get a punch or two in. He reached up and gripped the medallion around his neck, wondering if it would offer any protection against Crag or one of his demons.

“You may enter if we reach terms, but the seer may not,” the disembodied voice said. Adelia seemed to be ready for the response.

“I am bound and must travel with my seer. He is enthralled and will do you no harm,” she said.

Jeremy didn’t feel enthralled, but knew Adelia couldn’t outright lie.

“What does she mean, enthralled?” he asked Sinta, who was still standing beside him.

“What human male wouldn’t be enthralled by Adelia? Shhh,” she said, lifting a short pumpkin-colored finger to her lips.

“More coming,” Pinta roared from the front of the cabin. The door bulged again, and this time Jeremy thought it would give way before Pinta, and a handful of other Folk threw their weight against it. “It’s not going to hold,” he roared.

“What is your bargain, then? Payment must be substantial for such a risk.”

The cabin shook again and the front door splintered down the middle.

“Hurry,” Sinta hissed, turning toward the door. She raised her hands, making symbols in the air with her fingers.

“You and me, we’re meant to be. Together forever. It will always be.” Crag’s disembodied voice floated in from the storm outside, a chilling song on the stormy breeze.

Adelia glanced around at the scared faces in the room, short brown hair flying, before turning back to the disembodied head in the fire.

“One favor, my strength to your task,” she said. Jeremy heard the panic in her voice just under the surface.

“Three favors, Adelia, Knight of the Cross, your strength or your healing to three of our tasks.” The flames danced in the stove as the head spoke.

“One favor of might, one of healing,” she said, shouting over the roar of thunder and rattle of windows.

“One of—”

A loud ripping sound tore through the room as part of the roof flew off , up and away into the now raging storm above.

“Please!” Adelia said. “Now, or I will not be here for a deal to be had!”

The flame face considered for a moment and looked around the room.

“Agreed,” it said. “Two favors.” The face disappeared into a wall of fire that filled the entire stove. Jeremy stood back as it grew, watching in fascination, Crag and his demons forgotten for a moment as flames slipped out of the opening and engulfed the whole stove. Instead of spreading across the cabin’s wooden floor, though, the fire stayed centered on the stove. They rose and fell at about head height to him.

“In, now!” Pinta roared, pushing small folk into the flames.

Adelia spun around toward the front of the cabin and the raging storm outside. Lifting her hands, palms out, she shouted words he couldn’t hear as a raging wind filled the room. Lightning struck the front porch, and Jeremy stumbled backward. Then it struck, again and again, every few seconds. Jeremy didn’t know if Crag was intensifying the storm or if it was Adelia. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the white spots from his vision as the lightning continued to lash out; he saw her screaming into the wind, her hair flailing wildly, green streak waving like a flag of defiance, skirts streaming out behind her. Sinta, beside him, chanted strange words in cadence with Adelia shouting rhythm as she held a small book out in front of her.

“He’s coming!” Sinta shouted.

“I know!” Pinta said. “You,” he pointed to Jeremy, “get these Folk through the door.”

Jeremy took a step toward the fire and started pushing reluctant Folks into it. The heat was intense, and he was amazed at himself for not panicking, but nobody seemed to be screaming or burning as they entered the flames. They just vanished. And somehow, the thought of jumping into a fire was more appealing than facing Crag and his hoard of demons. When all the Folk were through, he ran into the bedroom, looking for stragglers.

As he stumbled through the room, Jeremy discovered two tiny winged Moirai behind the brass headboard, trying to do something he couldn’t make out. They looked like miniature versions of Pinta and Sinta, with oversized noses and large, glassy black eyes, except they had tiny sets of wings on their backs. One was white and the other black.

“We need the headboard!” one of them shouted. Jeremy could barely make out the palm-sized creature’s voice over the screams, roaring wind, and lightning, but he thought he understood. The headboard was infused with Crag’s own dark magic, and they wanted to get it out of this room and into the fight. He wrapped his hands around the brass tubing and froze. A feeling of dread filled him. It was more profound despair than he had ever known, even stronger than when he was a child, locked in his room for hours with no one to talk to.

“It’s the dark energy infused in it,” the other tiny winged Moirai said, flitting up to his ear, suspended by blindingly fast dragonfly wings. “You must take it into the other room. She needs it!”

Grunting, Jeremy fought against the debilitating urge to lie down and never rise. Dragging it a foot at a time, he finally stepped through the bedroom door and into the next room, where he saw Crag’s smiling face in the window next to the front door. He was staring calmly at Adelia, who stared back. The wind settled, and the lightning subsided. The only sound was the crackle of the fire behind them. Pinta and Sinta stood to either side of Adelia, feet spread, fists clenched. Sinta held the charred remnants of her book, and Pinta grasped his mallet tightly. Nod crouched behind them, next to the enormous flame. The Folk refugees were gone, and the two small winged Folk landed on his shoulders, one perched on each. The silence was overwhelming after the violent storm.

Fire sprang into the space between Adelia and Crag, swirling as it grew, a thickening cord stretching out to each of them. The bag of gold flared in his pocket, a searing pain, and he fought the urge to pull it out and cast it away. Who knew what that would do to Adelia, even if he didn’t accidentally banish her into it? Gritting his teeth, he wondered if his jeans would catch on fire.

“They battle,” a little voice whispered in his ear. “She will not win.”

Already Jeremy could see that Adelia’s skin was growing pale, and the fire was edging toward her, pulsing and flowing through the air like an ancient dragon. Crag’s smile broadened, and Jeremy heard screams from the demons in the darkness behind him.

“A Moirai dies,” the tiny creature on his left whispered.

“Crag draws every drop of their power,” the one on the right whispered.

“Get them out, Pinta,” Adelia said, the music of her voice reduced to a husky whisper.

“We’ll not leave you,” Pinta said. He took a deep breath and twirled the mallet in his hand.

“We fight,” Sinta said. She dropped the burned book and made furious movements with her small fingers. Other artifacts lay at her feet: a doll’s head, an old bracelet, and a photo frame. Jeremy saw wisps of colored energy, like smoke, streaking out of the objects up into Sinta’s fingers as they moved. Despite their brave stand, Jeremy knew they were about to die.

“No,” he said, lifting the headboard. A detached part of his mind, removed from the struggle and violence, was surprised by his calm tone. Stepping forward, he heaved the headboard directly into the funnel of fire connecting Crag and Adelia. The cabin shook again, and the window exploded. Crag flew backward through the air into the night. A hundred Moirai voices rose into a scream, and the world filled with a steady ringing tone and blinding white light. After a moment of blissful nothingness, Jeremy felt strong hands grip his shoulders, lifting him from the wood plank floor.