I had no idea if it would work. I was reacting on pure instinct, but if I could create the undead, then maybe, like a banshee, I could bind them and control them. I held my breath and waited. Ever so slowly, the dead man rose to his feet, the axe still embedded in his head. He started walking toward the back of the room.

"What the hell is—I don't want to go this way. Why am I moving?" Wanda's voice cried out.

The dead man's arm reached up and pulled out the axe. He started to swing it in the air at the crowd as he moved.

I just raised the dead and released this thing, this zombie into the crowd. A zombie swinging an axe. How many people will that thing kill?

I'd wanted a distraction, true, but I had just committed murder—a healthy person this time—and now I'd set a monster onto the crowd. A part of me was crying out, screaming in my head that what I was doing was insane, but the anger in my blood was roaring so loud that I was having a hard time focusing on anything but the red rage washing over me in waves.

I watched Wanda stumble through the crowd, axe swinging clumsily back and forth through the air. The clumsy swings did little damage for the most part, but here and there the edge cut into a dazed follower. The axe came down into someone's arm and blood spurted out in a gush, but the trance was so deep that the man didn't even seem to notice. He swayed back and forth until his body slowly slid to the floor. Wanda the zombie was hurting people. Wanda the zombie would probably kill people.

I should have stopped her.

Instead, I turned and looked for Macaven.

He was still at the altar. I shoved my way through the crowd. The people around me were repeating each word that madman was saying. He was using the magic and the will of his coven to power a spell, but If Luke was right, Macaven would wait to release the demon under the dark moon tomorrow night.

If Macaven isn't releasing the demon, then what spell is he trying to work?

Screams began to ripple through the crowd behind me. Would Wanda's violence be enough of a distraction to unravel the spell? I turned and saw that she'd cut a path most of the way across the room. Bodies littered the floor behind Wanda and blood blended with the dark robes in the candlelight. I watched as Wanda approached a wide-eyed guard. He pulled a semi-automatic weapon from underneath his robe and began firing.

The bullets passed through Wanda, but it didn't stop her. Several more guards revealed weapons and opened fire, trying to bring Wanda down with the sheer weight of all that lead. The stream of bullets passed into the crowd, and more of the coven fell. Wanda wobbled and collapsed behind a tall man. It was as effective as putting on a bulletproof vest: the bullets hit the man and zinged off, bouncing in every direction. I knew powerful death dealers could deflect bullets, but actually seeing it was something else. He didn't seem to be doing anything special, and he looked as surprised as anyone else at the chaos around him. He smiled in macabre pleasure as bullets meant for him cut down those who stood near him. Around the room, the most powerful mages became islands amongst the carnage.

More bodies dropped—those who weren't so powerful or lucky. In moments, dozens lay dazed, dead, or screaming in pain on the floor. The firing slowly stopped as the guards fell to their own bullets bouncing back at them.

I'd wanted a distraction, but what I set in motion was more along the lines of mass murder.

People are dying. I shook my head—bad people are dying, people who committed murder themselves. These were not innocents; these were the ones who agreed to follow Macaven. These were people trying to release a demon into the world. The innocents were down below, helpless, in danger unless I did something to save them.

Macaven had stopped to watch the carnage, his face a mask of shock and anger, but almost immediately his whole focus returned to the boy on the altar. He looked down at the dagger in his hand, and with a grimace turned back to his task. The sacrifice was going to happen at any moment. Macaven had the dagger raised in the air and in his other hand was the book. He shouted out more Latin words.

I can't let him kill the boy. I pushed and shoved my way to the bottom steps of the altar. Macaven, the madman that had killed my family, was moments away from slitting this boy's throat. I will not stand by and watch him kill again. I have to stop him. A red hot, blinding rage burst through me, and I rushed up the steps.

Macaven spotted me, and he dropped the book and raised his hand as if to work a spell, but I was moving too fast. I lowered my shoulder and plowed right into him. We both flew off the altar and hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. I grunted in pain as I hit the floor. The knife flew out of Macaven's hands and skidded across the room. I forced myself to move—I rolled toward the dagger and made a grab for it, cutting my flesh as my fingers wrapped around the blade. My blood slid down the steel surface, but I ignored the pain and pulled it toward me. I held the dagger tight in my hand and lifted it up as more of my blood dripped down its handle.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of Macaven's minions moving toward me. He was a giant of a man, towering over everyone in the room.

At the sight of him I froze, unsure what to do next. Nothing short of a tree trunk would bring this guy down.

Luke and Freddy appeared out of nowhere, plowing into the huge man's side and sending him stumbling across the altar. Freddy began wailing on the massive man with his bolt cutters while Luke struggled to hold the giant down.

Luke looked over at me and yelled, "Kill him!" in a strained voice and pointed to where Macaven was beginning to climb to his feet.

I had the knife. I raised it and started forward. Macaven lifted his hands and screamed out. Banshees began to form in the air around him in an angry tornado. They swirled between us. How can I get to him? By the time I reached him, I would be flayed alive or worse. The spirits suddenly turned in my direction and rushed forward. I raised an arm up over my head but remembered I had no magic to protect myself against the assault. I closed my eyes and waited for them to swarm over me.

A shockwave punched through the air and knocked me back off my feet. I opened my eyes and turned to see Luke holding on to the enormous man's leg with one arm as his other free hand waved in the air. Latin words flew from his mouth. He had called forth his own banshees to protect me.

Luke's banshees rose up and washed forward like a tidal wave, crashing against Macaven's spirits. High pitched, wrenching screams filled the air as tortured souls clashed and smashed into each other. Each time the spirits collided, a wave of energy exploded out from them, shooting through the room. Macaven's spirits were overwhelming Luke's with superior numbers and darker intent, and I could see Luke struggling. A few of Macaven's banshees broke through and headed toward me. As they neared, I raised my hands in front of me, shouting out in rage at the swirling spirits.

The first banshee struck me, slashing with ghostly, painful claws and leaving long gouges across my shoulder blade. Blood began to flow freely, sticking my shirt to my back and trickling down my spine. They'll kill me if I don't do something. Did I have the magic to defend myself? I'd helped a spirit cross over to the light, but these creatures had little in common with the light; I could feel the waves of evil coming from them. Another painful slash across my back, and then a deep cut into my shoulder.

Whatever I was going to try, I had to do it now.

The slices on my back began to burn, and the pain seemed to wipe away my uncertainty. My anger flared back up. Macaven deserved to burn for what he had done. Fire. I'd used flames to sever the tie of the dying child from this world to the next. Could I bring the fire forward again?

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the words I had spoken from the book. This time there was no devil's berries ointment to induce the twilight sleep. I had to find my way back to that mental state all on my own. My life depended on it. Anger and pain sharpened my focus. I imagined the fire in my mind, then glanced down to see flames flicker to life at the fingertips of my empty hand. I'm doing it, I'm doing it! I pushed all the pain and rage pumping through my veins into those flames.

I opened my eyes wide, reached out, and with every ounce of strength I possessed, pushed the fire out toward the banshee closest to me. A blast of red orange heat radiated out and encircled it. The creature's screams filled my ears. Ash and embers floated through the air.

Drops of molten liquid rained to the floor from the empty space where the banshee had just been.

I paused for a second in complete disbelief. Even among the death and chaos, the enormity of what I had just done hit me. I have magic as powerful as Luke's, maybe even more powerful. I'd used it to protect myself.

I was no longer a victim in this game.

I closed my eyes and reached for the fire once more. I pushed it out toward the spirits still encircling me. Screams of pain and horror filled the air as one after another was consumed by fire.

Another shockwave hit me, and I fell back again. I felt blood trickling along my arm. I looked down at the dagger still clutched between my fingers. The dagger. I'd forgotten about it. Without it, Macaven couldn't finish his spell. If I could release the souls trapped in the knife, then Macaven wouldn't be able to raise his demon.

And my father would be free.

I forced myself to my feet. The dagger felt warm in my hands. All I had to do was focus on the light. I could do the same thing I'd done for Thomas—I could free my father's spirit from this prison and help him cross to the other side. Without my father's power, Macaven wouldn't be able to release his spell.

I closed my eyes, ignoring everything around me. The dagger vibrated in my hands for a moment but then stopped. I concentrated harder. I could make out whispers on the wind. I could hear the tormented cries of the people Macaven had killed whirling around me. Vengeance, they want vengeance. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried harder. The dagger in my hands started to hum. The humming grew louder. I opened my eyes to see the dagger glowing orange. Is it working? Am I releasing my father's spirit?

The colored light slowly began to morph, first into gray, and then darker. I heard the sounds again. The ones I'd listened to when I stood before the great expansion of inky blackness during the rituals, the unearthly snarls and unworldly sounds of dragging and thumping. I opened my eyes.

I was back there now, on the edge of the abyss.

I could see it in front of me. Something within it seemed to call out to the dagger. Suddenly the blackness stretched toward me, swirling around the weapon.

I heard Luke yell my name right before the world around me exploded.

My body was thrown like a rag doll through the air and across the room. I slammed against something hard, and everything went dark.