Mrs. Nightwing’s shout pierces the night. “To the chapel! Go! Go!”
The tracker howls in rage as Nightwing throws the lantern at them. The candle is snuffed out, and the sudden darkness is confusing.
“Gemma!” On my wrist I feel Felicity’s hand, strong and sure, pulling me forward. Mrs. Nightwing cannot keep pace. She begs us to go without her, but we refuse to leave her behind. Felicity and I take her arms and pull her along as best we can. It is a quarter mile to the chapel. A quarter mile with no place to hide. The fog has come up. It would be easy to lose our way.
The riders seem to come from nowhere. They thunder after us, darting through the trees on horses not of this world. Ann screams as the hooves of one of the beasts nearly trample her. Cut off, we dart to the left, but they have thought of that too.
Screeching comes from above. I look up to see the gargoyles descending. The riders shriek and cover their faces. One of the gargoyles falls, trampled by the rider. I recognize the majestic gargoyle who saved me from Ithal.
“This is our battle. Run!” He points to a break in the fog and the path to the chapel. We waste no time. Felicity, Ann, and I push through the chapel doors, and everyone stumbles in after us. Mrs. Nightwing sinks into the back pew, gasping for breath.
“Close—close the doors,” I stammer.
The chapel darkens, and I hear the bolt click into position.
Miss McCleethy rushes to Nightwing’s side. “Lillian, are you all right?”
“The girls,” Mrs. Nightwing says, struggling to her feet. “Is everyone safe?”
Cecily approaches us. “Mrs. Nightwing, what is happening?” Her eyes are large and her voice trembles.
“Let’s not fall to pieces,” Mrs. Nightwing manages to say, but there is none of her usual stolidity. “Come on. See to the younger girls.” Dutifully, Cecily does as she is told. Anything to ignore the growing panic that all is not as it seems. That she is right to be afraid. That she will never feel safe again.
The screams and the shrieks cut through the panes of the windows. I do not know what is happening outside, who is winning.
Miss McCleethy sits beside Nightwing in the pew, her head in her hands. “How could this have happened?”
“I told you before—Eugenia has become part of the Tree of All Souls. Part of the Winterlands,” I say.
Miss McCleethy shakes her head.
“I thought I was going mad,” I say.
“They will fight. They will come more and more,” Mother Elena mumbles. “There is no protection now.”