We burst out of the stables and into the streets of the City of Dust. At midnight, it's absurdly quiet and I have to wonder if there's some sort of curfew in place. There are a few lights on in the Orcus Institute, but other than the street lamps and the nearly full moon high above, that's all there is for illumination.

There's no looking back, so I don't—keeping my eyes focused on the too-clean road ahead. Where the hell is Glaris?

As if sensing my thoughts, there's a snort and a massive black stallion emerges from an alley. Behind them on a lead line is a fully-tacked black pony mare. The trio is practically invisible in the dark; even the Striker's yellow eyes are in shadow.

"Over here," Glaris says, bringing the pony around.

I watch her freeze and begin to shake as the fear completely takes control.

"Come on," I hiss between clenched teeth. "We don't have any time to dawdle."

Glaris glares at me from beneath his hood. At least, that's what I think he's doing. I really can't tell.

"Come on," he repeats, nicely.

Egon helps speed up the process by walking up to the black stallion. Glaris dismounts and lifts Kayleigh off Egon's back and shifts her to the pony.

I grit my teeth and tap my foot in the stirrup, watching as they waste precious seconds. He should have just taken her up on the stallion and forgotten the pony entirely. I can't even imagine why he thought that this was a good idea.

Kayleigh comes to as soon as she's in the saddle. She immediately finds her seat, slides her feet into the stirrups, and takes up the reins.

"Good, kid," Glaris praises, wasting even more time by patting her on the back.

God, can we save all this positive affirmation for after we're miles and miles away?

Glaris swings back up on his stallion and knees the Friesian into motion. Winston and the pony lurch after them, cloven and steel-shod hooves clattering on cobblestone.

I have a vague idea of how to get out of the city, but Glaris seems to know immediately where to go. He leads us through the wide streets and through avenues bordered by massive skyscrapers. The geode-like wall that encircles the City of Dust looms overhead, the glittering peaks reflecting the light of the moon.

Everything is dead and quiet, like a cemetery.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as if in a warning. I haven't encountered zombies, vampires, or ghouls, but who's to say what else the demons will raise next?

As we race past an ordinary-looking blue post office box, the entire city shakes as a massive bellow rolls overhead like a tsunami-generated wave.

"Huuuunnnnterrrrr!"

Ehtab's voice slams into me, right between my shoulder blades. A puff of breath leaves my lungs as if I've been punched by a giant's fist. Surprise turns into a cough and I double over in the saddle. Winston grunts, ears pinning back, and his stride falters. The Striker's stallion bellows and tosses his huge head, thick black mane flying. Kayleigh's pony squeals and bucks, causing the kid to shriek as she struggles to control the mare.

Gasping, I struggle to fill my lungs with air. For too many seconds, I can't seem to catch it, but finally, my body remembers how to work. I lean back, mouth wide open, drawing in precious oxygen. Heart pounding, I do what I told myself that I wouldn't do—I look back.

"Shit!"

Dust is pouring out of the top of the Orcus Institute, cresting over the roof of the building like a wave. I can swear there are bodies in the dust.

No—those are bodies! Angry, writhing demonic bodies.

"Glaris!" I shout. "Look!"

The demon-hunter twists in the saddle. "Shit," he hisses. "C'mon, we have to hurry."

The kid looks over her shoulder and screams.

Winston roars, stretching out his head and neck as he powers into a gallop. Between us, Egon yips and digs his claws into the cobblestone, soon outpacing the horses and elk.

A flash of yellow explodes out of the corner of my right eye. I turn my head and see Glaris whip what looks like a Japanese katana out of nowhere. The blade glows a sickly shade of yellow—not the cheery sort you'd expect of the sun or a flower, but a disgusting, putrid yellow. The color of old bruises and jaundice.

Little flames lick up the blade as the demon hunter raises it over his head. Putting a knee into the black stallion's side, he pulls the Friesian around. Sparks fly beneath the stallion's hooves as he spins on those powerful haunches.

The pony wheels, eyes rolling, jaws foaming as she's forced to avoid a collision.

"Get down and get behind the enfield," Glaris orders, eyes glowing the same eerie yellow as the flames on his sword. He doesn't even look as the kid practically tumbles off the pony's back and onto the street, clutching the reins close to the mare's head.

Egon growls and circles them, vestigial wings rattling like a rattlesnake's tail.

"What do you have, Hunter?" Glaris asks, rolling his head from side to side. I hear his bones crack as he loosens up.

"I used to have flash-bang powder and throwing knives, but the bastards took them. Will a rifle and crossbow bolts work?"

Glaris's expression is grim behind the mask and cowl. "I'll have to weaken them first before those will have any effect. But I wasn't referring to physical weapons."

I understand immediately. "Blood magic."

"Really?"

I don't know if he's impressed or worried, because there's no more time for chit-chat. Drawing one of the shims I carved out earlier, I draw a thin line over the palm of my left hand. The splinters sting like a son of a bitch, but I grit my teeth and concentrate on the magic.

I feel it rise in the toes of my boots, building up and up and up as if I'm a volcano. "PROTEGO!" I scream, throwing my arms wide. Droplets of blood fly from the cut on my palm and splatter on the clean streets of the City of Dust.

The volcano within me violently explodes; magic rushes out in a giant blood-red wave, lighting up the street as it curves around us in a protective dome.

Winston bellows and stomps his feet as the first lesser demon hits the ward and bounces back.

These are no forgotten beasts from the pages of a children's mythology book. These are creatures of Hell, pure and simple. Some are clearly animalistic in appearance, with long, canine snouts filled to the brim with sharp ivory teeth. Others are more bipedal, with huge, hulking bodies that might be called ape-like, with blunt muzzles and razor-sharp claws.

Their skin appears scaled, like a crocodile's, and veins of red, yellow, and purple pulse beneath the surface like tiny lava flows. Their unblinking eyes, round and without pupils, echo this color scheme.

The lesser demons swiftly circle us, screaming and clawing at the blood ward with fangs and talons. I feel each and every one of the blows as if they are physically beating on me.

God, it hurts!

"Ha!" Glaris shouts, sweeping down with his fiery katana as he rides his stallion by Winston and I. The glowing blade slides easily through my ward and into the demons on the outside. Where the flames touch demon hide, they suddenly stiffen, pulsing plates closing up.

"Shoot them, Hunter!" he shouts over his shoulder as he races along, eyes practically blazing with yellow light.

As the demons continue to metaphysically beat on me, I manage to reach down and grab the Winchester. Cocking the gun, I groan and lift it up.

BAM!

A bullet explodes from the muzzle of the Winchester and punches through the blood ward, striking a stiffening lesser demon. The creature screams and explodes in a shower of dust, the particles drifting across the street like beach sand.

What. The. Hell?

My mouth drops open—but only for a moment.

The sight of the exploding demon galvanizes me. I raise the Winchester and fire again—and again. Demon after demon blows apart in a shower of black and brown dust. I keep shooting and shooting, pausing only to reload the Winchester.

Soon, a pile of dust is pushing up against the barrier, but the demons keep coming. They leap over their fallen comrades and take up their tasks. I can feel my arms burning from the repeated firing, not to mention how metaphysically bruised and battered my body feels.

When is it going to end?

Glaris leaps off of his horse and touches the tip of his flaming sword to the stallion's steel-shod hooves. The stallion's feet take on the same sickly color as the sword and he sends the horse off in the opposite direction. A quick glance over my shoulder sees the Friesian kicking the demons through the ward.

"How are you holding up?" Glaris shouts up at me, pulling a small, spiked mace from his belt and walloping a lesser demon in the head with it. The creature blows apart into dust, the same as the others.

"I hurt like a bitch," I groan, shoving more cartridges into the Winchester's chamber.

"Well, it's going to hurt a hell of a lot more, because look who's coming."