Emery's immediate thought was that the woman who'd asked if she was all right had gone and called the police on Cullen, and her heart about stopped when the cops exited their vehicles and began to approach. "Don't do anything," she whispered to Cullen, afraid he might take the police for enemies, not knowing what he might do if he felt threatened. But though one of the policemen eyed them up and down, the others went to the door of the 24-Hour Psychic and began talking. One studied the display window; another said something into his radio.

"What's with the swords?" said the officer who'd eyed them.

Emery stepped in front of Cullen. "Oh, we have a costume party. They're totally fake. Rubber."

The officer raised an eyebrow. "You been standing out here a while?"

"Um . . ." What sort of answer was he looking for? Emery heard door chimes as the police entered the psychic's shop and knew she and Cullen didn't have much time. The minute a decapitated body was discovered in the back room, the people with the swords would look like prime suspects. "No!" she answered. "We're just walking by. And we're late for our party, so we'll just get going."

The officer gave a sort of "uh huh," though he continued to give them dubious looks, but then someone called something to him, and he was off toward the shop.

"Come on. We have to go, now." Emery led the way down the sidewalk, picking up their pace to a jog, and they quickly reached the next intersection, where a busier road crossed in front of them. Shouts from behind startled her, but she didn't turn around. Sort of wishing she'd kept Cathbad just a little longer for his transportation abilities (fickle or no), Emery glanced quickly left to right, saw a bus headed their way and a stop not too far from it, and directed Cullen accordingly. Before anyone could figure out where they'd gone, they were climbing aboard the bus. When they were asked for payment, Emery looked right at the driver and told him they weren't going to pay, and that had done the trick. She gleefully stepped up and into the vehicle, garnering the looks she expected but receiving no complaint. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she was supposed to feel bad using the magic the Darkness gave her, but she just . . . didn't, anymore.

With all their gear, sitting down was a no-go, so they stood and held onto the overhead handrail. The moment the bus was in motion, Cullen gave a start and eyed Emery perplexedly.

"You'll get used to it," she said quietly, hoping none of the other entirely silent passengers were listening (and then deciding she didn't care if they were). "I know you haven't been on a bus or car before."

Cullen widened his stance a bit, secured his footing. "Bres came to you again?"

She bit her lip and looked at his chest, with which she was eye-level. "Yes."

"It was as if you didn't see me; your body was there, but your being was not. What did he say this time?"

"That they know we're trying to find them . . ." that she was almost ripe. And she'd just used her magic again, to get on the bus; was Bres going to come back? But no . . . it'd been such a little bit of magic. Even thinking about it, though, her head ached somewhat.

"That bodes ill. Emery, I must tell you—"

The bus hit a bump, and Emery fell against Cullen, who was standing solid as stone. She sheepishly readjusted herself—maybe she'd forgotten what buses and cars felt like, too.

"Hold on," she said. "I don't even know where this bus is going. I'll be right back." Looking to the driver, Emery carefully scooted to the front of the bus, spoke to him, and returned, gripping the handrails all along the way and walking as if on a moving carousel. "Listen," she told Cullen, speaking softly. "In a few minutes, people are going to notice this driver isn't going their route. When that happens, we can't let any of them get on their phones, ok?"

"Phones?"

"Yeah, the--" Emery didn't know how to explain. "Nevermind. Just follow my lead, all right?"

Emery was right in assuming people would realize they'd left their route, but thankfully, they took longer to figure it out than she'd thought they would. Maybe it was because they were all so used to the perfunctory stopping and announcing and picking up that even considering the occurrence of something out of the ordinary took time, and when they did at last consider it, the bus was over halfway there. A few more alert people expressed confusion to their neighbors, at first asked which route they were on, what streets were zipping by, assuming they'd gotten on the wrong bus, but once others chirped up, it became clear that they weren't on the wrong bus; the bus was going the wrong way. Emery stayed put, taking note of the growing unrest, and let a few people scoot by to question the driver. There was some sharp talk, some shouting, and then a general uproar. When someone actually tried to grab the driver, it was time to act.

Emery pulled Great Fury from her back and, one hand still clinging to the bar overhead for support, cried, "Everybody sit down! Just calm down!" The passengers drew as close to the walls of the bus as possible to avoid Emery's sword. She nodded to Cullen, who pulled the men who'd harassed the driver back to their seats, having drawn his sword as well. There was hardly enough room for anyone with those swords cutting the space in half. "No phones, anyone. Just sit still. This bus is taking a little detour, and then you'll be back on your route. You're all going to be fine, just maybe a little late."

"But I'll miss my connection!"

"You already have, even if we turn around now," Emery replied.

"My kid has a recital!"

"I've got a date! She'll think I stood her up!"

"Shut up!" Emery barked. "I don't care! You--" Faster than lighting, she drew and flung her dagger toward the back of the bus, where it embedded into the wall a few inches from her target's head. "I said no phones."

After that, nobody said a word or tried anything with a device. Emery retrieved her dagger, darting a nasty glance at the perpetrator, and stood next to Cullen. The passengers looked everywhere but at them, mostly out the windows, probably wondering where in the world they were going. The buildings were becoming more and more run-down, the streets emptying of people, and the brightness and liveliness of the city dimmed until it had gone out like a candle flame. And in the gray shadow out there, Emery thought she caught sight of something . . . or someone . . .

"Turn down the lights," she ordered. The driver obliged, and Emery saw she'd been right--it seemed that on every street corner, she caught sight of Bres, standing and watching in all his dark allure, catching her eye as the bus moved past, as impossible as that was. Knowing Cullen didn't see him, Emery said nothing, just watched, ill at ease.

When they reached their destination, a cross-street of dead and decaying buildings save for the one sleek, lightless tower, the bus slowed to a stop, and Emery and Cullen stepped off, leaving the bewildered and frightened passengers and driver to their own business. Chills went down Emery's spine to be standing in front of this place, the massive, unassuming rectangle, and though she was anxious to the point of screaming, she felt a certain thrill, too, that she hadn't experienced the first time. Whatever happened at the top of that tower tonight, it'd end what the Fomorians had begun with her--of that, she was certain. Whether or not that ending would be a good one, she didn't know, but at least it would be an end.

"Emery," Cullen said her name quietly, and she turned to him as the bus rounded a corner in the distance and left them entirely alone.

She'd almost forgotten he was with her in her excitement to see the building. "What--oh my God! I swear they've followed us!" She stepped past him and swung her sword, causing the twenty or so crows to flap and squawk. "What is going on with these stupid birds?"

Cullen called her name again, but she was distracted with the crows, swearing at them and gesticulating until they swooped away into the night sky. Once more he called, and still she ignored him, until finally he caught hold of her free wrist and pulled her toward him.

Emery gasped in some pain; he'd gripped the wrist Bres had cut. It hadn't hurt earlier, though . . . why did it hurt now?

Before she could really consider that, Cullen let go. He had her attention at last, and he was looking at her in all his gloomy dead seriousness. Emery couldn't help but be annoyed. Here they were, finally, and he was going to be a downer? Was he going to try to convince her not to go in?

"My time is short, Emery. I—I know not how to tell you this—"

"Tell me what? Are you leaving me?" Part of her hoped he would.

His brow lowered even more. "I would not leave you willingly."

Emery stared at him. She knew she should be more invested in him, in what he wanted to say, but she was itching too much to get back into that building. "If you don't want to come in, then don't. I can do this myself."

He shook his head. "This was foolish; I see that now. You wished to come here not to destroy them but to return to them."

"How can you say that? After what they've done to me? Of course I want to destroy them!" But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

"This was their plan, surely. They never meant to come for you; they knew you'd come to them. And I understood it too late to thwart it. But we are here, now, and I will cure you of this ailment or . . . or die in the attempt."

Someone laughed, and it took Emery a moment to realize it was her. She was laughing at him. "Always so serious, aren't you?" she said impertinently, hardly knowing why she behaved as she did. Hurt him. Hurt them all. "I don't want your chivalry. I don't want you. All of this--it's been fun, running around and pretending to care about each other, but I've never wanted you. From the start, you knew it. You showed up in my life, forced yourself into it. I was happy in this world! If you actually loved me like you go on and on about, you would've left me alone. And then you forced me to try to fit in with you and your life, tried to control everything I did--but you never asked me what I wanted! You didn't care! It's always been about what you want, Cuchulain, the mighty hero, who everybody fears but nobody actually loves."

Cullen's chest heaved in and out. His stoicism was tinged with dismay, his jaw shook ever so slightly. "It is the poison speaks in you."

"I told you--it's not poison; it's power. And it gives me the ability to say what I've always wanted to but never had the courage to." Emery stood as tall as she could, felt every limb rush with heat. Even her eyeballs felt hot. Her wrist stung, but she gained pleasure from that pain. "Even Emer didn't want you; I've remembered it, haven't I? She just wanted out of that damn tower."

"Enough," Cullen insisted. "I will die today, Emery, and if that brings you your happiness, so be it. But I have done with listening to this."

Some speck of her pricked at what he'd said, and in spite of her ire, she asked, "Are you so sure you'll die?"

Cullen looked to the ground, as if regretting mentioning it. With reservation, he admitted, "It has been foretold."

Words caught in Emery's throat, words that confused her. What exactly was she feeling? She didn't know. Too much was at work inside her, clouding everything. "Who foretold it? Some druid? They're all worthless."

"The Morrígan, The Phantom Queen herself. It is no jest." He looked across the street, where the scattered crows had begun to gather once more. "These are her signs. She means to remind me. As I sought you, in my wanderings I chanced upon and scorned her, and she will have my life for it." He turned back to Emery. "I fear no death, so long as in meeting it, I save you."

"The Morrígan?"

"She is of the Tuatha Dé--but we have no time for words, now--"

"And these are your Gods? Which are the monsters, then? Gods that kill people who scorn them and ask for the sacrifice of innocent children and force humans to go on their errands for them and remain silent when we need help--are these the enemies of the ones at the top of this building? Lir and the other Gods--they're worse than the Fomorians. At least the Fomorians told me what they're doing, and they've followed through! They gave me power, and they want me." Tears formed in her lids, and whether they were from Cullen's news or the utter rage consuming her, she didn't have the ability to differentiate. "Damn your Gods. I'm done with this."

Emery hastened to the black slab-of-a-door. For a brief instant, she wondered how she'd get in, but then she recalled the silver button and that Charlie had pressed it. Charlie--he was still with her. He'd always been with her. The girl clasped her hand around the blackthorn twig, feeling more comfort from it than from the warrior at her back.

"Who?" crackled the voice over the intercom after she'd pressed the button.

"Emery," she returned, and the door groaned from somewhere within and pushed inward. Without even checking to make sure Cullen was behind her, Emery entered the darkness.

The hallway was exactly as she remembered it, black wallpaper, lit by flickering red sconces, the floor-to-ceiling mirror shimmering at the end. Whereas the first time, with Charlie, she'd been terrified moving down this hallway, now, she was electrified. The very blood in her was magnetically drawn to this place, to the beings in this place. It knows its own, she thought.

As she approached the mirror, Emery saw that Cullen had indeed followed her into the building, the door of which had closed behind him. His figure was shadowy behind her, as was her own image, but once she reached the end of the hall and saw her reflection, she didn't even recognize herself. The last time she'd gazed into this mirror, hardly aware of what was going on around her, she'd been startled to see the glow and the hints of mischief at work in her, but now, as she stared at the absolutely malevolent being before her, she felt a real sense of accomplishment. Her mirror-image radiated staticy ribbons of black and red, webbed with dark scintilla. Her skin was practically translucent it was so pale, and the blood vessels beneath her flesh were visible, the blood within them dark, like veined marble. And her face--her irises, void of color, like Bres's; her lips as crimson as his had been; that black like a mask around her eyes, across her nose; and the cruelty that gleamed from her . . . she'd become his twin, and she was proud of it.

Something shimmered over her image's shoulder, though, pulling her attention from her own reflection to that of Cullen. The mirror showed true selves . . . so what was that glimmering around him? A sort of pure light, an ethereal blue, and Emery knew immediately, because of what was in her now, what he was.

Spinning on him, she cried, "You will not pass!" and raising a hand, she held him back with an otherworldly force that pushed her through the undulating mirror but left Cullen firmly on the other side.