Listens-to-Wind broke out into a boyish grin that took a couple of centuries off the old man’s weathered face. “Ain’t been your apprentice in a long time now, tanka.”

“Never listened when you were.”

“What of the enemy?” the Erlking asked.

“Our boys getting hit pretty hard,” Listens-to-Wind said. “They got these gorilla-squid things—”

“Octokongs,” I interjected.

Everyone stopped to eye me.

“Hey, it’s important to have specific language, isn’t it?” I complained. “I went to all the trouble to give them a usable nomenclature.”

“And,” River Shoulders rumbled, “you named ’em octokongs, huh.”

“It fits,” I said.

“Fits,” Listens-to-Wind acknowledged.

“Goofy-looking, right?” I said.

“Goofy-looking and they can carry rifles and crawl on the sides of buildings,” Listens-to-Wind replied. “Hell of an advantage in a city. Things can’t shoot much, but if you get enough of them, they don’t have to be good. Plus, some teams of them fellas in turtlenecks are back there providing fire support. They sniping at anyone with a radio, trying to kill communications.”

“That’ll be Listen,” I said. “King Turtleneck. Way I hear it, the enemy got good help.”

“Annoying when they do that,” the Erlking noted.

“About time we thought about going to help our people, if we’re going to go at all,” the old man said. “They’ll get cut off soon.”

The Erlking nodded sharply and started walking. “Let us tell One-Eye.” Listens-to-Wind fell into pace beside the Erlking, who paused and then added, sotto voce, “If we go without him, you know how he gets.”

“Lot of guys like that got control issues,” the old man opined. “To be expected.”

“Kringle suits him better,” the Erlking muttered.

“Kringle would suit anyone better. Even you.”

The Erlking looked shocked.

The two of them vanished back into the castle.

A fire team of Einherjaren went by, escorting a stunned-looking group of civilians inside, where they would be waved through by the various sentries to the castle’s interior. Out in the night, there was a constant background of crackling gunfire and shrieks and the howling screams of those dark metal spears like the one I held—at least until it started flaking and turning to rust right in front of my eyes.

There was more ambient light now. And more smoke.

Chicago was burning.

“How many can we fit in there, do you think?” River Shoulders asked me.

“Well. We aren’t exactly worrying about fire codes right now,” I said. “Maybe three or four hundred if we pack them in?”

“How many of your people, in this city?”

“Eight million, all told,” I said heavily. “Give or take.”

“Not much difference,” he said.

I pointed at a couple of half-dressed parents with half a dozen kids in various stages of pajamas hurrying inside the squatting stone solidity of the castle. “Makes a pretty big difference to them.”

The Sasquatch flashed a sudden, very wide, very white grin. It might have been charming from a safe distance. From right there, it was imposing as hell. “Yes,” he said. “That’s right.”

“Stars and stones, River,” I said. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“Means you got good taste,” the Sasquatch said. “Besides. You stood with me when I needed it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Those situations weren’t ever exactly of this magnitude.”

“Be kind of a lousy friend, I counted the beans between us that close,” the Sasquatch said.

I blinked at that. “Friend, huh.”

“Helped me with my kid,” River Shoulders said. “With family. You been my friend. Now it’s my turn.” Again he showed me the terrifying smile. “Besides. This is kinda fun, eh?”

I started to sputter. But instead I found myself just grinning back at him.

Taking out a bunch of monsters and saving a bunch of people had damned right been fun. Terrifying and nightmare inducing and fun—and right.

Hell’s bells, it felt good to be doing something I knew was right.

I held up a fist.

He eyed me for a moment. Then he made a fist and, carefully, bumped knuckles with me. The shock of it threatened to dislocate my shoulder again, but being all manly I didn’t make any high-pitched noises or anything. And you can’t prove otherwise.

* * *

* * *

The battle was a hell of a thing. I could hear it happening around me. I could still smell blood and death. I knew it was going on—but here, where we were strong, the enemy was keeping his distance for the time being. Occasionally, one of the snipers would fire a shot, generally to the sound of squealing screams in the distance.

I wanted to be fighting. But that battle with the Huntsmen had convinced me that charging out there all blind and righteous would probably get me killed within half a dozen blocks or so, at best. Even with River Shoulders next to me, that had been a close one. What if a second pack had crashed in during that? Maybe it would have been my skin hanging up on a clothesline—and the plan to stop Ethniu would officially be over.

I checked the coach gun. I’d recovered it and my revolver. I’d reloaded the trusty hogleg and strapped it back on. Dragon’s Breath rounds were rough on the weapons you fired them through, but the coach gun was as solid and simple a piece of American steel as you could find, and the barrels were short enough to make eventual heat warping a nonissue. It would serve me a while yet. I reloaded the weapon with a couple more Dragon’s Breath shells and slid it into its scabbard.

There was the tromp of boots from the castle, and then Marcone came out, flanked by Gard and Hendricks and trailed by a column of heavily armed and armored Einherjaren, who immediately assembled in the street. A dozen ghouls came gamboling into the night after them, transformed into their half-bestial state, and armed and armored from the castle’s stores, blades and guns, mail and Kevlar, as they had chosen. They immediately loped into the night toward the lake, muzzles wide, tongues lolling and drooling.

Our scouts. Ick.

Lara came out next, dressed in a loose-fitting white garment of some kind, trailed by Riley and half a dozen of his professional shooters, and another half a dozen members of House Raith—which is to say a sort of dizzying vision of dark-haired and pale-skinned women who wore the same loose-fitting white garments, moved like leopards, and carried a variety of instruments of death. Lara went by with a glance and a smirk—and she and her people ghosted out into the shadows as our vanguard.