The Sword of Hunyadi felt heavy at his hip.
Whatever truth there might be in the story of the Legend-Born, and no matter how much he wanted to be home, he knew he had become a part of this world. It had changed him. All of the things he had always imagined he might be, had always wished, he was becoming. And there could be no turning back now.
He drew the sword.
In the moment before he ran after his sister, he caught sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over and saw Kitsune by the doors of the Sandman’s castle. He’d assumed she had hung back to watch for the sand creatures that had attacked them inside.
Her soft green eyes gleamed in the dark, her fur almost orange in the starlight. The hurt and bitterness on her face was unmistakable. Oliver caught his breath. In the exultation of saving Collette and the shock of seeing Julianna, he’d barely spared a thought for Kitsune.
He forced himself to break the moment, raised his sword, and ran after Collette.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Coll, wait!”
If she heard him, she did not listen. Oliver raced after her. He figured the Sandman was so occupied trying to stay alive that he couldn’t control the constructs inside the castle anymore, which helped. But even so, the monster’s existence endangered them all. So why weren’t these soldiers helping? Even the commander who ran after the man with the gun seemed only to be trying to stop him, to draw him back. Nobody wanted to go anywhere near the Sandman except the nutjob.
That ought to tell you something, he thought.
But fear would not turn Oliver away. Why none of the Myth Hunters had shown up was a mystery, but he figured maybe Frost and the Borderkind were keeping them busy elsewhere, and whoever their hidden enemy really was—Ty’Lis or someone else—they assumed an ordinary brother and sister, soft and pampered humans, shouldn’t be much of a challenge for the Sandman.
Under other circumstances, they’d have been right. Oliver would have been dead many times over if not for Kitsune, and they’d both be dead if not for the Dustman. And he knew the Dustman had come at his request, but hadn’t been too difficult to persuade. They all faced the same enemy. They were all in danger.
But right now, Oliver wasn’t feeling solidarity with anyone. Not Kitsune or the Dustman or the tall woman with the sword or the soldiers who followed her. And sure as hell not the lunatic with the gun. Collette wasn’t going to fall into the Sandman’s hands again, and now that Julianna was here, he wanted nothing except to get them both away from this place.
“Coll!” he shouted, chasing her.
The sight of the sand-brothers at war sickened him. They tore one another apart, sand swirling and mixing and battering. The Dustman seemed to have weakened, and as he tried to focus himself again, to form the persona he had adopted with his greatcoat and bowler hat and mustache, he faltered. The vague shape remained the same, but the details were a blur, like an old statue with its features eroded by entropy.
After her imprisonment, Collette was in no condition to run. Oliver overtook her easily. He grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her up short. She spun on him, eyes wild.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Stay here. I didn’t come to get you just to watch you die!”
“I won’t die. We’re not helpless here. We can fight! We can hurt him.” Collette held up her hands. “I’ve done it!”
Oliver wanted to ask what she was talking about, but there just wasn’t time. A gunshot rang out, the first one in long seconds, and he turned to see the shooter aiming at the Sandman. In the midst of the churning sand, the twist and turmoil of the warring brothers, the monster turned its yellow eyes upon the man with the gun and stared murder at him.
Oliver glanced at Collette, and then they were running together.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked
She said nothing, but when he looked down at her, he saw the set of her jaw and the grim knowledge in her eyes, and he knew she had never been so certain of anything in her life.
The tall soldier caught up to the gunman and tried to pull him back. He fought her, trying to get the gun free, to shoot again, no matter how useless his bullets were.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Oliver snapped.
“Halliwell. He’s a detective. He was looking for you when you disappeared,” Collette said, huffing, trying to keep up with him.
A cold finger of dread went up Oliver’s spine. So he was responsible for this Halliwell being here as well.
They were twenty feet from the churning tornado of the screeching battle between the Dustman and the Sandman when the gunman shot an elbow into the tall soldier’s abdomen. Cloak billowing out behind her, she staggered back a step and let go of him.
Julianna stared at Halliwell and slowly brought her hands up to cover her mouth. Her fingers splayed across her eyes and she peered between them. Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, all the strength left her muscles and she went down on her knees.
She watched Collette and Oliver run toward Halliwell, but could not rise. A terrible chill enveloped her. She had watched his mood grow darker with each hour that passed, seen his eyes go numb, and his nerves become more brittle. All along, she had wanted nothing more than to keep him going until they could find Oliver, find the answers that they were looking for. Guilt consumed her now as she accepted the selfishness of that. Yet it had not been only for her. She’d wanted to give Halliwell hope, something to hold on to long enough for them to ask Oliver the all-important question: Could they go home again?
Virginia and Ovid Tsing had told them it was impossible, as had the guardians of Twillig’s Gorge, and King Hunyadi himself. But Halliwell had never let himself believe it.
Julianna knew that his denial of that fact was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely. Without hope that he would see his daughter again, he would shatter.
Now it was happening right before her eyes.
Collette and Oliver ran toward Halliwell. Captain Damia Beck tried to get hold of him again, to keep him back. But Julianna could see, even in profile, the expression on his face, and she knew there was no point. Ted had lost all hope, and now all that was left was his anguish.
Halliwell started firing again, and he ran right into the midst of the sandstorm created by the Dustman and Sandman at war.
“No!” Oliver shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
Too late, Julianna thought. But, in her mind’s eye, she could see the way the kindly curmudgeon had changed when they had crossed the Veil into this world, could remember the panic and anger and cynicism that had eaten away at him, and she wondered if it had always been too late.
In the starlight, Julianna could see a difference in the hue of the sand and dust that made up the brothers, one more brown and one more gray. Striations of that sandstorm whipped in a frenzy, twisting in on each other. And when Halliwell stepped into their midst, it whipped at him as well.
He fired his gun one last time. His clothes flapped around him, driven by the force of the wind the two Borderkind were creating. Collette screamed. Oliver shouted at the man to get back, to step away, but it was too late. The sandstorm had him, the war of these two brothers had consumed him.