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my shoulders. ‘Danika, are you all right? What happened?’
    It takes me a minute to compose myself. A face swims before me, then a pair, and then a trio of Lukas faces stares down at me. A small part of me thinks that this isn’t so bad, before I shake my head to force the image away.
    â€˜Illusion,’ I manage. ‘Thought I could trick them.’
    Teddy looks impressed. ‘Well, I reckon it worked. Didn’t know you could cast illusions from so far off.’
    â€˜Neither did I.’ I struggle up onto my elbows. ‘Seemed worth a try, though.’
    â€˜But what happened to you?’ Lukas says. ‘You sort of . . . flickered . . . and then you were suddenly lying instead of sitting. I thought . . .’ He runs a hand across his chin. ‘I thought you’d been shot or something.’
    I shake my head. The world swims. ‘I’m fine. I think it just took a bit out of me – you know, making the illusion so far away.’
    â€˜But Danika, you flickered. I’m sure that’s not normal for –’
    â€˜I said I’m fine.’
    It’s a lie, of course, because I feel like a dozen alehouse dancers have taken up residence in my skull. Every movement throbs, and a little hiss of pain escapes through my teeth. Whatever just happened, it wasn’t a matter of casting that illusion. I was almost sucked into my proclivity power. Into the night.
    But that doesn’t make sense. My illusionist power is just a freak genetic ability. It’s like eye colour or intelligence or sporting talent – just something I happened to be born with. Nothing to do with my proclivity. There’s no logical reason why my Night powers should get entangled with it. Not unless I’ve got even less control over my proclivity than I realised I did . . . and that’s not a happy thought.
    I push myself into a sitting position. The pain is a little gentler this time – more like a slap than a wallop – and I force myself to grin. ‘Hey, it worked, didn’t it?’
    â€˜Did it ever.’ Teddy breaks into a matching grin. ‘Did you hear Sharr’s screech when she realised we were back up on that ledge?’ He gives an exaggerated gasp, throws up his hands in a theatrical gesture of surprise, and adopts a squeaky voice that’s apparently supposed to be female. ‘ Oh no, I’ve miscalculated in my maniacal plan! ’
    I offer an amused snort before struggling to my feet. Lukas moves to help me, but I don’t want to look like a weakling. Not after I’ve practically fainted in the undergrowth, which is enough embarrassment for one night.
    â€˜All right.’ I try to sound as if I’m in control. ‘What do you say we find the twins and get out of here?’
    And that’s when we hear Clementine’s scream.

We’re chasing the sound before we’ve even fully processed it. We leap aboard our foxaries and urge them into a dash between night-choked trees.
    My brain fills with images of the twins dead or dying in the undergrowth. Clementine with a bullet in her skull, Maisy falling at a hunter’s feet. No, no, no . . . My stomach heaves and I double over, only for my nausea to triple when I suck down a whiff of wet foxary fur.
    â€˜They’re tough,’ Teddy gasps, as we careen between tree trunks. ‘They might be richies, but I reckon they can take care of themselves. This hunter won’t know what hit him.’
    Hunters , I think. Plural. Five figures stood on the ridge earlier, but Sharr’s most recent group contained only three. That leaves two hunters out there, prowling the dark.
    My foxary slams between two close trunks, thwacking my legs against the wood. Lukas emits a grunt of pain behind me, and I know we’ll have bruises tomorrow. I grit my teeth, ignore the pain, and force myself to keep my eyes open. Faster, faster, faster