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tilted her head up so that her eyes met his again. “I know you loved him, Elena. It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.”
    Elena gave a little gasp of pain.
    It was like there was a dark hole inside her. She could laugh and smile and marvel at the restored town; she could love her family; but all the time there was this dull ache, this terrible sense of loss.
    Letting her tears loose at last, Elena fell into Stefan’s arms.
    “Oh, my love,” he said, his voice catching, and they wept together, taking comfort in each other’s warmth.

    Fine ash had fallen for a long time. Now it settled at last and the small moon of the Nether World was covered with thick, sticky piles of dust. Here and there, opalescent fluid pooled against the charred blackness, coloring it with the rainbow of an oil slick.
    Nothing moved. Now that the Great Tree had disintegrated, nothing lived in this place.
    Deep below the surface of the ruined moon was a body. His poisoned blood had stopped flowing and he lay unmoving, unfeeling, unseeing. But the drops of fluid saturating his skin nourished him, and a slow thrum of magical life beat steadily on.
    Every now and then a flicker of consciousness rose within him. He had forgotten who he was and how he had died. But there was a voice somewhere deep inside him, a light, sweet voice he knew well, that told him, Close your eyes now. Let go. Let go. Go. It was comforting, and his last spark of consciousness was holding on for a moment longer, just to hear it. He couldn’t remember whose voice it was, although something in it reminded him of sunlight, of gold and lapis lazuli.
    Let go. He was slipping away, the last spark dimming, but it was all right. It was warm and comfortable, and he was ready to let go now. The voice would take him all the way to . . . to wherever it was he would go.
    As the flicker of consciousness was about to go out for the last time, another voice—a sharper, more commanding voice, the voice of someone used to having his orders obeyed—spoke within him.
    She needs you. She’s in danger.
    He couldn’t let go. Not yet. That voice pulled painfully at him, holding him to life.
    With a sharp shock, everything shifted. As if he’d been ripped out of that gentle, cozy place, he was suddenly freezing cold. Everything hurt.
    Deep within the ash, his fingers twitched.

Chapter 5
    “A re you excited for Alaric to arrive tomorrow?” Matt asked. “He’s bringing his researcher friend Celia, right?”
    Meredith kicked him in the chest.
    “Oof!” Matt staggered backward, knocked breathless despite the protective vest he had on. Meredith followed up with a roundhouse kick to Matt’s side, and he fell to his knees, barely managing to raise his hands and block a straight punch to his face.
    “Ow!” he said. “Meredith, time-out, okay?”
    Meredith dropped into a graceful tiger stance, her back leg supporting her weight while her front foot rested lightly on her toes. Her face was calm, her eyes cool and watchful. She looked ready to pounce if Matt showed any sign of sudden movement.
    When he’d arrived to spar with Meredith—to help her keep her hunter-slayer skills in top-notch shape—Matt had wondered why she had handed him a helmet, mouth guard, gloves, shin guards, and vest, while she wore only sleek black workout clothes.
    Now he knew. He hadn’t even come close to hitting her, while she’d pummeled him mercilessly. Matt eased a hand up under the vest and rubbed ruefully at his side. He hoped he hadn’t cracked a rib.
    “Ready to go again?” Meredith said, her eyebrows raised in challenge.
    “Please, no, Meredith,” Matt said, raising his hands in surrender. “Let’s take a break. It feels like you’ve been punching me for hours.”
    Meredith walked over to the small fridge in the corner of her family’s rec room and tossed Matt a bottle of water, then sank down next to him on the mat. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away. I’ve never sparred with a friend