“Hey,” Fitch whispered. “Someone's here!”

With a quick movement, Jack picked up the case and tossed it to Will. “Here! Hang on to this. We'll need it.” He pulled the sword from the dirt with his right hand and held it, point downward, close to his side. They faded back into the shadows behind Susannah's stone, careful to avoid stepping into the half-filled hole.

Someone rounded the corner of the church, carrying a powerful flashlight. At first, they could make out only a bulky outline, because of the glare. The figure advanced rapidly toward their hiding place, running the light over the gravestones in his path. He stopped about ten feet away, shining the light over Susannah Downey's stone. They heard a grunt of satisfaction. Then a voice.

“What are you boys doing out here in the dark?” It was the cowboy, Sam Hadley.

It was no use staying hidden. Fitch stepped out from behind the stone, shielding his eyes against the flashlight. “We decided to come see if any of our relatives are buried here. But I guess we got too late a start. It's no use trying to find anything in the dark. I suppose we'll have to come back tomorrow.” He shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.

When Hadley spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. “Wasn't Susannah Downey the person you were looking for?”

“No, it was Taylor,” Fitch replied, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets disarmingly. “But we think she married a Downey. Like we said, this seems to be the wrong person. Our Susannah was earlier, and it looks like this one was a Hale. We just thought we'd come look in the graveyard to see if some of the surrounding stones might give us a clue.” Jack could tell Fitch was nervous from the way the words poured out of him like marbles from a bag.

“So we're just about to head back,” Will added, moving up to stand by Fitch. He'd picked up his duffle bag, and he held the case horizontally under his arm, as casually as he could, hoping Hadley couldn't get a good look at it in the darkness.

Jack remained back in the shadows, behind Susannah's stone. He was acutely aware of another presence, following after the cowboy, something menacing, something greedy, coming closer. He tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and his arm tingled all the way to the shoulder.

“You boys want a ride back to town?” the cowboy asked.

“No, thanks,” said Will. At this, Jack moved out of the shadows to join his friends, standing just behind them.

“What've you got there?” Hadley's voice had a nasty undercurrent. He was speaking to Jack, who was trying to keep his body between the cowboy and the sword, but the glow of the blade stood out like a beacon in the dark.

“He has the blade.” The new voice was dreadfully cold and uncomfortably close. A deeper shadow detached itself from the side of the church and approached them with an odd, floating gait. It was a man, tall and angular, his garments kiting about him as he advanced. He lifted a skeletal arm and pointed at the sword in Jack's hand. The blade flared red, as if it ran with blood. It was the stranger from the courthouse. Wizard! The thought arose, fully formed, in Jack's mind, a warning. An ancient terror kindled inside him.

Hadley's eyes flicked nervously to the wizard, then back to Jack. “Looks like y'all been doing some digging,” he said, gesturing at Susannah's stone. “Looks like you stole something that don't belong to you.” He took a step closer to the boys. “You'd best give it to the man and go on home.”

“No,” Jack replied, broadening his stance. “If you want the sword, come and take it.” It was as if a stranger spoke through him. Hadley didn't scare him. It was the wizard that compelled his attention. If not for the vest, the wizard would have killed him at the courthouse. Linda had insisted he wear it. How had she known he would need it?

The wizard came closer, moving like a man in pain. Jack watched him warily. A beard covered the lower half of his face, but the upper half was red and blistered, as though he'd been burned. His voice was dry and devoid of emotion, like scales sliding over rock. “No doubt this has been an exciting adventure for the three of you, but it's over. Now give me the weapon.” He smiled, an awful reshaping of the ruined face. “I'm sure we can devise a suitable reward for your trouble.”

He's going to kill us, Jack thought. Once he has the blade. He looked over at Will and Fitch, wondering if they understood. I shouldn't have let them come. As if he were in charge.

“Where's the enchanter?” It was the wizard again. “I have unfinished business with her.” And the way he said business, it was clear he meant pain and something else. What was he talking about? Who was he talking about?

Although he was frightened, Jack also felt reckless, wild, and rebellious. He had possession of the sword; he'd felt the power in it, and he didn't intend to give it up without a fight.

He wavered, unsure what to do, standing astride his great-great grandmother's bones, his back up against her marker. A sudden breeze moved the leaves overhead, whispering to him.

And then he knew where they would be safe. He stepped between his friends and the wizard and shouted, “Run for the church!”

Will and Fitch needed no encouragement. They turned and charged to the building, leaping over grave markers as if they were hurdles. Jack backed up rapidly, always keeping his face to the wizard. He held the sword up with both hands, flat side facing him. It responded, blazing, illuminating the scene.

He couldn't see a weapon in the wizard's hands, but suddenly a cascade of blue-green flames rolled at him. Instinctively, he used the sword to parry the volley, which exploded into a shower of sparks that fell harmlessly about his shoulders.Twice more he deflected similar attacks.The heat of the flames dried the sweat from his face. The wizard fire had an unfamiliar, acrid scent, like the taste of blood in his mouth.

The wizard with the horrible charred face extended his hands toward him and began to speak, the same timeworn Latin that Linda had used, the language of charms. Jack knew he had to stop him, that the words had power in them. Desperately, he swung Shadowslayer with both hands in a broad, flat arc. Flames roared from the honed edge of the blade, and the spell died unfinished as the wizard threw himself to the ground. The flames screamed past him and sliced into the trees behind. The trees stood momentarily, then toppled, sliced off neatly at chest height. And somehow Jack had arrived at the door of the church.

A sagging wooden stairway led up a few steps to the back door of the building. Fitch and Will were already at the top of the stairs, unsure what to do next. Jack pointed his sword at the back door and thrust it forward. There was a loud concussion, and it flew open, hanging crookedly on its broken hinges. Will and Fitch ducked inside. Jack leaped through the doorway and turned to face his attackers.

They were in some disarray, as if resistance were totally unexpected. The wizard was back on his feet, staring up at Jack. The cowboy looked back at the shorn trees, up at the ragged opening in the canopy overhead, then back at Jack. His mouth was hanging open and his round face was slick with sweat.

“The boy's a demon,” he wailed. “I was hired to do research. I never signed on to deal with demons.”

“There is no magic about this boy,” the wizard said contemptuously. “The power is in the blade. This is just a foolish Anaweir adventurer who is in more trouble than he can imagine.” Jack thought he said unaware. It seemed an odd choice of words. “Now go fetch me the sword.”

“I ain't going in there,” Hadley protested. “He'll fry me alive.”

“Magic is ineffective in the sanctuary. The sword has no special power in there.”

And, indeed, now that Jack was inside the church, the blade had dimmed, grown heavier, so it took both hands to lift it. Its power no longer burned through him. It was nothing more than metal in his hands.

Something the wizard had said lingered. Magic?

Fitch stood next to him, armed with a candelabra. “Why aren't they coming after us?” he whispered, glancing around uneasily. “Are they warlocks or vampires or something, so they can't set foot in a church?”

Wizards, Jack almost murmured. “I don't know,” he said aloud. He didn't know whether the wizard couldn't come in, or if he just preferred to send Hadley against the sword in a situation where magic would do no good.

“That sword'll still cut well enough,” the cowboy persisted. “And there's three of them. I never agreed to go unarmed against a sword.” He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to escape.

“Is that so?” The wizard's voice dripped contempt. “Then we shall have to … renegotiate.” He put his hand on Hadley's shoulder and the cowboy screamed, at first arching away, and then sinking helplessly to his knees under the wizard's touch. The wizard kept it up, and the cowboy shrieked like he was being flayed alive; he pleaded for mercy and begged for a chance to change his mind. When it finally stopped, Hadley lay trembling and whimpering on the ground. Jack was sick with the knowledge that the demonstration was for his benefit.

As if to confirm it, the wizard spoke to Jack. “You see that resistance has consequences,” he said coldly. “Give up the blade or all three of you will die tonight. And by the time I'm done with you, you'll beg for it.”

Jack was shaken for a moment by the image of himself standing in the doorway like some movie hero, wielding a sword, ready to fight a man who could lob flames with his bare hands, could torture and kill with a touch. He looked over his shoulder at Will and Fitch.Their faces were pale as parchment in the gloom of the church. If they hadn't understood the stakes before, they did now.

He stared down at the blade in his hand and then out at the wizard. Where was this coming from? He'd never been particularly foolhardy in the past. There must be something about the sword that was interfering with his judgement. He swiped sweat from his face and shook his head.

It was an impasse. If they left the building, the wizard would kill them. He'll take Shadowslayer, he thought. I can't let that happen.