Myrtle moved with a grace that seemed impossible for a woman who normally stumbled dramatically into rooms for effect. The ancient sword in her hands gleamed with a light that had nothing to do with the failing electrical systems.
"Mother," Shaun said, his voice tight with disbelief, "what exactly haven't you been telling us?"
"Oh, darling," Myrtle replied, her usual theatrical tone replaced by something harder, older. "Did you really think all those fortune-telling props were just for show?" She swept the sword in an arc that left trails of blue light in the air. "Catherine knew. Why do you think she trusted me with her real research?"
Mishka's mind reeled. "Grandmother—"
The things from the woods crashed against the mansion's wards, their forms rippling between shadow and substance. The containment team's remaining equipment screamed with alerts.