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darted from behind a nearby bush and leapt at the Walker.
    A second shape darted by and Piotr found himself thrust aside into the rough-hewn wall by a familiar blonde figure. Slowing only a split-second to make sure Piotr was unharmed, Elle flashed him a quicksilver grin and leapt into the fray.
    Watching the girls fight was like watching a ballet. Elle, who'd died a rich society girl in the late 20s, had been an only child of two world-jaunting glitterati. Her parents had no time for their darling only child but spared no expense when it came to her education, interests, or hobbies. Fencing, archery, horseback riding, dancing—Elle had tried it all and was good at most of it.
    Lily, on the other hand, had lived the quiet life of a plains-dwelling tribeswoman, a girl so long dead she couldn't even reliably recall the various names of her tribe and only occasionally the names of her gods. Her range of talents wasn't quite so varied, but the lithe brunette unerringly wielded her twin bone daggers with lethal precision.
    In moments the pair was flanked—five Walkers, all towering above the tiny girls, all armed with their claws sharpened to razor-fine points and stunning, slowing ice-breath.
    The Walkers surrounded the girls and pressed forward on one side, attempting to nudge them into a less advantageous position so that they'd be overwhelmed, slowed by the cold. Piotr expected Lily to fall back—she was adept at strategizing, especially during close combat such as this—but instead she shrieked and flung herself forward, slashing high at the nearest Walker's face with one dagger and punching low with the other.
    Hissing, the Walker fell back, clawing at his hood, which dropped to reveal the last few remaining wisps of sparse white hair across his crown. His features were a desiccated maw of teeth and rudely stitched-together twine frayed at the edges and seeping yellowing pus-like essence.
    Elle, likewise, was aiming for the eyes or, at least, where the eyes used to be. The Walkers fought hard but the girls fought harder, recklessly ignoring the chill and dodging the sharpened hands. Within minutes all but one Walker had fled the scene, bleeding and cursing, leaving the pair facing the Walker who'd distracted Piotr earlier. They stalked around and around, moving toward him as the Walkers had circled Piotr, slowing only when Piotr stepped forward and cleared his throat.
    Though intimidated by their strength and skill, Piotr was also pathetically glad of their support and his unexpected salvation. Trapped in a group like that, he never would have thought to go for the eyes, much less been willing to take on such heavy odds, even with another Rider at his side. Lily and Elle had hardly blinked before wading in and saving his skin—again.
    The first Walker, backed up against a wall at this point, held still and silent, a ruined rabbit in a terrible snare. Looking between the three of them, it chuckled, seeming to appreciate the irony of falling prey to the fate it'd initially intended for Piotr.
    “You seem to be at a disadvantage,” Piotr told the Walker before crossing his arms over his chest and smiling thankfully at the girls. “But Elle, Lily, I am grateful for your intervention. Spasibo . You have my great thanks.”
    Elle shrugged. “You think we'd let a poor little bunny like you duke it out all by your lonesome, Petey? Some friends we'd be.” She crouched a little lower and her skirt rode up, exposing a length of strong, tan thigh. The Walker shifted, claws twitching, and Piotr knew it was imagining punching through Elle's exposed flesh with its fingers, tearing her leg from her body. “These dizzy palookas were taking you for a ride.”
    “Indeed,” Piotr agreed gravely, interspersing himself slightly between the Walker and Elle. “I noted that myself.”
    “We were too late to save the boy,” Lily said coolly, lifting her daggers shoulder-height and easing back on the ball of her left foot. Piotr had