Aidan nodded to the men. “Set the thatch alight. Quietly. Don’t throw any torches atop yet.” His fear thinned to a hazy relief. There was no turning back now.

While the men spread their flame among the torches and touched them to corners of the roof, Lana asked Aidan to hold out his flame as well. When he offered the lamp, she dipped the very tip of the yew in the flame. The needles began smoldering immediately. She closed her eyes and wafted the smoke into her face, inhaling deeply. When she opened her eyes again, a new, wild light shown there.

Gripping the holly in one hand and the sputtering yew in the other, she whispered, “And we enter, Aidan. The yew is alit. It will burn us to life or to death.” She blew gently on the yew branch. To his surprise, the green bough burst into flame. For the first time, Aidan understood that his concern for her might be misplaced.

“Godspeed,” Kyle whispered behind him. “To you both.”

From nearby, Michael growled, “Don’t make me come in after you, Aidan.”

In a few paces, Aidan and Lana reached the door. She flung her hawthorn twig against the sill. She had assured him it could unlock as well as keep sealed, and that it would loosen the door, even if it were bolted inside. He hadn’t really believed her. Nonetheless, he followed the instructions she’d given and stomped the door as hard as he could with the flat of his heel, half expecting to break his foot against the strength of a bolt.

The door flew open. It bounced back and would have slammed shut again but that Aidan’s force carried his whole body into the doorway. Flailing desperately to regain his balance, he stumbled to fall just inside the door. It struck him and stopped there, half-open.

A chorus of startled grunts greeted him.