Moonie was like me, she’d never minded the rain, but most of the other angels did. When we got to the hot spring, they were tucked back under the ledge of the cliff, out of the wet.

The bearded ladies fawned around Thrasher or fixed each other’s hair and feathers, all of them talking in that constant fast gabble that only another bearded lady could follow.

A witch queen, Hiss or Hag—from a distance, I wasn’t sure which one she was—tossed Thrasher a little rainfrog she’d caught. He crunched it down while the rest of the witch queens lounged around and glared out at the mist rising off the hot water like they wished it would stop raining so they could get in.

Moonie skipped across the rock to them, singing, “Look, everybody, look, Angel’s back! He traveled across the grass and under the open sky and around the world and back again!”

Thrasher’s bored sneer evaporated. He shoved to his feet. Muscles in his broad chest jumped and his wings opened. It wasn’t even a warning. He just hated me so much he couldn’t keep his wings down when he saw me.

“You’re still alive?”

“Surprise, Trashbrain.” I looked around. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Dead. Rotting, like you’re supposed to be.”

“Shoulda killed me, then.”

“Stick around.” He took a step toward me.

Under the ledge, Hiss rolled onto her side to watch, her black eyes sparkling. Hag scooted so she could see around one of the bearded ladies, who wouldn’t hold still.

“The day after you left, Thrasher fought Johnny,” the moving bearded lady said, talking as fast as she could. “Thrasher won. It was a great fight. Thrasher’s so strong. So powerful.”

His head jerked, confirming what she’d said, that he was strong and powerful. A vein stood out in his temple, making the hair there jump with his pulse.

“Sure he is,” I said, giving him a nasty grin. “Strong enough to kill a little guy like Johnny.”

Hag stuck up her nose. “Johnny was bigger than you.”

“You missed me, didn’t you, Hag?”

“That’s Hex, can’t you tell the difference, look at the black and white paint on their faces,” another bearded lady said, fidgeting. “It’s not hard to tell the difference if you just look.”

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“I thought Hex would still be nesting.” I shrugged. “Anyway, whichever one you are, you want to see my mating dance?”

Moonie crossed her tiny arms and turned away from me, pouting, even though she knew I was just asking to make Thrasher lose his mind.

It worked. The spurs came out. He jumped, kicking up grit and dead leaves. The rainwater streamed off me as I launched myself at him.

The girls all scattered so they wouldn’t get hurt.

I threw spurs like Thrasher was the gods taking Cherie. Like he was the stars finally come after me. Like he was the monster that attacked me and Moose, this time coming for the girls.

Cold holes opened up in my sides, my legs, my arms. A dull gaping pain followed the cold, but I barely felt any of it. Blood splattered the rock and dead leaves and sliced through the mist, splashing into the hot spring.

It wasn’t all mine, either.

Always before, there had been something in me that knew I could only fight until I got hurt so much. Go past that level of injury and the risk of getting stranded on the ground as prey was too high.

But the level of injury didn’t matter anymore. I could fight until I died.

Then Thrasher had his wings cupped around his face and chest, and I was still fighting. Bone crunched under my elbow. My spurs tore through feather and muscle.

Thrasher kicked me off and ran.

I chased him down. Slammed a foot into his back, right between his wings. He crashed into the ground and skidded.

“Stopstopstop!” He tucked his head under his arms. “I give up! I submit!”

I dropped onto his back on my knees, still throwing elbow spurs and beating him with my wings.

He curled up. “I quit! You’re the king!”

I grabbed him by the back of the neck, my hand slippery with both of our blood. His hair was soaked with it.

“The girls go with me,” I told him. “Any of them that want to.”

“Take ’em!”

“If you show your spurs around me again, you’re dead.”

“I won’t!”

I shoved his face hard into the churned-up mud and leaves, then climbed off him.

This time when Thrasher went, I watched him go. He was half-running, half dragging one leg. Both his wings were torn up, feathers broken and smeared with red. One of them hung limp. He threw a look back at me, whites showing all the way around the one eye that still opened.

I made sure he saw me watching until he was out of sight.

Now that the fighting was over, Moonsinger, the bearded ladies, and the witch queens started popping up and coming back from whatever cover they’d ducked into.

Hiss pulled her head out of a crevice in the cliff and glared at me.

“You?!” she hissed.

“Me.” I folded my wings. “Top of the flock, king of the range. You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to. None of you do.” I pointed at Moonie. She was peeking out from behind a tree at the top of a rise. “Except you.”

Moonie let out a happy little trill and hopped around the tree, flapping her wings and jumping zigzag down the rise. Her bare foot and flat shoe thumped the loamy ground, one slightly after the other when she landed next to me.

“Can we go somewhere?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Where?”

“To the clearing. Or the creek. I don’t care.”

“All right, let’s go.”

She grinned and started singing about Moonsinger and Angelpunk walking to the creek in the rain, victorious and dripping, and how maybe they would find something to eat along the way.