The raiding party was much larger than we’d expected. Almost a hundred people had claimed a great concern for the life of Captain Zaragoza-whom I was still holding at gun point-and offered to go rescue Gwen.

Most of them opened their own portals from the bland and utilitarian inside of the part of headquarters that was located in Denver and which looked like a beige-carpet-and-blonde-wood office of the twenty-first century.

I crossed through the one Maria opened, with Lyon just ahead of me.

On the other side of the portal it was night in some rural part of Italy. It was summer-the sky above velvety blue shot through with stars, the air warm and carrying with it a smell of flowers and ripening fruits.

The place where we’d come through was at the base of a small hillock. At the top of the hillock stood what looked like Roman ruins. Bits of columns and remnants of wall covered in ivy seemed incongruously animated. Light shone from the middle of them, and song in an ancient language burst forth.

We were so far from civilization that those songs, and the distant barking of a dog, were the only sounds we heard. But I could see far in the horizon, the lighted ribbon of a highway stretching. From this distance it looked like a flickering strand of light crossing the darkness. Humans. Who might very well fall prey to these centaurs, since the centaurs were so strong as to manifest even now, millennia after anyone had last believed in them.

And they had Gwen, I thought, and shuddered.

I shoved the gun in the middle of Lyon ’s back. I’d taken the precaution of binding his hands, particularly the right one. “Forward,” I said.

In fact, I could sense, more than I saw, the whole group of people-who had crossed over in a big circle ringing the hillock-start to move forward, like a noose closing on the ruins.

Behind us, Maria was chanting in Latin so old that no historian or priest would recognize it. She had an instrument made from animal horns and played it with a plaintive effect, while calling on Apollo. The smell of strange herbs emanated from her general vicinity.

Stumbling on rocks, but moving ever forward, we slowly, slowly approached the hill.

We were halfway up the hill when the singing stopped at the top.

“They know we’re here,” Lyon said, and tried to throw himself back against me and push us both over down the hill.

“Good,” I said, and pressed the Glock against the middle of his back. “We know they’re there, too. Your point is? Gwen is still up there, and we’re going to get her.”

He made a sound of terror. “You don’t know what they’re like.”

“Then it’s just as well they don’t know what I’m like,” I said, and pushed him forward. Truth was I was scared. But if I was scared, what would Gwen be feeling? After all, the centaurs’ reputation with women was still well known in my time.

We had moved forward another ten steps when out of the skies, in a noise like sheets unfolding, a fury of pegasi descended. For those of you out there so little acquainted with arcane art that a pegasus reminds you of cute and cuddly plush toys favored by little girls, let me assure you these pegasi were quite different.

For one, they smelled. It was a smell of fresh kills, a smell of spilled blood and ravaged flesh. And then they dove out of the sky, in a flurry, aiming at our men, with teeth bared and hooves kicking. They looked like large horses with black, glossy wings which, in the dark night looked like barely glimpsed phantoms.

I had a second to think. Maria was far back behind us. And Lyon was in front of me. I didn’t know if there was anything we could do to physically banish the pegasi or if the pegasi were material or not. But I knew that no one was actually in command of this mission and that was a bad thing. Commander Oktober would be disappointed in me if I let any other legionaries be hurt or captured.

Before the thought had fully run through my mind, I yelled, “Everyone duck.”

There was the sound of several bodies hitting the turfed ground just in time for the pegasi to fly over them and miss them. And then a scream, from my right.

I turned. It was Helen, a young legionary from Ireland. A pegasus had grabbed her by the back of her jacket and was lifting her up in the air, feet kicking, blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight.

I didn’t think. I aimed and fired. The pegasus shrieked. Helen fell-fortunately only about five feet-and landed with the grace of someone who’d been through the Legion’s boot camp. And then the pegasi gave a sort of cry.

I thought that meant they would attack us again, but instead, they fell on their stricken brother. I didn’t look. The sounds were as of a several hungry mouths tearing at prey. “Move,” I yelled out. “Move forward, all of you.”

They did. Legionaries were well trained. Legionaries obeyed.

We went twenty steps and then the rain of arrows started. The one thing I can say for the centaurs was that they were lousy shots, though perhaps that had something to do with their being drunk. The smell, even that far, was unbelievable. It stank of overheated horse slathered in liquor-that’s the best way I can explain it. It was clear they’d found some wine reserve to raid.

They ran at us, firing their bows, then retreated, then ran again. From the crowd, I started hearing weapons fire. Every legionary was armed with a gun, of course, a gun loaded with silver bullets. Silver, for whatever reason, was immune to magic and could kill even the most magical of creatures.

Centaurs started falling, left and right. Some ran back into the building, though.

And then a centaur emerged. He was holding Gwen in front of him. She looked like she was in a trance. “You will let us go,” he shouted. To be honest, he looked like an Italian peasant, even if he were an Italian peasant built on two and a half times the normal scale. “And you will not follow us. Or the girl will die.”

He wore only a loose red vest on his bare trunk, so it was easy enough to see his huge, muscular arm holding Gwen around the waist, while his right hand held a knife to her throat.

Our entire group stopped its advance. “He’ll kill her,” Lyon said. “He’ll kill her.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. My dad had taught me several things. One of them was accurate shooting. The other was that a gun could be far quicker than a knife. Of course, I’d never risked so much.

Gwen looked lovely, even then. Her eyes were wide open, unseeing, but it seemed to me that she was looking straight at me, hoping…I didn’t know what she was hoping.

I let out a quick prayer to whichever local saint might be listening. To believe the others, in Italy there was always a saint listening. And then I raised the Glock quickly and fired.

The centaur looked surprised. The knife clattered to the ground. And Gwen snapped awake and ran. Toward us. Toward me.

The rest of the rescuers took aim and fired at the centaurs.

Gwen hit me mid body, her lips touched my skin. “Thank you,” she said.

I didn’t even notice Lyon ’s sound of disgust.

Of course, when Gwen thanked me, it was just for her immediate rescue, not for having assembled the rescue party and forcing them to go back for her. That she found out about two weeks later, through office gossip. Which is when she asked me out for the first time.

That was six months ago and since then we’ve received a note from higher up-the Council of Magic, a group of wise magicians that governs us as well as the thaumaturgic police and all the other branches of supernatural authority-dictating that I was to become commander in place of Commander Oktober. It seems that my inability to perform magic was outweighed by my organizational aptitude and by the fact that I was so stubborn that hexes and spells slid off me. And perhaps, the note said, stubbornness of that order was almost magical.