"No!" ripped from Em's chest as she rushed forward to get Fabian away from Jag before he could use his powers. She barely noticed as her sweater and jeans were replaced with a white gown, black wings spreading out from her back, a scythe in her hand.

After the demon fight in Bulgaria, Em had picked up a scythe a couple of times, just to get the feel for it, even though she'd hoped never to project one again. Then she'd gotten good enough at her projections she didn't have to be as familiar with the mechanics of what they were doing. But this time was different. She wasn't puppeting a separate projection; she was part of it. The muscle memory must have been enough, though.

The scythe arced through the air, its blade slicing bloodlessly through Fabian - and missing Jag, thank heavens - tugging at something inside before pulling free. Em stumbled at the rush of Cortez's life being dragged from him, the scythe blade dropping to the floor, the handle propping her up.