vs fetches

Charity let out a cry and threw herself up the stairs.
"No!" I shouted. "Charity, wait!"
The doorway darkened as a fetch tried to come through. Murphy, her back flat against the wall beside the door, drew the long fighting dagger she had taken from Charity's box of goodies. Just as its nose cleared the doorway, she whirled in a half circle and with all the power of her legs, hips, back, and shoulders drove the knife to its hilt in one of the thing's white eyes.
The fetch went mad with agony. It slammed itself blindly against the inside of the doorway, more liquid fire erupting from the wound, and lurched back and forth until Thomas stepped up to it, lifted a boot, and kicked the fetch with crushing strength, hurling the mortally wounded faerie back out onto the courtyard.
"Go!" he cried. Another fetch began to press in, and Thomas went to work with his sword. His blows struck more burning wounds into the fetch, and its blood sizzled like grease on a stove when it touched the cold iron of his blade. Thomas dodged a return blow and pressed his attack with a sneer, driving the thing back from the doorway.
"Go!" he yelled again. "I'll hold the door!"
A snakelike, whipping limb shot in along the floor, seized Thomas's ankle, and hauled his foot out from under him. I clutched at him and kept him from being drawn into the open. "Murph!"
Murphy slid up, pointed her pistol out the door, and squeezed off several shots. A fetch screamed in pain and Thomas's leg suddenly came free. I pulled him in and he lunged to his feet again.
"We'll hold the door," Murphy said, her voice sharp. "Get the girl!"
Molly screamed again.
Charity's booted feet thudded unseen from the stairs above me.
I spat out an oath and sprinted after her.

Proven Guilty Chapter 37, Page 304


I heard heavy, thumping steps on the staircase, and Thomas came sprinting onto the parapet, fae-bloodied sword still in hand. "Harry!"
"Here," I said, and waved an arm at him. He glanced at Charity and Molly, and hurried over to me.
A little lump of fear knotted itself in my guts. "Where's Murphy?"
"Relax," he said. "She's downstairs guarding the door. Is the girl all right?"
I pitched my voice low. "She's breathing, but I'm more worried about damage to her mind. She's crying at least. That's actually a good sign. What's up?"
"We need to go," Thomas said. "Now."
"Why?"
"Something's coming."
"Something usually is," I said. "What do you mean?"
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Since last year... since the Erlking... I've had... intuitions, maybe? Maybe just instincts. I can feel things in the air better now than before. I think the Wild Hunt is coming toward us. I think a lot of things are coming toward us."
No sooner had he said it than I heard, blended with the distant cry of the wind, a long, mournful, somehow hungry horn call.

Proven Guilty Chapter 39, Page 320