I began to suspect that Nell was right about Uncle B being behind the housecleaning when I found the bulk of the materials and props piled in the overflowing garbage can in the side yard. Whatever couldn’t fit inside the canister had been piled up neatly beside it, waiting for trash day.

“All right,” I said, after I’d dragged it all back inside to assess the situation. “You ready, Al?”

Who is this “Al” you address? Surely not myself, a noble, malicious prince of the Third Realm—

“Sure, Al pal,” I said, feeling the first trickle of hot needles rushing through my good arm and legs. Something sparked at the center of my chest, spreading its heat out through my blood. When I closed my eyes, the glimpses I’d had of each room in the house slid into place. I began to sort all the supplies by the rooms they belonged to, lifting enormous, hulking piles of fake tombstones and trees as easily as if they were rolls of old parchment. My hands were blurs as they jammed everything back into its right place, strung up the blackout curtains, stretched and draped what had to be miles of cobwebbing. I found a shovel leaning against the side of the house and began to dig up fresh dirt and grass to pile onto the floor of the graveyard on the second story, using the empty trash can to haul it all up the stairs.

No, Maggot, she had it arranged like so….Al used my hand to tilt one of the crumbling headstones back up. By the realms, your brain is the size of a mouse’s. I can see it quiver with effort.

The only other part of the room that was missing was the blood shower. I glanced up at the ceiling, trying to find the sprinkler system they must have used, only to see a pale, translucent face staring back at me.

I jumped over the nearest gravestone, tripping over my feet until I backed straight into the wall.

The ghostly woman—the ghost, I realized—leaned down farther through the ceiling, examining my work. With a long, delicate arm, she pointed at the fake bats I’d pinned to the ceiling, and then pointed a short distance to the left of them.

A shade, Alastor confirmed. Likely bound to the house, by choice or by magic.

“Oh, right,” I managed to say. “Um, thanks?”

With the room finally back in order, the woman drifted down through the air, her old-fashioned white dress fluttering as though it had been cut from fabric, not moonlight and mist.

The shade reached out her arms. “My sweet boy—”

“Okay, bye!” I shut the door firmly behind me, leaning back against it. Something rotten wafted up to my nose, and I didn’t need to lift my arm to know that it was me. Upstairs, whatever creature was behind the locked door on the right began to pound against the door and yowl.

Funny. Whatever it was, it almost sounded like my furry friend Toad.

Wait.

“Toad?” I’d been so distracted by Nell and the house itself that I hadn’t realized the changeling hadn’t made an appearance since leaving that morning. My feet pounded out a steady, quick clip against the old wood, until I gripped the banister just a bit too tight to keep my balance and splintered the wood.

“Whoa,” I muttered. “Settle down, Hulk.”

The chains on the door were gone, but someone had wedged a doorstop under it to keep it firmly shut. I kicked it away and threw the door open. “Are you—?”

With a ferocious, hair-raising screech, Toad flew out of the room, his tiny paws raised like a boxer’s gloves. I ducked, narrowly missing a claw to the eye as he took an indignant swipe.

“Are you okay?” I asked. Toad ignored me, his wings slapping at the air as he darted past, inspecting the rooms before zooming downstairs. All the while, he sniffed and sniffed and sniffed, like he was trying to track or find something—or someone. “Do you know who did this? Was it Uncle Barnabas?”

Do not trouble yourself, Maggot. The changelings have brains smaller than even your own.

But the CatBat shook his head. He let out a low, mournful noise as he looked around the half-finished zombie-hospital floor, finally landing in the middle of the room with a dejected thump. The edges of his fur began to shimmer and I let out a yelp as the creature dissolved, splashing against the floor as nothing more than a puddle with big, green eyes.

“Holy crap!” I dropped to my knees beside him, trying to scoop him back together. “I’m working as fast as I can, but I need your help, okay? We won’t finish setting up in time for the run-through without whatever spells Nell’s mom used. Can you go find her and bring her back?”

With a loud pop! the changeling shifted again, this time into a large, green-eyed raven. Caw-caw!

He agreed, Maggot, said Alastor, who, apparently, also spoke evil bird.

Toad flew to the door, his wings beating against the wood until I opened it for him. Leaving a window open for his eventual return, I set to work finishing the first floor, ignoring Al’s suggestion I use my own blood to splatter the walls. Instead, I used a mixture of what was left in the ketchup bottle in the refrigerator, flour, and water, smearing the fake blood on the plaster and scratching a message into it with my own hands.

I didn’t know what to do with the ghost room upstairs. I turned the house and backyard inside out looking for whatever machine they had used to chill the room so brutally and make it feel as though you were standing over a crack in the earth that sank as deep as the underworld.

A witch would never dare to open the realm of shades, for fear of unleashing the unhappy dead.

So it must have been an illusion, then.

I have another thought about this room.

I saw the thought as clearly as if I had slipped inside a memory. The hazy film that seemed to cover my vision lifted, revealing a dark, damp stone room. A drip, drip, drip set my hair tingling against my skin. Layered just beneath that sound was a faint clicking and clattering—no, a scrabbling. Almost like…

A thousand insect legs. The walls crawled with spiders, some as small as my pinky, others bigger than my head. I tried to lurch back, only to bump into something heavy, something sticky. Whirling around, I came face-to-face with a long, shimmering white cocoon and whatever poor creature was wrapped inside it. When I took a step back, two glowing red dots appeared through the webbing. Eyes.

The spiders swarmed my feet, crawling up my legs, into my hair. “Get me out of here!”

I slammed back into the reality of the empty room, still breathing hard. “What was that place? Where you hide the bodies of your enemies?”

No, you tickle-brained canker blossom, Al said. That was a malefactor nursery. My own!

“Eesh. That explains a lot.” I shivered, patting at my hair to make sure it had all been an illusion. “Wait. I thought you ate spiders? You mean they raise you, and then you eat them?”

Only the small ones. That is beside the point.

Downstairs lie witch dolls and other beings, Al continued, as well as an obscene amount of useless spider-webbing.

“All right,” I said, turning around, trying to picture it. “I can see it. It’d be easy enough for someone to hide in here and make the spider noises. I just need to find some paint—”

There was a cabinet full of black and white paint downstairs, hidden behind where the cleaner had tried to fold and store the zombie victim’s gurney. A few brushes too, which was more than I’d hoped for. I hesitated, wondering if it would really be okay to paint the spiders and stones on the wall, and then just went for it.

Al was mostly silent as I worked, occasionally weighing in on the design with his usual bluntness, but mostly I just felt the hum of power and happiness buzzing through my veins as I painted and painted and painted. Leaving my work to dry, I went down to wrap the stuffed witches and one of the skeletons in the webbing.

I flipped the first witch over and fell back onto my bottom with an embarrassingly loud gasp. Her plastic face, from her black eyes to her wart-covered chin, had been mauled. It looked like a claw had torn through it.

“What the…?”

Fiends and witches are enemies. Nell had said that, right? Whoever—or whatever—attacked the witch mannequins clearly hated them. It looked like they would have set them on fire, if they’d had matches. Something heavy settled in my stomach.

“You do know who did this,” I said out loud. “Don’t you?”

Alastor said nothing, but I felt the slightest tremor of fear ripple through my heart.

When the front door finally opened, I shot up to my feet. “Nell, I’m in—”

But it wasn’t Nell. It was Missy.

She was wearing a long black overcoat with a high collar, her braided hair falling down her back like the knobs of a spine. Toad, back in CatBat form, was perched happily on her shoulder, chewing on a loose strand of her hair. Under one arm was a heavy, leather-bound book.

I stared at the changeling in confusion. “You get lost, little buddy?”

“He knows to come straight to me if there is trouble.” Missy glanced around quickly, her lips pressed in a tight line. “Nell isn’t here, is she?”

I shook my head, unsure of what to say. Alastor only hissed at her sudden appearance, making Toad’s ears stand straight up.

“I’ll work quickly, then,” Missy said, opening the book and flipping through its coarse, yellowed pages. “Nell’s father won’t like it that I’ve come. I encourage you not to say anything, if you value your short, doomed life.”

That was a new one. I didn’t know Missy well enough to know if she was making a joke or a prophecy. “Nell already threatened to rearrange my body parts, so, believe me, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good,” she said, then, finally, looked up at me. “This looks different—did something happen to the house?”

I quickly explained.

“And you did all of this yourself?”

“Yes,” I said.

Ahem.

“Er, mostly. Nell went off to find Uncle Barnabas, so I tried to restore the house the best I could. The tour groups are coming tonight to do a walk-through and I knew it was important to her, so I just—”

“You did all of this for Nell?”

“Well, yeah. And Uncle Barnabas. There were a few things I couldn’t replicate because of, you know…” Magic.

“Yes, I know,” she said absently, violet eyes fixed on the pages as she turned them. “I helped Tabitha—Nell’s mother—and Nell enchant them. Oh, here we are—she did write it all down.”

“What’s that?” I asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

Missy jerked the book away. “Do not touch it—not even for a moment. It’s enchanted to destroy itself before falling into a fiend’s hands.”

Just like Goody Prufrock’s book had. “Is that Nell’s grimoire—her book of spells and notes?”

“Her mother’s,” Missy said. “All right, Prosperity Redding. I’ll finish what you’ve begun, but I’ll need your help, if you’re willing?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Right,” Missy said. “Then your first task, young man, is to go up to the attic, open every window on your way, and take a nice, long shower.”

“That bad?” I asked.

The woman gave me a pitying smile. “Worse.”

By the time I finished showering and dousing my clothes in air freshener, Missy was nearly done with her work, and all that was left was for me to dutifully hold a candle with her as she added a touch of tiny spiders to the room upstairs, all spun from smoke and shadow.

“There’s one more thing,” I said. “If you have time…”

Earlier, Al had made a good point about the House of Seven Terrors being a business, and one that needed to be taken seriously. Whether Nell wanted to actually use it, I thought it would be a good thing to have a real logo for the business. Something she could put on a sign outside or in flyers.

I brought Missy up to the attic, where I’d pulled one of the white curtains off the window. Missy’s face went pinched as she looked around, the whites of her eyes going pink at the edges.

I had already painted a black version of the tree out in the yard, along with the many little roofs on each level of the house. All I needed was to write the words House of Seven Terrors.

“Missy,” I said. Then I said it again, louder.

She turned toward me, startled. “What is it?”

“Is there any way to…Do you remember what Nell’s mom’s handwriting looked like? I wanted to try to copy it for the sign.”

Her eyes widened. “There’s a spell for that. Here, may I have the paintbrush?”

I dipped it into what was left of the black paint before handing it over to her. She flipped the grimoire open to a page and began to whisper to herself, moving her fingers along the handwriting on the page. The words began to swirl, then flowed toward the paintbrush, being absorbed into it. When she brought the tip of it to the curtain, the brush seemed to move on its own, the words she’d lifted from the book spilling out onto the fabric.

After we hung the sign up over the porch, I walked Missy to the back door. Toad took it upon himself to climb her ropelike braid to lick her cheek.

“I know, old friend, I miss you too,” she told him, scratching him beneath the chin. “Come see me when you can, but only when Nell is safe at school and under Eleanor’s watch. Remember your promise to Tabitha to protect her.”

I tried to fade into the background to give them their moment, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Eleanor? The spider? That Eleanor? She’s, what, another changeling?”

“My own,” Missy said.

No wonder Nell hadn’t wanted to use her during the spell to get Al out of me.

The witch smoothed her hair back, taking a moment to consider her words. “Prosperity, perhaps…I misunderstood your situation. I did not think anyone controlled by a malefactor would be capable of such a kind act. But I need to warn you—”

The front door slammed open, and Nell’s shocked gasp carried through the house to where we stood.

Quickly, I turned back toward Missy. “Warn me about what?”

But the witch was already across the yard, disappearing into the woods.

“—didn’t do it, Nell, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that,” Uncle Barnabas was saying as he stepped onto the porch behind Nell. “I would never disrespect your mother’s memory in such a way.”

“So you say, but you never wanted the responsibility…” Nell’s words trailed off. A second later, I heard her footsteps pounding around the corner. “Prosper! Did you do this? How? The magic—”

Uncle Barnabas, as pale in the face as I’d ever seen him, appeared behind her.

“I know, right?” I said, quickly, shooting her a look. “You did a great job with it before you left.”

“I did?” she said. “Oh—I did.”

I followed her upstairs, bracing myself for her judgment. Uncle Barnabas and Toad trailed behind us.

When she reached the new spider room, the words “I couldn’t put it back exactly right, I’m sorry!” sprang to my lips.

Nell whirled in its threshold, pointing a finger at me. “Skúffuskáld!”

“Gesundheit?” I offered back. Just to be sure, I reached up and touched my nose, to make sure it was still in the right place.

“No, no,” she said, laughing. “It’s Icelandic. It literally means drawer poet—someone who writes poems but tosses them in a drawer before showing them to anyone. The painting in here is amazing. Why would you hide something you obviously like and are really good at? Because, Prosper, you are really good. Trust me.”

Uncle Barnabas looked around, scratching at his pale hair. “So I suppose this means the run-through’s back on for tonight, then. Nell, why don’t you go give the agencies a call and let them know? The Witch’s Brew Café will let you use their phone.”

Nell’s eyes were narrowed as she looked at him, and was silent, as if still waiting for him to confess.

“I can do it,” I offered. “You two have to get ready, right? And it’s just down the street. What’s the worst that could happen two doors down from here?”

After a beat of silence, Uncle Barnabas relented. “All right. Be quick about it.”

“But—” Nell began, looking between us.

He fished out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

I knew Nell was watching me from the front door as I ran down the street. Al’s power was still moving through me, swirling just beneath my skin. I reached the café in no time, almost flinging the door open in the face of its owner.

“My goodness!” She looked like a storybook grandmother, all softness and silver hair.

“Can I borrow your phone? Just for a second?” I said in a rush of breath.

“O-of course, dear, it’s behind the counter,” she said, pointing. “I’m closing up, but let me know if you need anything else.”

The landline phone looked like it had time-traveled out of the 1950s. I smoothed the paper out over the counter, scanning down the three numbers. When I reached the last one, I startled—it looked like—

No. It wasn’t Mom’s cell-phone number. Hers ended with a 5, not a 2. But it was close enough to make my stomach twist.

“All right,” I said, dialing the first number and leaving a message with the tour group’s receptionist to confirm. The second call went the same way, and I was told by the woman who answered how excited she was and how she loved haunted houses and how—

“Okay, see you soon, bye!” I hung the phone up quickly, glancing around to make sure the café’s owner was still busy sweeping. I punched in the third and final number and sat back on my heels, eyeing one of the carrot cakes in the café’s refrigerator case.

“Hello?”

That was—that was Mom’s voice.

Crap, crap, crap, crapcrapcrap—I punched in the wrong last number.

I choked on my spit, my hand gripping the phone so hard the plastic handle cracked. I released my grip and, with a deep breath, forced myself to hang the receiver up just as I thought I heard her say, “Prosper?”

Oh no.

Oh, well done, Maggot, Al said, irritated. Now you’ve done it!

I started to make a run for the door, only to realize I hadn’t actually called the third tourist office. I concentrated so hard on inputting the right number this time I almost gave myself a headache. The woman I spoke to happily confirmed her group would be there as sweat soaked through my shirt and my stomach began to roll.

I messed everything up, I thought, hanging up the phone. No. No, I was okay. I didn’t reveal myself intentionally, right? And I definitely hadn’t confirmed who I was. Mom would just think it was a random wrong number. In any case, the owner of the Witch’s Brew didn’t give me a second look when I thanked her and stepped out. My breathing was finally under control by the time I made my way back over to the House of Seven Terrors.

Stopping under the sign that Missy had helped me hang, I couldn’t stop the warm curl of pride that wound its way through me. Nell’s voice drifted down to me from the attic window.

“Everything good?”

“Yup, everything good!” I called back.

And that was the truth. It was a small thing in the grand scheme of life, but I finally felt like I had returned the favor for Nell and Uncle Barnabas’s help. Alastor’s influence was slipping away, and my limbs felt suddenly heavy, making me so exhausted it was a struggle to get up the few porch steps. I sat down instead, trying to catch my breath, wondering at how easy everything had felt only a few minutes ago. How good.

My parents ran Heart2Heart but sat on a dozen charity boards, struggling to divide their time and energy among them. It would make things so much easier to have a life spilling over with luck and strength and fortune, and turn around and share it with others. I could do more. Be better.

As I sat there, watching the sun set and the moon rise, I could almost understand why Honor Redding had made a contract, thinking he could do real good and help his family in the process.

Almost.