It got bad. Real fast.

What I learned right away was that I could push back against Alastor and regain control of my body—when he was tired. And pretty much only when he was tired.

After trapping Nightlock downstairs and locking the basement door, Nell and I went back to the attic. She stayed up the rest of the night making sure Al didn’t try anything. I was too exhausted to try to play it cool and stay awake too. I passed out the second my head hit the couch pillow.

But I had nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares. The kind that show you, in gory detail, your family dying. Your house burning down to little piles of ash. Falling off the side of a tall building. Being chased by red-eyed demons and fiends, feeling them tear you apart. It made me miss the prowling panther and its singing bone.

Nell and I went to school on Saturday and Sunday for play rehearsal. The art class rotated each day, coming in to finish each other’s work. Once, my hand “accidentally” jerked and nearly knocked over a whole can of paint onto the newly finished classroom backdrop we’d spent hours on. After that, I had to suck it up and lie, pretending I was sick and needed to sleep it off in the audience, which made me feel both useless and lazy. And, on Sunday, I stayed home with Uncle Barnabas and listened to the many, many ways Alastor was going to tear my family apart like confetti once he was free of my body.

Monday arrived like a snake, silently slithering up to us before we were prepared for it. Frost coated the world, and what leaves had managed to hang on to the trees dropped overnight with the sudden spike of cold temperature. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of ending.

I tried to keep my spirits up, knowing that fear and hopelessness only fed the malefactor. Failure couldn’t be an option when my family’s lives were on the line. But I couldn’t shake the shivers of dread that were working through my blood.

“What if I hurt somebody?” I whispered as we waited for the bus. Alastor was silent, but not sleeping. It felt like he was…waiting.

“I’ll be there,” Nell promised. “We have almost every class together. If it seems like it’s getting too bad, let me know. We’ll ditch. Everything will be okay.”

Everything was not okay. That much was clear from homeroom, when Mrs. Anderson stood at the front of the room and began to cry because Eleanor, the classroom tarantula, had gone missing.

“Please, if you find her…if you took her, just return her, no questions asked…”

I turned to look at Nell, but she only shrugged. Maybe the changeling had finally gone back to Missy. Still, it seemed weird that she would just leave when the point of her being there was to keep an eye on Nell. But, clearly, the witch herself didn’t seem to think so.

In math class, Alastor made me kick the girl sitting in front of me until she cried and the teacher sent me out into the hall for being “rude and disruptive.” And because Nell couldn’t go with me, I ended up spending the rest of the hour slamming my good hand into the side of the building until the knuckles bled and I was sure it was broken. Nell was horrified, but there wasn’t much she could do beyond take me to the nurse’s office.

Alastor still wasn’t done.

Mr. Gupta gave us a surprise pop quiz on the Greek gods in humanities. I was tired and felt a little fuzzy, but I knew all the answers. Or, at least, I thought I did. At the end of the class, the teacher waved me over. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at my twitchy, bandaged hand. Which I’m sure seemed even worse when I used my other already bandaged arm to hold it down.

“I didn’t realize you could speak Greek,” he said.

The sinking, sick feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. “I can’t….”

“Oh, really?” Mr. Gupta asked, holding up my sheet. “Then, in that case, please don’t waste my time or mock me. If you don’t know the answer, just leave it blank.”

I squinted at my first answer. It was my dark, smeared handwriting all right, but…it was definitely not in English.

My answer is perfectly correct, Alastor said. I don’t see what he’s so upset about.

“I’m impressed you know this many Greek letters,” Mr. Gupta said. “I suppose I should give you some points for creativity.”

“I’m…sorry, sir?” I said, because I had no idea what else I could say.

Nell was smart enough to separate us from the rest of the kids at lunch. We ate out on the basketball court, then moved onto the nearby field when other students wandered over to play a quick game before the bell went off again.

“Nell!” We both turned at the sight of Norton, dressed in head-to-toe red, jogging toward us across the dead grass.

“What’s got you mad today?” I asked, eyeing what looked like a red puffy snowsuit. To be fair, he looked the warmest out of everyone sitting outside on that icicle of a day. Behind him, one of the basketball players was so distracted at the sight she threw her pass too hard and it hit Parker square in the head from where he was watching from the sidelines.

Norton raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’m mad? Red is the color of passion—oh, never mind. Here! I remembered.”

In his hand was an old, beat-up iPod.

“Thank you!” Nell threw her arms around him, and his face suddenly matched his suit.

“N-no problem,” he said. “It’s yours. I got a new one for my birthday a few weeks ago.”

I waited until Norton wandered off at the warning bell before asking, “What’s that for?”

Instead of answering, Nell shoved the earbuds into my ears and began scrolling through the menu to find what she was looking for. But she wasn’t in the music section—Nell was in the alarm one. Before I could repeat my question, the sound of bells—big, metal, hearty bells—were clanging in my ears.

Al shrieked. Legitimately shrieked.

I pulled out the earbuds, enjoying his pathetic moaning maybe a little too much. “Wow, he’s not a fan.”

Nell pushed the alarm again and turned down the volume. “I totally forgot about this trick, I’m sorry. Fiends hate the sound of bells. The sound is too pure and beautiful. Every time he does something, just give him a blast of this. At night, we’ll put it on a loop so he won’t be able to sleep. That’ll keep him too tired to do something during the day.”

It was like a little electric zap. I could feel Al’s entire spirit clench and shudder when the bells played. The pressure in my legs and good arm released, like he had lost his grip.

“And if he can’t sleep at night, he’ll have to sleep during the day, or he’ll be too exhausted to take over,” I finished. “Nell, that’s genius.”

“The class bell made me remember last week—it’s just too bad it’s an annoying beeping and not a true bell sound.” She grinned. “Anyway, it’s just a temporary fix for now. Be careful a teacher doesn’t catch you with it, or they’ll take it away.”

Hey, I wasn’t going to complain about a temporary fix. Even a little bandage can stop a cut from bleeding.

The day got so much better once I knew I could give Al a friendly little jolt. I slipped the bud in and out of one ear when I saw the teachers weren’t looking. In between classes. When I just wanted to feel him squirm.

The only class I begged out of was PE, which Coach didn’t really appreciate. But how could I run with my injured hand? Nell had asked. What if his future track star never fully mended? What if he couldn’t run come spring? (Nell was really good at acting.)

I sat beside Parker on the sidelines in awkward silence before working up enough nerve to ask, “How’s your ankle?”

The other kid grunted. “You care?”

“I just…never mind. I just feel bad, okay?” I said, watching the other kids run by. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

It is.

Those two words from Alastor came like a kick to my chest.

“Nah,” Parker said with a long sigh. “It’s not. I knew it was stupid of me. Just trying to prove something, I guess. But it’s just the latest in a long string of bad luck.”

Hmm.

My heart was in my throat when I asked, “What do you mean?”

“My dad lost his job, my parents are divorcing, I might have to get surgery on my ankle, which means I might not be able to run track for a few months,” Parker admitted, his voice tight. “But it’s fine. It will be fine.”

Al. I could barely get the thought through my mind. Did you do this?

Of course I did, Maggot, as did you. Luck isn’t infinite. Even in this form, even limited to your body, I can manipulate those close by. To gift you luck, it first needed to come from someone else.

For a second I was sure I was going to throw up.

I didn’t ask you to do that! I thought, furious.

But you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Al sounded almost wistful. Tell me, do you think you truly are a good artist, or that I helped to align the right pieces to convince other people they were seeing something great when it was only truly mediocre?

I stood suddenly, feeling like my entire face was on fire. I mumbled some excuse to Parker and the coach about needing to use the bathroom. Once I was in the empty locker room, I collapsed against the nearby wall, shaking.

Stop pretending to feel sorry! Al hissed. Stop pretending to be anything other than another Redding wretch!

“I wish I had a singing bone,” I muttered. “So I could figure out when you were telling the truth—”

What did you just say? Alastor’s voice jumped in pitch again, alarmed.

Singing bone? I repeated. What about it?

No, nothing—nothing at all. He sounded relieved. But where did you hear such a thing? A…dream, perhaps?

Now it was my turn to be alarmed. Yeah. You didn’t already know?

I cannot see your dreams when I, too, sleep.

Wait—what was it that Uncle B and Nell had told me about fiends and their realm? That they traveled between mirrors…

And used dreams to communicate.

“Do you think it was one of your siblings?” I whispered. “Trying to tell me something? Something like, oh, I don’t know…your name? Do I need to find a singing bone in order to reveal it? I’m sure that Nell and Uncle B could help with that too—”

Rather than wind him up, my words only seemed to deflate that anger and glee I’d felt running through my veins and nerves all day.

Prosperity, he began, taking on an even more formal tone. There is something I wish to say to you. I ask for a moment of your consideration, for I believe we are in grave danger.

It was hard not to roll my eyes at that one. Are you asking for a truce?

Alastor snorted. If you wish to call it such. A temporary understanding.

Fine. What is it?

The malefactor took his time making sure his words were as dramatic as possible. As both of our lives depend upon it, I must ask you to reconsider the trust you have placed in the little witch and your uncle. I do not think their aim is to help you.

Well, it’s definitely not to help you, I shot back. Why am I supposed to trust you over them?

Because our lives are tied together. What befalls me, befalls you. I speak to you now in all honesty, as if you were my own brother.

“You hate your brothers,” I muttered.

Well. We cannot choose our family, as you yourself are well aware. Last night proved my suspicions to be true—as I said, I do not think they wish to help you. I think they mean to keep us imprisoned here in this city, while they wait for someone—or something else.

“What makes you think that?” I whispered.

The howler. They are controlled by whoever sits on the Black Throne. Did you not notice that we are still alive? The fiend repeated its command to find and take me. These beasts are trained to kill or retrieve wayward fiends who have snuck into the human realm and threatened the balance of life.

The balance of what? How was it possible this kept getting worse and worse? Wasn’t there a limit to how awful things could get? A rock bottom we could hit before heading back up?

Each kind of creature—human, fiend, specter, and Ancient—is bound to its own realm, for if too many of one kind pass into a realm that is not their own, the balance is thrown, and the realms collapse on themselves. This is the one law we are all bound by, and the sole reason for the howlers’ existence.

That dog could have easily killed us last night, I thought. Or dragged us back to the fiend realm, right?

The moment we passed the threshold of the house, it backed away, even before the changeling, yes? It has been ordered not to attack us while we reside there. This only proves the witch and your uncle’s involvement to me. If they themselves cannot control it, then they are allied with the one who can.

“They’re my family.”

Ah yes, family. You and I both know how dangerous a family can be.