ZACHARIAS’S BEAR HUG threatened to turn Stefan into sawdust. But he did not care. “Father!”

“You’re awake!” his father cried. He released his son, taking in how much Stefan had grown. “And very brave, besides. Your mother would be—”

“Horrified,” Stefan said. “She hated mice.”

Zacharias laughed and brushed the sweat-dampened hair from his son’s forehead. “She would be very proud.”

They clambered downstairs with the others to take stock of their situation in the living room before the great Christmas tree.

Stefan inhaled the scent of crushed pine needles and sought that same calm that had allowed him to confront the enemy.

“Wait. What’s that smell?” he asked.

Christian sniffed the air. “Take this.” He thrust a sack into Stefan’s arms. “This is your weapon.”

Stefan raced after him to the foyer. Smoke came seeping under the front door, and with it, the glow of orange flame.

“For God’s sake, Stefan, stay back. Tell Marie we need buckets. They’re setting us on fire.”