STEFAN FROZE. His mind struggled to understand what he was seeing. His nightmares. A beast with seven heads. Echoes of the priest’s words at his mother’s graveside. The book of Revelation. A chill wind blew through him. The Beast had risen.

He needed a weapon. He found the sack again and tore at it desperately.

“Stefan?” Marie stood in the doorway of the parlor. Water sloshed over the edge of her bucket.

He followed her gaze. Something—or someone—stood in the middle of the carpet, outlined by the smoky firelight. He had the impression that a pack of vermin was inching toward him.

And then the front door burst open as Stefan’s father reached inside for the next bucket. The door slammed shut just as quickly, but in that burst of light, Stefan’s heart leapt into his mouth and Marie screamed.

The ties on the sack finally fell away.

“Stand back!” Stefan cried. He rose from beside the sofa, shaking the weapon free from the bag. Suddenly everything became clear as day.

In his hands was a giant golden key worked with scrolls and fine, spidery script. A small bellows was seated inside the handle. Stefan waved it in the air. Dozens of tiny holes along the length of the key sighed. The King of Mice cocked his fourteen ears at the sound.

“What is this?” the mouse asked. He hoisted his sword with a flourish, signaling his attack.

Stefan leapt into the air.

The King stopped short, jabbing upward, stabbing the sole of Stefan’s foot.

The sword stuck in the surface of the leather.

The King yanked his weapon free, dancing backward.

Stefan climbed onto the sofa, buying time to study this new weapon. How it was meant to work, only his uncle knew for sure. But it had a handle and length to it. A clumsy sword, but a serviceable one.

He swiped down toward the King, but the beast was gone.

Again, a rustling in the papers.

“He’s beneath you!” Marie cried.

Stefan clambered to the top of the sofa, balancing with one foot on the arm, and waited.

The room wavered in the firelight. The very walls were alive.

A china figurine shifted on the mantel and fell. Stefan turned. The Mouse King leapt from the shelf.

Sskit! He slashed at Stefan’s face, the blade singing through the air.

If he had still been made of flesh and bone, Stefan might have bled. Instead, his curse protected him.

He flailed, tumbling sofa and all, into the fire.

“Stefan!” Marie cried out.

He scrambled away from the flames, his coat and hat already alight.

“Hold still!” she demanded. “You’ll burn down the house!”

He collapsed on the hearth and she doused him with her bucket of water. The flames on his clothing hissed and died. Water sloshed everywhere, soaking his back like sweat.

All around him, wrapping paper collapsed into sodden lumps. Panic sat on his chest. He fought it back, struggling to catch his breath.

He clenched his hands. They closed around nothing. In falling, he had lost the key.

“Revenge!” the Mouse King roared, and ran from the shadows across the muck-covered floor, driving his sword toward Stefan’s eye—

“Look out!” Marie shrieked, and hurled her slipper.