They went straightaway, after changing in the darkness of the attic out of their pajamas and into street clothes. When they emerged into the brisk air, the sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, like a large blue blanket whose corners had caught flame. Max had always loved the city at this hour, when the buildings were like tall black stakes against the sky, and only a few lights flickered in the windows; when the streets were empty; when the whole city felt like a large, slumbering monster, and she could pass unseen in its shadows.

But now that they were on their way to catch a real-life monster, Max felt different. She imagined that the shadows were full of people waiting to reach out and grab her. The wind felt like an alien touch and lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. She was glad that she wasn’t alone. Sam spent the subway ride in silence, chin down, almost as if he were asleep, although Max knew better. Thomas, on the other hand, couldn’t stop moving. He stood up and sat down again. He drummed his fingers on the seat. He jogged his knee. And Pippa stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass.

Max would never have admitted it, but she was even—even—glad for Pippa.

They knew from the newspaper reports of Bill Evans’s accident that he lived on Ludlow Street, between Hester and Canal. Thomas trusted they’d be able to find it, and it turned out they shouldn’t have worried. As soon as they reached the corner of Canal and Ludlow, Evans’s apartment building was easy to spot: bouquets of flowers, get-well cards, and even soggy teddy bears were clustered in front of the gate at number 12.

“Looks like Evans has a fan club,” Sam said.

“Not for long,” Thomas said.

Max’s stomach knotted up. She shoved her hands in her pockets and reassured herself that her knives were still there.

All the windows of the apartment building were dark; it must have been just after six o’clock. Down the street, a man wheeled a fruit cart toward Canal, whistling softly. Soon the city would open its eyes.

Thomas navigated the piles of flowers and gifts and pushed open the gate. He gestured for the others to follow him.

“Are you going to ring?” Pippa whispered as they clustered together at the top of the stoop. To the right of the front door were several doorbells. BILL EVANS was written in block print next to the middle one, apartment 2A.

Thomas shook his head. “No ringing. We want to catch him by surprise.”

“You think he’ll try and run for it?” Max asked.

“We can’t give him the chance. Sam? Will you?” Thomas gestured to the door.

Sam repressed a small sigh and shuffled forward. Max fingered her knives impatiently. Her palms were sweating. Would that affect her ability to throw, if she had to? She thought of Evans’s toothy smile, and all of the stuff he’d written about them in the papers. She’d love to stake him straight through the head.

But she knew she could never really hurt someone, as much as she pretended. That’s why the thought of confronting Evans made her mouth go dry and her palms go wet. People thought she and Pippa and Thomas and Sam were the freaks. But the real freaks were people like Evans—people who could hide their true selves completely, as if all their lives they were wearing Halloween masks.

Sam leaned carefully into the building door. There was a click. He turned back to the others, a look of confusion on his face. “It’s unlocked.”

That made Max even more nervous. It was as if Evans was expecting them. And maybe he was.

Inside, the hall was dark and smelled like fresh paint. A narrow staircase led up to the second floor. Thomas took the lead. Pippa followed him, then Max, then Sam. Max could hear his quiet breathing in the dark and was comforted by it. The stairs squeaked awfully, and at any second she expected Evans to materialize from the darkness. But they reached the landing without incident and stood clustered in front of the door to 2A. There was not a rustle of sound from within. Evans must still be sleeping.

Sam leaned into the door. And once again, it opened at the slightest pressure of his hand, swinging inward with a faint groan. Sam looked bewildered. “This one’s unlocked, too,” he whispered.

Max’s heart was flapping like a salmon in her chest.

Inside Evans’s apartment, all of the curtains were drawn. It was as dark as night, especially after Thomas had eased the door shut behind them. Max had the sudden, frantic urge to run. Surely Evans would hear her heart drumming, and Sam’s rapid breathing, and the faint rustle of Pippa’s jacket.

But one second passed, then two. Nothing happened.

Gradually, Max’s eyes began to adjust, and she saw that it wasn’t completely dark. There was a faint light coming from the next room, as if there, a curtain had been left open a crack. They were standing, she saw, in a small kitchenette area. Directly ahead of them was a wooden table and beyond it, a partially open door.

Thomas was already moving toward it. As Max passed through the doorway, she felt Sam jostle her, but she was too afraid to speak out loud and tell him to watch out. The fear was everywhere now, like being squeezed inside a sweaty palm.

The next room was a study. Against the far wall were two windows. The curtains were parted a little, revealing a view of another apartment building and allowing a little daylight to penetrate. In front of the windows was a large desk, empty except for a silver letter opener. In front of the desk was an armchair.

And in the armchair, his back to them, was Bill Evans.

“Turn around.” Thomas reached out and turned on a lamp. Instantly, the colors of the room were revealed: Evans’s thatch of brown hair, the navy-blue curtains, the scarlet rug.

Evans didn’t move.

“Stop playing games,” Thomas said again. But still, Evans said nothing and remained facing the windows.

Sam lost patience. He crossed the room in two quick strides. “You heard what he said—”

The words died on his lips as he spun the chair around. Pippa screamed.

Evans’s eyes were open, and there was blood on his lips. He wasn’t breathing.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them.

Max, Pippa, Thomas, and Sam whirled around. A very tall, very thin man was standing in the corner, where he had been concealed from view by the open door. His skin was an unhealthy gray, like the sky just before it rained, and his eyes, behind his glasses, a very pale blue. When he smiled, Max saw his teeth were unusually long and very yellow. He looked vaguely familiar, but Max couldn’t think where she had seen him.

“Hello, my children,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Who—who are you?” Pippa stammered.

“My name”—the man removed his hat with a flourish—“is Professor Rattigan.”