veil of it drenching Fair Hollow. Across the street from Hecate’s Attic, the New Age shop owned by the Weavers, two figures stood. The tall one, his jeweled hand resting on a wolf-headed walking stick, didn’t seem to mind the rain that scarcely touched his hair or fur-lined coat. The other figure stood beneath an orange umbrella that sheltered his slim body and citrus-bright mane.
“I know how Jack thinks,” the slight figure said. “He brought your queen of briars here. Oh, and look, there’s a light on in the attic. I bet that’s where she’s hiding. The oracle is mine, so let her be.”
“I don’t trust you, Fool, considering your habit of switching sides.” Seth Lot sauntered toward Hecate’s Attic. “So I’ll be taking your oracle girl as insurance.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Absalom called out as the Wolf moved across the street, followed by three shadowy shapes from his pack. Seth Lot ignored him and Absalom turned, twirling his umbrella and humming softly. Walking away, he lightly said, “It’s your funeral.”
AS FINN AND JACK FOLLOWED Phouka, Moth, Christie, and Sylvie down a hall in Tirnagoth, Jack said to Finn, his voice low, “I need you to give me the elixir.”
She tried not to flinch. “It’s all gone.”
“Your eyes are silver, you’re pale as the dead, and you’re not casting a shadow—and you kept up with me as I ran. The elixir shouldn’t affect you in the true world. That stuff was supposed to leave you and it hasn’t. Which means you’re still taking it.”
“I dumped all of it into Caliban’s glass.”
Jack gazed at her with despair ghosting his silver eyes. “Do you think it’s going to make you invulnerable? It won’t. It will kill you.”
“I’m not dead. I won’t let him take Lily again. I don’t have any more of it.”
“Are you even aware of what a terrible liar you are?”
They reached the parlor where Phouka’s guest waited.
“I’m not dead—” Finn halted. “Micah?”
Micah Govannon, her coworker from BrambleBerry Books, sat on the sofa, a large bruise on his face, bandages white beneath his bloody, ripped T-shirt.
“So”—Christie dropped into a chair and stared at his friend—“it turns out Micah, here, is secretly a wolf slayer.”
“I haven’t actually slain any—”
Christie continued, “He works for Jill Scarlet.”
Finn sat down, because she needed to. “Who is Jill Scarlet?”
“Red Riding Hood,” Jack told her, perfectly serious.
“Sit. All of you.” Phouka gestured. “Micah has a story to tell.”
THE MICAH SEATED ON THE RED VELVET SOFA across from Finn was not the shy, harmless boy Finn worked with at BrambleBerry Books. This was a warrior, graceful and strong, and he didn’t wear his glasses; his scars were explained now. There were talismans braided into his brown hair, on a leather thong around his neck.
“Seth Lot declared war when his house found its way back to the Ghostlands from whatever void you sent it to. He has more allies than we thought. He went after the guardians first, the ones you, my lady”—Micah inclined his head to Phouka—“set up at the border stations.”
Phouka swore in something that sounded like Latin. Finn said faintly, “Did he kill them all? The guardians?”
“Most of them are dead. He can do damage with his Grindylow, his Jacks and Jills.”
Finn looked at Phouka. “Do you do that?”
“There are no Jacks or Jills in my court, other than what has already been. I don’t practice stitchery.” Phouka studied Micah. “What about Rowan Cruithnear and the Dearh Cota?”
“I think Rowan Cruithnear and Jill Scarlet are still in the Ghostlands. For now, no one can come in or out—I got away. The crom cu found me.” He shuddered.
“We’ve encountered the crom cu,” Jack said, “in the woods. He’s dead.”
There was a moment of disbelieving silence. Then Christie hunched forward. “If the Wolf is searching for Finn and Lily, won’t he go to Finn’s house? Her dad—”
Finn said, “My da’s with Sylvie’s dad, playing poker at the Antlered Moon.”
“No, he isn’t,” Sylvie breathed. “Poker night was canceled.”
Finn snatched Lily’s phone from her backpack and hit Home, standing as the phone buzzed. She strode out of the parlor. Jack followed with Christie and Sylvie hurrying after.
Outside, in the driveway, Finn felt as if she was falling to pieces. The phone went to her da’s voice mail.
Moth strode toward them. He had the jackal walking stick over one shoulder and held a set of jangling keys in one hand. “Phouka gave me the keys to her vehicle—it’ll apparently be faster than yours, Jack. She and