door, and Asa followed him down the hall. He opened the door to a second bedroom and lit a lamp on top of a white-painted dresser. The small room flared into light, and Asa realized that the family who lived here before him must have had daughters. There were two twin beds, leaning against opposite walls, but still very close together. They were separated by one bedside table and a rag rug so dusty that it sent up little gritty clouds when Asa stepped on it. The wallpaper was made of newspaper clippings.
“You could use this room for whatever you like,” said Mr. Jameson. “An office, maybe. Or a sitting room. You can get rid of those beds whenever you like.”
Asa opened the drawer of the bedside table. At first, he thought it was empty, but when he felt along the sides of the drawer, he felt a piece of paper. Gently, he pulled it from the drawer. It was a photograph of two girls on the steps of the church. One stood behind the other, her hands on the other’s shoulders, looking distant and ghostly. But the one who was seated drew Asa’s attention immediately. She wore an elaborate white dress that had a skirt with layers of ruffles, and held a bouquet of flowers. Her black hair had been woven into a bun, but wisps fell on her forehead and around her face. Her eyes were black and bright as she looked up at her sister.
Asa was instantly fascinated in a way that he did not understand. He found it very difficult to look away from her. No matter how he tried, it was as though his eyes kept being dragged back to her smiling, upturned face. There was something about her. Something significant. But he didn’t understand what. He had a sudden need to know who she was, what she was like. He flipped the picture around to the back. There, written in slanting, feminine-looking script, were the words Quincea?era Olivia. Hermanas bonitas.
Then he saw something that made him forget the picture all together.
Behind the bedside table, something had been scratched into the wall. Muerte, ayúdanos, Muerte, ayúdanos… Help us, Death over and over and over. And when he ran a finger across them, he was surprised to feel a tingle of power. He drew back as though he’d been burned. Did that mean that one of these girls…?
“Well,” said Mr. Jameson in the doorway. “I’ll leave you to it, then. G’night.”
And Mr. Jameson shuffled away, leaving Asa alone in the bloodstained house, wondering about the hermanas, and about what on earth he was supposed to do next.
A flash of movement caught his eye. On the wall to his right, there was a broken mirror framed in grimy white wicker. Is that me? Asa thought. He came closer and examined his new face.
He was even younger-looking than he expected behind those cracked spectacles—only a scant bit of dark stubble on his chin. So this is me as a human, he thought. He leaned close to the mirror and put his finger to it. The cracks began to mend, slowly, as though they were melting back together, and soon the mirror was smooth and whole again. There, that’s better. Asa smiled, turning his face this way and that. I look a lot like Harold Lloyd! He thought of all the times he’d looked down and watched movies being made. Not bad! Not bad at all. He grinned like a jack-o’-lantern, then gave a pitiful frown, then lifted one eyebrow. He’d have to practice postures and facial expressions later.
Suddenly, he smelled mercury. The room went cold and dry. His bones felt as hollow as a bird’s.
So you’re the Wildcard, eh? The one my Sister built… came a voice at the furthermost corner of his mind. She’s twisting the rules, making Her own Card instead of just choosing one, and I don’t like it.
“I th-thought you two weren’t allowed to see each other’s Cards?” Asa stuttered. He felt a strange popping sensation. In the mirror, the lower half of his human face was gone. Instead, there were long, sharp black teeth, charred skin, a long, snakelike black tongue—his daemon face.
Wait a moment, said Death. I know you. You’re the young daemon always watching the earth from the edge of the Between. The one they call a human lover. Death paused. And our Mother chose you? Interesting.… What could She want with you?
Death considered this for a moment. Then Her voice