And it was my fault.
No, I said, and—
—opened my eyes, again.
I stared, breathing hard. Nothing but the forest around me: gnarled roots and trees as big as skyscrapers, and a soft twilight that clung to the air and seemed part of its scent; sweet, light, with a hint of rose. I was surrounded by demons: scales and spikes, sharp elbows, and even sharper claws. Red eyes gleamed. Purrs rattled.
Still, just a dream. Or a vision of the future. I couldn’t take the risk, though.
For a moment, I dared to imagine that losing my arm was part of that bad dream—but no, I turned my head, and all I saw was shoulder and air.
Grant whispered, “Maxine.”
I was in so much pain I could barely see his face. I looked harder, and found him pressed against my left side, surrounded by a teeming pile of Shurik, who had spread out over the small clearing, rolling in the ferns.
His cheeks were gaunt, eyes reserved and weary—but still alive. He even managed a small smile, but it was filled with pain and regret.
I tried to reach for him, but it hurt too much to move. Grant placed his hand over mine. Between us, light flared: heart to heart. I closed my eyes, savoring the glow that spread within me.
“He tortured you,” I whispered, unable to speak louder past the pain. “You were the butler, and I never realized. Neither did the boys.”
“I didn’t know who I was anymore,” Grant said, hoarse. “It was as if he expected me. I never had a chance to even open my mouth. He . . . altered me . . . immediately. Even when I saw you . . . when I saw you in that place . . . I didn’t know you. I still remember how I didn’t know you.” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “I can recall . . . all the things he did to me. When he was finished, when I should have been dead, he would bring me back to life. Heal my wounds until he could start again.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“It was my fault. I was cocky.” He kissed my brow, then my mouth, lingering there. “I don’t know what comes next, but we’re going home.”
Fire burned inside my mind. “We can’t. We have to stop this thing here, or else it’ll destroy earth. I’m sure of it.”
I heard a small sound of discontent. “I wish you had thought of that before, my dear.”
Jack paced into view, arms folded over his stomach as though he was holding himself. For a moment, I was frightened—I couldn’t separate my memories from the present moment, and all I could see was that doppelganger with his smile and those deadly eyes. Behind him, I glimpsed Sarai. But she was lingering in the shadows, and there was a hesitance in the way she stood—even in that nonhuman body—that struck me as odd.
Grant squeezed my hand. “Jack. There’s something else you didn’t tell us.” His voice shook a little; he was as rattled as me, which was a small comfort.
“The Devourer,” I said. “He says that he’s you.”
Jack stared. “What are you talking about?”
Zee leaned forward on his claws. “You, Meddling Man. Monster is part of you. Broken away. Locked up. But you.”
My grandfather looked at us like we were crazy—and I felt crazy for even considering it. But the truth had always been strange. And there was something about this, what had happened in that place, that made me wonder who was living the real lie. I couldn’t afford to discount anything.
“He said he was you,” I told Jack. “The part you didn’t want.”
He appeared genuinely affronted. “That’s ridiculous. What’s even more ridiculous is that you would believe him.”
“Jack,” said my husband, in a deceptively calm voice, “your light is identical to his.”
That surprised me. And terrified me at the same time. It was the confirmation I didn’t want to hear.
My grandfather froze. “No.”
“The energy patterns, the essence . . . it’s the same.” Grant leaned forward, Shurik tumbling from his chest into his lap. “I don’t know how, but you are part of each other.”
I’d never seen Jack look so lost and confused—so utterly bewildered. It hurt; my first instinct was grief—for him, for me—except I didn’t know if I could trust what I felt.
“You can,” Grant murmured to me, rubbing my hand. “He is confused. I don’t think he knew.”
“Of course I didn’t!” Jack’s voice was hoarse, strangled. “How . . . how is this . . .” He turned, seeking out Sarai. “This can’t be possible.”
If anything, she seemed to sink deeper into the shadows. Inhuman body, but so human in her posture, in the way she carried herself—as if secrets were a burden that had been freshly pressed on her shoulders.