-against those who would do it all again, and happily. Sarai stood, an impossibly graceful unfolding that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. We cannot afford such a battle. We are too few. Too many innocents would be killed.

"Same tired argument," Jack said in a sour voice. "It saves us the trouble of having to confront who we have become. Of course, once the others realize where you've come-what you intend to do-it will be a moot point. Even those who would let you and your family live would kill to stop this."

I held up my hand. "Where is my husband?"

"Where do you think?" Jack rubbed his face, looking weary. "I couldn't bring myself to go in after him. Which shows you the limits of my courage."

"You hoped I would arrive to be brave for you?"

"I hoped you would never come at all. Sometimes bravery is doing nothing. Giving up the man you love for the greater good would have been such an act."

Old Wolf, Sarai admonished. But his words rolled right off me.

"The Devourer is in there, isn't he?" I said. "On the other side of that door, in the world where you trapped him."

"It's not a world. More of a foyer, per se," Jack replied. "But yes. And Grant went through with his demons. And his demons."

I gave him a cold look. "Watch it, Grandpa."

Jack grunted, glancing from me to Tracker-who appeared around a hairy, giant fern that could have sheltered a small family from the rain if there'd been any. Oturu, curiously, did not make an appearance. Now that I thought about it, he'd never shown himself to anyone but the boys and me. And Tracker.

"You," said Jack.

"Apparently," replied Tracker.

"You know what awaits her?"

"I do. Any last words before we all die horribly?"

"Shut up," I said, and made toward the door.

I didn't think Jack could move that fast. One moment he was seated on that root-and in the next he stood in front of me, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me away. Zee hissed. Dek and Mal puffed flame at his face, but that didn't slow him down.

I tried to twist free without hurting him, but it was impossible; his grip was like steel. Tracker drew close, expression inscrutable, but the old man was not so composed; the strong lines of his face showed the ravages of terrible distress, and his cheeks were flushed.

"I must strongly advise against this course of action."

"You think I'll let this freak go. Is your prison really that shabbily constructed? I mean, it must be if Grant was able to waltz in."

We made it impossible to leave, Sarai said, voice cool and dry. We were not worried about the fools who would fall in.

"You're not a normal woman," Jack said. "So no, I don't know how you might break his shackles, just that I've seen the possibility."

I'd seen the fire. Witnessed myself torn apart within it. And he was right, maybe being brave meant I should walk away and let my husband rot in that place. But I couldn't even contemplate that. I couldn't even face that option.

I stared him dead in the eye. "Tell me the truth, old Wolf. Can a Lightbringer of Grant's strength control that Aetar?"

Jack hesitated. "I don't know. Grant is not like any one of his kind who ever existed. But neither is the Devourer."

"You still managed to imprison him."

"Barely. Because we used the crystal skulls. It was our last act with them, after we broke the power of the Reaper Kings." Jack glanced at Zee and the boys. "You destroyed the other skulls. If he goes free, we will have nothing to use. Nothing that is strong enough."

Sarai had also positioned herself in front of the gate, her head lowered ever so slightly-just enough to make that horn seem like a weapon instead of a decorative piece of fantasy. Raw and Aaz gathered close to my sides, watching her with glittering crimson eyes. Claws flexed.

Tracker studied her, then my grandfather, his gaze inscrutable.

"The Wolf is right," he said. "This is too incredibly dangerous."

"Of course it is," I said. "It may be suicidal. But what would you have given, Tracker, to have someone risk herself to keep you safe? What sacrifice would have been too much to keep that iron collar off your neck?"

"This one," he said.

"Liar. Even the attempt . . . someone trying for you . . . would have changed everything."

I stepped away from the men-and the unicorn-clenching my right hand into a fist. Zee and the boys gathered close. "Get out of my way."

Jack shook his head. Zee rasped, "Nothing lasts, Meddling Man."

"Except foolishness," he whispered. "You're a mother now, Maxine. What do you owe your child?"

"Stay here," I told Tracker, ignoring that dirty play. "Watch them."

I didn't wait for a response. I ran to that shimmering haze, demons at my side. Raw and Aaz slammed Sarai out of the way when she tried to charge me. I heard Jack's choked, startled shout-but that was all. I hit that shimmering haze, pa.s.sed through.

And got a surprise.

I found myself inside a white marble foyer. Wide and curved as two cupped hands-and gleaming, shining, with an unnatural brightness that permitted no blemishes. In fact, it was as though the stone and walls had been airbrushed to absolute perfection. No color, anywhere. Just a pure, alabaster white.

It was the visual equivalent of hearing a prim old woman speak in a man's booming lumberjack voice. Unexpected, given certain expectations. I was antic.i.p.ating h.e.l.l, after all.

"Tell me," I said to Zee, who prowled across the floor, looking like some obscene blemish against that pure, luminous marble. "This is kind of f.u.c.ked up, right?"

Dek and Mal began humming the melody to "Strangeness," while Raw and Aaz pressed against the walls, scratching them-leaving claw marks that oozed black tar, like blood.

"Excuse me," said a quiet male voice.

I flinched, surprised. Zee also twitched-all the boys, jumping a little-their surprise even more visceral than mine. No one ever sneaked up on them.

I turned and found that an elderly man stood just behind me: stout, with spectacles hanging down his nose. He was dressed like a butler, all in black, his skin very pale and his eyes a watery blue. He held slippers in his left hand.

"Please announce yourself," he said.

I stared, heart still pounding so hard I wanted to vomit. "Who are you?"

One stubby brow arched up. "I am the butler. And you are?"

He was polite, proper, the very epitome of nonthreatening-but the skin-crawling menace I felt at those simple, quiet words made me want to run screaming.

"My name is Maxine Kiss," I said.

"Ah, very good." He extended some slippers. "Please put these on. The master abhors noise."

Zee sniffed at them. The slippers seemed to be slippers. Still, I felt very strange about it. I stared from them to the butler, who straightened and fixed me with a cold look.

"You cannot see him, otherwise," he said in a crisp voice.

I frowned, slipped off my boots. Slippers went on. The butler took my shoes from me, holding them away from his body and between his fingers, as if they carried some disease.

"This way," he said, and led me up the stairs.

I caught glimpses of halls, rooms, none furnished-doors that were closed that I wanted to open. But I kept my hands to myself and followed the old man to a set of double doors, also white marble, which he tugged open with the lightest of touches.

"Maxine Kiss to see you, sir."

I heard no greeting, but the butler gestured for me to enter.

I did, and found my grandfather.

CHAPTER 29.

A couple years back, I got a letter in the mail.

It was from the New York law firm that had handled the affairs of several generations of Kiss women, and which was doing the same for me, though I rarely checked in-except when I needed information on some random property I'd vaguely recall my mother saying we owned.

There was a note, brief: "For delivery on this date, at the request of Jolene Kiss." It was clipped to another envelope, this one sealed, and slightly battered with age. I recognized my mother's handwriting on the flap-no one else wrote my name with quite that flourish.

A single sheet of paper was tucked inside. More of my mother's elegant writing. I was startled, a bit breathless with the discovery. I remember sitting down on Grant's couch, bathed in sunlight, my tattooed hands shaking just a little. I had the armor by then-I'd traveled in time. But this was another kind of breach from the past.

I should just die and be done with it, I read. That's the proper way, to let a daughter move on with her life, instead of coming back from the grave. But you've always been a bit different, and experience has taught me that you don't mind conversing with the dead. And I find that I don't mind sending letters to a daughter who in my life is still in diapers but who will one day bear all the burdens of being a woman.

You won't have an easy life. You've had a taste of that by now, and more. You'll discover things, if you haven't already, that will make you question me and this life you've been born into. Feel free to be angry. I'm dead, after all. It won't bother me.

But you did come to me once, by accident. You, as an adult, with that particular ability to cut through time. You were afraid, you were sick, and I couldn't help you then. I hope I've judged the delivery of this letter so that I can help you now-which won't be much help at all.

There are miracles, Maxine. Even in death, and betrayal, and grief-there are still miracles. Cling to that, cling to hope. No matter how terrible things get, or how helpless you feel. Hope is what will save you, again and again.

So get up. Get up off that floor where I found you.

Fight, Maxine. Fight for your life.

Fight for other lives that haven't been born.

Fight for your hope. Fight for your heart.

You'll find a miracle if you do.

I promise.

MY grandfather.

My grandfather, as he had appeared when I first met him, years past. Trim, long legged, elegant. Dressed in sleek tan slacks and a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. Quite polished. Clean-shaven, his gray hair swept back. He was pale and sat in a soft chair with a brown blanket thrown over his legs.

Yes, the epitome of torture and evil.

Until I saw his eyes, then it was no joke. I knew those eyes. I knew the hunger behind that glittering black stare, and it was old and bottomless, and utterly implacable.

"Greetings, my dear," said the old man, with a faint smile. "So delightful finally meeting you. Imagine my surprise when I learned that I had family."

"You're not my grandfather," I said, feeling the boys spreading out around me. "You're just wearing his old face."

That faint smile widened, and it was so much like Jack-so much, yet not-I felt off-balance, dizzy. I'd pa.s.sed through the mirror into another universe, and here was my grandfather, as he might have been. Cool and bland, and polished like a stone. He scared me, and it wasn't just because of his eyes. He terrified me, even-and I was grateful for Dek and Mal, coiled tight around my throat.

"He has kept you quite in the dark, hasn't he?" His hands smoothed out the blanket in his lap, and he turned his gaze on Zee and the boys. "Reaper Kings. We meet again. You're weakened this time, which fills me with no small amount of pleasure."

"Don't remember you," Zee rasped.

Delight touched his mouth but not his eyes. "I was there the entire time, hiding in plain sight. Reduced, ignored, betrayed . . . but ever present. You knew me, little Reaper King. Yes, you did. I was the architect of your prison."

"You're not Jack," I said, unnerved. Even more so, when he looked at me, and I saw a flash of anger so profound it verged on insanity.

"Actually," he said softly, "I am."

I stepped back as the old man rose gracefully from his chair, his blanket slipping away to the floor. The butler moved in, stooping to pick up the blanket, but froze when the other man touched his back, ever so slightly. The butler's face went carefully blank, but that was enough. He was, I suspected, one of those fools who had fallen through the gate into this prison. And f.u.c.k only knew what he'd been put through for however long he'd attended this old Aetar, who my grandfather said was in love with pain.

I glanced at Zee, who watched him with careful, narrowed eyes. "He's lying."

But the demon gave me a brief look that chilled me to the bone. "He is not. He believes."

The old man laughed, ever so softly-standing behind the butler, who had finished picking up the blanket and stood there, holding it to his chest.

"Of course I believe," he said, holding my gaze, all while he ran a thick, strong hand down the back of the butler's neck. "I was Jack, I am Jack, I am what he threw away, all those years ago."

I swallowed hard. Raw and Aaz were prowling around the room, sniffing at the walls. No sign of Grant or the Shurik, which frightened me. I fought to keep my mask on, though, to be strong, unbreakable. "I don't understand. You're the Devourer. You're not him. You can't be."

The old man's smile deepened-G.o.d, he looked like my grandfather, even his eyes-and I watched in horror as he reached around the butler and sank his hand into the man's chest. I couldn't believe what I was seeing at first, it didn't make sense, but I stared at his hand, slipping through flesh like it was water, pushing in deep until even his forearm was embedded. The butler turned ice white, bottom lip trembling, but he did not make a sound.

I lurched forward, intent only to make it stop-but the old man yanked his arm out with a flourish, and blood sprayed across my face. The butler collapsed, blood pooling around him. In the old man's hand was a human heart. Which he offered to me.

When I just stared at him, unmoving, he shrugged and took a deep, wrenching bite from it. Blood ran down his chin. Blood dripped on the white floor. Blood stank up the air and made me sick.