Jack was calm. "It's just more obvious in the daylight. It'll fade."

"If you say so." Finn closed the compact and put the sunglasses back on. There was a slight tremor in her hands. "Where's Moth?"

"At the counter, there-he seems to have developed an addiction to coffee."

"Is that the walking stick strapped over his shoulder?" Christie tilted his head. "The sword the Black Scissors gave us? Who's going to cut off the Wolf's head-"

Crack! Something hit the window with such force it made all of them, except Jack, jump.

"A bird?" Sylvie rose to peer out.

"That's not a bird." Jack slid to his feet. "That's a bat."

When Finn saw the dark cloud of flying creatures descending from the sky, she whispered, "What-"

The bats began smashing into the window. Christie scrambled up as the glass cobwebbed beneath spatters of jellied blood. Someone screamed.

Jack and Finn ran out the door with Sylvie and Christie following. Moth strode after.

Outside, Finn looked away from the dead and dying bats in the snow. Sylvie knelt and whispered, "Poor things."

Jack crouched down and, from the blood-speckled snow, lifted a ring of green metal set with rubies. "This was Ialtag Amhran."

"BatSong?" Her heart slamming, Finn gazed around at the snowy street, expecting more horrors. Other people were coming out of the diner.

Jack rose. "Lot's back. We need to get to Tirnagoth before the sun sets."

IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, Tirnagoth was a menacing silhouette rising from a wilderness of neglected landscaping. Even though she was now acquainted with what lived there, the sight of the boarded-up hotel still made Finn's skin crawl.

Sylvie and Christie followed Jack, Moth, and Finn, as they approached the gates to the inner courtyard. The gates opened and Jack loped up the stairs to the entrance. He took a key-a regular, old-fashioned one-from his pocket.

"Lily Rose is mortal." Sylvie spoke in a hushed voice as Tirnagoth's doors swung inward and they stepped into the mildewed lobby. "How is she here, among the Fatas?"

"Lily Rose isn't here." Jack strode across the lobby to a wall of dusty shelves, where he twisted something. The wall slid open to reveal a hall and a stairway.

Christie walked forward. "A secret passage-so awesome, yet so cliche. Isn't this the first place the Wolf is going to visit?"

"It's the safest place for us to be." Jack led them up the secret stairs to a mahogany door carved into the shapes of peacocks. "This is where we kept guests."

"Guests?" Finn was wary.

"Guests." Jack shoved open the door to reveal a long, windowed gallery stark with winter sunlight. At the far end was a chamber scattered with old furniture. There was a wall of books, a fireplace stacked with logs, and a wine rack filled with dusty bottles. Despite the rich hues of the drapes and oriental rugs, the room was dreary and artificial, as if someone unfamiliar with creature comforts had attempted to imitate them.

As Sylvie and Christie wandered around, and Moth stood vigilant near a window, Finn said to Jack, "He'll still find us."

"Most likely. But we have allies here."

Finn peered out at the wintery grounds and wondered what stolen or enchanted boys and girls had been in this deceptively harmless-looking room, awaiting their fates. "It's so cold in here."

"That it is, beloved." He walked to the hearth. Squatting down, he stuffed paper from a basket beneath the logs and took a butane wand from the mantelpiece.

Finn ducked back into the hall and halfway shut the door. She took out Lily's recharged phone and pushed the number. When her sister answered, Finn said, "Lily . . . the Wolf's back."

Lily's voice was clipped. "Where are you?"

"In a Fata place, a safe place."

"Anna was telling me some things. She's kinda mature for a kid-"

Finn heard Anna Weaver's voice in the background. "I'm not a kid!"

"Tell Anna I'm sorry I had to drag her into this." A cold draft brushed the back of Finn's neck.

Lily continued, "We're in her attic. She's made quite the little hideaway up here. Lots of books and a mini fridge. Her mom and dad are down in the shop and don't know I'm here. I feel like a stowaway-how is Dad?"

"I haven't told him."

"Good. Don't. Finn . . . I think it's you Seth Lot wants. Be careful."

"Lily . . . I love you."

"I can do this alone. Finn, you don't need to-"

Finn ended the call and slumped against a pillar. She looked down the dark hallway with its mahogany nymphs and flower lamps and thought how the Fatas reminded her of these art nouveau objects that mimicked nature in such a poisonously beautiful fashion. She straightened and walked to a pair of glass doors and shoved them open.

A second later, Jack was leaning against the door frame. "Finn . . ."

Finn gazed out at the winter landscape barred with pink and said softly, "When we were running from the Wolf's house, I saw you. The you from before we met."

He didn't seem surprised. "You saw my past self."

"You saw Reiko too, didn't you?"

There was pain in his voice. "She was only a memory."

"Lily was in that house . . ."

"That is your sister, Finn. That is Lily. She won't fade away or become a monster."

Finn sank down because the world had begun to spin. Jack squatted before her, the phoenix medallion flashing between his collarbones. "She's more than a memory. She's flesh and blood."

She could believe him, or let doubt cripple her. Lily. She breathed out, "Lily's alive and here."

He stood and pulled her to her feet. Snow began to drift past the glass doors she'd opened.

When a girl screamed in the woods below, he walked swiftly to the stone railing and peered down. He said, "Stay here."

"Jack-"

There was another scream.

"I can't ignore it, Finn." He leaped over the railing to the snow below and vanished into the trees. She wanted to shout at him to not be so gallant, but she heard the scream again and her heart smashed into a hectic panic when she thought it was someone calling her name. She thought of Anna, of Claudette Tredescant, of any girl who might be encountering something that prowled Tirnagoth's grounds. "Jack!"

The Fatas don't exist right now, she thought. It's still daylight.

But there were the Grindylow.

When she looked out over the snowy landscape again, she gasped. Nathan Clare stood at the border of trees. He was bleeding from the chest. Incredulous, she whispered, "Nathan . . ."

She had the silver dagger in her coat. She jumped down and hurried toward him, but he ran into the woods.

There were drops of blood in the snow. She followed them, gripping the silver dagger. In places where the branches twined thickly above, the snow had drawn away from patches of crimson toadstools and unnaturally green moss. She avoided these patches as if walking through a minefield. She called Nathan's name again and winced as her voice echoed. She knew the warehouse district was close by, but she couldn't hear any city sounds, only an occasional branch cracking.

She glanced at the sky. She still had time before the sun set. She took from her pocket the vial of elixir she'd smuggled into the true world, the one she'd found in Jack's coat. It wasn't supposed to work here, but she uncapped it, tilted it, and let one drop fall onto her tongue.

An old road appeared before her, its blacktop broken by the roots of ancient birches. The sky beyond the leaves was still red, streaked with clouds. The air burned with a honey glow.

She followed the road to a birdcage-shaped glass building surrounded by brambles and drifts of deadfall. The building looked like an old conservatory, but she couldn't see what was beyond the glass walls because they were so filthy with dead foliage and lichen. The metal doors were partially open, engraved with images of stylized eyes, hands, and feet twined in ivy and stars. An arch of letters above the doors formed the words STARDUST STUDIOS.

Malcolm Tirnagoth, who had built the Tirnagoth Hotel, had given his wife this film studio in the 1920s. Jack had starred in the silent movies created here. He'd told her that none of the other actors had come to a good end. Tirnagoth's wife had died from illness. It was a place with bad mojo and it was a Way into the Ghostlands.

The blood drops led right to its doors.

Finn was backing away when a light blinked on inside of StarDust Studios and Jack called her name from within.

CHAPTER 20.

This time, she found a little bottle on it . . . and tied round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words DRINK ME beautifully printed on it in large letters.

-ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, LEWIS CARROLL Where did they go?" Sylvie strode with Christie and Moth down the Tirnagoth hall to the glass doors swinging in a wind that carried with it a sparkle of snow. The sky was streaked with clouds and the orange of the setting sun.

Christie stepped onto the terrace with Moth and gazed desperately at the plot of wild land, black trees on white snow, and the places where shadows seemed to clot. Moving out beside them, Sylvie said, "Finn's backpack." She lifted it and rummaged through it. "And her phone." She shouted, "Finn! Jack!"

"Don't." Moth stared down at the trees. "Something else might hear you."

Christie turned on him. "We need to go look for them."

"And what will that do? Aside from getting us lost? No. We wait here. When this place wakes up, we tell Phouka. Finn will be safe with Jack."

"No." Christie looked bitter. "She'll never be safe with Jack."

IN THE WOODS, Finn drew back as the doors to StarDust Studios opened farther, revealing a chandelier of thorny black metal spilling light over abandoned film equipment and Egyptian-sleek furniture that cast crooked shadows between pillars with lotus-and papyrus-styled capitals. The raised stage was strung with creepers, bits of colored glass, and antique toys. Lilies, their roots clinging to the wet floor, grew from broken urns. Velvety white, black, and lava red, the preternatural lilies' scent only enhanced the atmosphere of Egyptian Revival decay.

A figure stood on the stage. It whispered, "Finn? Is that you?"

Stepping to the threshold, Finn drew the silver dagger from her coat. "Where is Jack? And Nathan?"

The shadowy figure raised its head, and the vague light glanced from red hair and white skin. "Help me."

Finn spoke carefully. "Are you the one who screamed?"

The shadow sobbed once, raising hands over its face. " . . . murdered me."

Finn began to back away- Crypt-cold air swept through the studio. Something shoved her forward. The metal doors crashed shut behind her. She whirled and kicked at them. Idiot, she thought angrily. Falling for this.

Behind her, the shadow girl laughed. Gripping Eve Avaline's dagger, Finn turned- -and inhaled a scream, because a girl's corpse stood before her, one spiteful, milky eye glaring at her from a bloated face. Its voice was blurry with rot. "Jack murdered me."

"Leave her alone." Another figure was crouched on the stage, darkness dripping from his wrists. "I want her. I brought her."

The red-haired girl's corpse vanished, and Finn sagged against the doors. "Nathan . . ."

The shadow on the stage rose and moved down the stairs, the gloom drifting away from a familiar young man who wore jeans and a crown of hyacinths. Around his right arm were black tattoos-wolfish shapes that made Finn queasy. His eyes glinted metallic as he came closer. Then he became a shadow again and a voice taut with anguish drifted from the silhouette, "I can't remember."

"Nathan." Finn's fear paled into grief. "You are Nathan Clare."

He stepped forward. "You're Finn."

She slid the dagger into her coat. "What happened to you?" Although she knew, she needed to hear him say it, to believe it.

He lifted one hand as if to touch her face. Then his eyes went black.

He lunged at her, lips parting to reveal sharp teeth.

"Don't," she said, only that, and he halted, his head down. She clenched the silver dagger's hilt. "Nathan, you're not a love-talker, a ganconer . . . whatever they've made you."

His eyes were brown again. "The Lily Girls are here . . ."

Abigail, Beatrice, Eve-three of Reiko's victims, for whom Jack had been used as a lure. Finn realized the red-haired specter had been Beatrice, who had died in the 1920s. She knew Beatrice and Abigail were vengeful spirits and had probably been the ones to botch Christie and Sylvie's arrival in the Ghostlands. "Nathan-did Beatrice lead Jack somewhere?"

"They're dangerous, Finn . . ."

The doors to the studio slammed open. Finn spun around.

The sun had set, and Caliban Ariel'Pan, silver hair drifting around his shoulders, swaggered in.

CHRISTIE STOOD BETWEEN TIRNAGOTH'S FRONT DOORS, anxiously surveying the landscape for any signs of Finn and Jack in the dying light. When he saw a figure staggering across the snowy grounds beyond the courtyard gates, his heartbeat spiked with alarm. "Moth, Sylvie, get over here."

They moved to his side. Moth growled, "That's not Jack."

As the figure approached, clutching one arm, blood drops spattered the snow. The courtyard gates opened.