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"CHAPTER ONE Coulrophobia ~ Fear of clowns. The pendant rested warm and pulsing against the hollow of Nyx Lahey’s throat. It flashed every few steps to assure her she was going in the right direction. Detectors were rare and extremely valuable but also stubborn, and they didn’t always work. When she was seven, Nyx found the plump ruby—a priceless gem the size of her eyeball—in the trunk of a dead tree behind her grandmother’s house. She had discovered it while landscape workers were on break after cutting down the tree. Her father, a Reaper who specialized in the study of detector stones, fashioned a golden, braided chain for it, and encased the ruby in a matching frame. He’d trained the stone to flash when its wearer approached their prey, the stone pulsing faster and faster the closer they got. The pendant threw off another beam of light as Nyx continued walking. It had been taught to flash in the presence not only of zombies and Necromancers, but also creatures that belonged to the Inbetween: things neither zombie nor human. The detector flashed again. Sickly yellow, artificial light poured from the deteriorating carnival stalls to either side of her. Which would have been fine had this place actually had any power. But the park had been abandoned for years. Something, or someone, was causing this. She climbed into an abandoned ice-cream van and checked the cupboards and drawers, even behind the door, searching for anything that might give her an idea of what they were up against. On their way in, before they split up, her father had outlined everything from the academy’s email: five girls had been found murdered in the park—gutted, actually, some with the backs of their heads caved in, others wrapped tightly with barbed wire. Some even had limbs sewn to different parts of their bodies. Each was found hanging from the park’s entrance, their mouths sliced into long, bloody grins. The police had found nothing—no motives, no suspects, not a trace of evidence. Meaning the crime was likely supernatural in nature. It was then that the Misten Academy stepped in and took matters into their own hands. They sent Reapers to hunt down whatever had killed those girls. They sent the Laheys. The Laheys weren’t actually Reapers—not technically. They were an old family of Necromancers caught up in a never-ending war between Necroes and Reapers. Hundreds of years ago, their ancestors had switched sides. Lahey children were sent to the Reaper Academy, where they were given scythes and taught to handle items meant only for Reapers. All while dealing with their necromantic powers, and the social pressure of being “the enemy.” The ruby flashed again, illuminating the inside of the ice-cream truck. Nyx covered the stone with her hand and jumped to the crunchy, trash-covered ground outside. One of the stalls cast a golden square on the ground—lit from within. Nyx blew the black hair away from her face. They always did this to try and scare you off—a flickering light, something thrown at you from across an empty room. A single light shining in a house filled with broken bulbs. A whisper from above. Each Inbetweener had their signature. They were smart like that. A row of painted porcelain clown heads hung inside the stall, their mouths open midlaugh, heads swinging from left to right. Some had been smashed or spray-painted. Glitchy, repetitive carnival music screeched from a busted speaker above the awning. To her left stood the entrance to the rides—a huge black tunnel guarded by a mechanized clown statue in a multicolored jumpsuit, bolted to the ground. One side of its face was smashed in, revealing broken shards of porcelain, metal, and exposed wiring. Its remaining face, scratched and faded by the sun, showed rosy cheeks, exaggerated blue eyes, and full red lips. One of its mechanical arms moved up and down, waving. From a speaker hidden inside its mouth, a garbled, “Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello!—” echoed. The ruby flashed again. Nyx gave the robot one last look before moving toward the black tunnel. “Can I have some light, please?” she asked, squinting into the darkness. The ruby obliged, casting a red glow into the tunnel ahead. The robot voice continued to sputter. “Hello! Hello! . . . Good-bye.” Nyx slowly turned around. The clown no longer waved, no longer spoke. Its smile was now a frown, with pointed teeth sticking out from beneath blood red lips. It’d turned and now faced the entrance of the tunnel. The ruby flared. Nyx continued forward, her boots echoing with each step. Hands over her shoulder, she pulled her scythe from its holster. “Good-bye,” the robot sputtered once more, giving her a murderous stare. She swung, bringing the blade up in a quick arch. The upper half of the statue slid diagonally away from the rest, landing with a thump and a clang. She’d cut straight through the power box. Around her, lights flickered and music jolted. The Inbetweener’s power stumbled for a moment. Nyx looked back at the statue before returning to the tunnel, scythe still in hand. It wasn’t the prettiest thing, especially in the ugly red glow of the detector. Bronze metal, with copper-colored barbed wire wrapped around parts of the blade and angry, wild sections of serration. As a Lahey, Nyx was able to handle the otherwise toxic Reaper Iron. But since she was the enemy, her scythe had been chosen for her by a bunch of snot-nosed parents on the academy board who offered only the most horrendous looking bit of gear they could find in the back of the scythe cupboard. Nyx’s footfalls softened as the tunnel ended, and she came out the other side onto dead grass. The tracks of a giant, rusted roller coaster twisted and turned above and around her. Farther down, a Ferris wheel was silhouetted against the lights in the distance, creating a web of metallic spires. More stalls and buildings lined the litter-covered path ahead. Nature had taken over the area. Trees twisted in and out of the metal, roots growing through the concrete while weeds and vines scaled the rides and pavilions. The detector flashed red once more, assuring Nyx that she was headed in the right direction. She passed an empty purple tent with “Magic” inscribed across an old, frayed banner. Lined up along its outside walls were mirrors of various shapes that distorted Nyx’s reflection in myriad ways. No matter how tall, fat, or short she appeared, the details were the same: black hair, cut in jagged layers and half-curled; bright, orange eyes; mud-stained jeans; and boots. A multitude of gleaming Reaper Iron hung from her many belts and straps. Bronze scythe in hand, gun on her hip. Nyx continued working her way down the center of the park, rummaging through every open building, pop-up van, and tent. Across the park, she could hear her parents doing the same. Following a bend in the path, she came to another run-down building. She kicked in the door and found herself peering into a tiny, messy storage room; a single smashed window filtered in light. As her boots hit the metal floor, the ruby started to strobe. She spun around, scythe at the ready. She saw only the shadows of the trees as they danced in the weak wind. There was a clank to her left. Paper rustling. Stay calm. She backed into the room, holding the scythe in front of her. Four quick flares from her detector. She kept her eyes trained on the door, expecting something to come barreling around the corner. But nothing did. She dropped her arms and turned to look at the contents of the room: stacks of old boxes, dirt, bug shit, and cleaning chemicals scattered across a steel floor. Nyx noted a deep, empty echo beneath her feet as she stepped forward. She stamped her foot and felt the floor shake under her weight. The building was at ground level but the world below had been hollowed out. She sheathed her scythe and began to clear the space as best she could. Finally, she found what she was looking for: a gleaming hatch, its outline clearly visible in the dirty floor. The detector warned her once more as she pulled the hatch up, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. She pulled the gun from her hip and aimed it into the pitch black. The pendant around her neck brightened to light the way as she trudged forward. At the bottom, Nyx found herself staring downs rows of hanging fluorescent lights. Cement pillars held the ceiling in place while huge hooks hung from chains suspended from the low ceiling. It looked as if someone had turned an underground parking lot into a meat locker. In the center of the room was a long steel table, right out of a butcher’s shop. Surrounding it were several smaller wheeled carts containing knives, small saws, and other instruments used to delimb animals. The cold of the room seeped through Nyx’s clothes almost instantly. There was a long, loud shuffle to her left, from around the corner. She flicked the gun safety off and hugged the wall. The ruby flared like a beacon. This is it, she thought, glancing at the chain around her neck, waiting for the pendant to signal green—to alert her parents out in the park. Nothing happened. She frowned. There was more shuffling, followed by a distinct and echoing: Click. Click. Click. She pressed herself against the wall and edged closer. Click. Click. Click. The edge of the wall was at least four feet away. She needed to get closer. She put the safety back on and shoved the gun into its holster before opening a worn leather pouch hanging from the side of her belt. It bore the golden stitching of her aunt Maura, one of the family Seers. Inside were numerous charms and protectors, amplifiers and warding items—things like wolfsbane or peacock iris set in amber to protect—gems of every color to help amplify one’s strength and power. Ancient bits of jewelry to bring luck. Nyx dug through the contents, looking for one item in particular. Black pearl? No. Tiger’s tooth? No. Dragon’s eye? Yes. From the bag, she pulled a small, spherical, cloudy, jade-colored gem. The dragon’s eye, according to Maura, was to, “See shit you can’t see on your own.” Crouching, she rolled the gem across the concrete floor. It came to an abrupt stop in the shadow of the butcher’s table. Her vision flickered. From its position, the eye allowed her to see the space on the other side of the wall. Directly across from the table, an iron sliding door was set in the wall. It was slightly ajar. Beyond it, she could hear more click, click, clicking—someone, or something, was on the other side. She blinked and her vision returned to normal. Crouching down and holding her hand to the ground, she watched the eye roll back obediently. Nyx dropped it back into the pouch and, grabbing her gun again, crept around the corner. She flattened herself against the wall, pistol to her cheek. Three more steps. Click. One. Click. Two. . . . THREE. Just as she was about to hook her foot around the door and slide it open, it slid back, and Nyx came face to face with the source of the noise—a boy. The ruby flared brighter than ever, practically searing her skin. She had her gun level and cocked in milliseconds. It was then she realized that he, too, had his gun ready. The boy looked just as startled as she felt. “Watch yourself,” he warned. She stared at him, confused. Detectors only ever gave off warnings when something supernatural was around. While some hunters had theirs specialized to detect other forms of prey, Nyx’s was tuned to seek zombies and Inbetweeners made from dark necromantic magic—the bad things for which a Necromancer was responsible. When a Necromancer performed a raise, it was never perfect. They might be able to call a soul back from the Other Side, but they could never fully restore a body and mind as it once was. They simply placed the soul back into a rotting body—they restored life, nothing more. This boy wasn’t dead. He wasn’t decaying or falling apart or something intangible. He wasn’t throwing shit at her. He wasn’t screaming so high and loud her ears bled. He wasn’t trying to eat her or project himself into her body. No orange eyes, no fangs, no tail, no demon’s wings. A perfectly normal-looking human. Tall, dark-auburn hair, a pair of heavy eyebrows set disapprovingly above two peculiar eyes—rich, lapis lazuli blue, spotted with gold. He wore a long black trench coat, its hem dusty and starting to fray. The legs of his jeans were covered with straps and holsters sporting blades. “What are you doing here?” he said, pulling back to look at her. “What are you doing here?” she shot back. Neither of them moved. His jaw twitched as if resisting the urge to smile. “What’s your name?” There was a long pause. “Erebus,” he answered suspiciously. “Are you seri—that’s actually your name?” “No, I just said so for the fun of it.” The ruby on her chest grew warm but didn’t light. A whisper then. A name. Eros. Nyx gripped her gun tighter. The boy looked off to one side, having heard the same thing. He looked clouded, confused. “What?” Nyx asked. “Eros? Is that your name?” He looked at her darkly. “No, I told you, it’s Erebus.” He tightened the grip on his gun. “Who are you?” “Nyx,” she replied. “Well, Nyx, you need to leave.” “Excuse me?” He shoved the gun back in its holster. “Can you please vacate the premises immediately. Like, right now,” he said politely, looking straight at her. He turned back into the cold room he’d come from. Past him, Nyx could see a large metal barrel with several other guns sitting on it—the clicks were magazines being loaded. He finished the last few. A duffel bag on the floor next to the barrel was filled with gleaming, silver items. “What are you doing down here?” She lowered her gun. The boy continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “You need to be out of here by nine,” he said bluntly. “It’s currently eight fifty. I suggest you run.” Annoyance bubbled up inside of her. Nyx pointed her gun at him again. “I’m not going anywhere, and if you’re not going to move your ass then you might as well tell me who you are, what you are, and what the hell you’re doing here.” He checked his watch again. “Look, it’s now eight fifty-one—” “So I guess that only leaves you nine minutes.” He looked at her. “No.” Her pendant flared again, although he didn’t notice. Nyx leveled the pistol at his head. “Look,” he said, stepping toward her, “I don’t need some trigger-happy kid running around here while I’m trying to do my job.” “Your job? I was called—” “I don’t know what kind of costume party or whatever it is that you’re dressed up for,” he continued, “but I assure you, it’s not here, so you might as well leave.” “What? I—” “Please, just leave.” He sighed. “You know what?” she snarled. “Make me.” In a flash, his hand was at her neck. He tightened his grip, looking for a pressure point. Nyx’s pulse raged. Time slowed. Erebus’s eyes widened suddenly, glimpsing the orange of hers. Something only found in her kind. Necromancer. He sighed again. “Ah fuck.” He loosened his grip enough that she was able to flip the gun over in her hand and bring it down on his skull. Erebus dropped to the ground. “Asshole,” she said, hooking her hands under his arms and dragging him back into the freezer. The small box of a room could hardly hold him. He needed to be out of the way when her family finally found what they were looking for. And Nyx didn’t need her mother killing some random boy because her detector lit up. She eyed a duffel bag atop one of the barrels. Inside, there were boxes of bullets, extra guns, knives, and a dirty cloth. She tipped the contents out onto the barrel’s top, scrunched the bag in her hands, and lifted Erebus’s head, sliding the bag beneath it as a pillow. She stood again, wiping her hands on her jeans. A quiet alarm sounded. She scanned the room, spotting a watch and a piece of paper atop the barrel. The watch read 8:59. The paper, worn, fold lines brown and dirty, read: [EX] – Killed five girls. – Girls hung up out front. – Sanderson’s Amusement Park. – Strong enough to power entire park. – CANNOT be killed by a bullet. Can only be killed by a blade made of Starbone Metal. – Every night at 9:00 p.m. enters meat room, where girls are disfigured before being killed. – Extremely dangerous. – BEWARE the trickster with emerald eyes. Be careful, Erebus ~ M [/EX] In a few seconds, Nyx became sure of three things: 1. Erebus obviously was a hunter, sent here by someone to slay the creature at the park. 2. Starbone Metal was another name for Reaper Iron. Which meant Erebus was able to handle the iron. Which meant . . . what exactly? If he was Reaper her detector would have let her know, as it would have had he been a Necromancer. A human would have burned up the second they touched a weapon made of Reaper Iron. 3. If the being that powered the park came to this room every night at nine, then . . . Nyx quickly turned and shut the sliding door. That’s when she heard them—footsteps, echoing above. Moving toward the stairs. Can only be killed by a blade made of Starbone Metal. “Get my mother here now,” Nyx whispered to the detector, which was finally flashing green. The sliding door didn’t close all the way, so she put her eye up to the crack and peered into the other room, waiting for the creature to enter her view. The lighting made it impossible to make out anything but a silhouette: tall, wide, hunched over. It trudged toward the large butcher’s table in the center of the room, dragging someone behind it by the ankles. There was a bang as the creature hauled the limp body up and onto the metal table—a lifeless, hollow sound. Then it sauntered over to the power box embedded in one of the walls. With a bang of its fist, the lights flickered and grew bright. Nyx finally saw what they were up against. The creature wore a full-body costume: ruffled neckline and cuffs, pom-poms down the front—white with multicolored polka dots—big white clown boots and white gloves, and a dirty, frizzy yellow wig. Its face was painted a shocking white, with small pink circles smudged on both cheeks and small lines drawn above and below both eyes. Its mouth, completely black and filled with razor-sharp teeth, stretched into a wide grin. Like the ones he cut. All this white—the suit, the boots, the gloves, its chin—was stained red. The person on the table—a young girl—stirred as the clown turned toward her. Duct tape covered her mouth and bound her wrists, knees, feet. She wore a white blouse with an emblem on the left breast and a blue pleated skirt. A school uniform. Nyx shoved the pistol into its holster and drew her scythe. The blade was made from pure Reaper Iron—the only kind of metal that could harm Inbetweeners. The girl was fully awake now, panicking, trying to scream through the tape over her mouth while tears ran down her face. Overhead, Nyx heard faint footsteps—her parents were in the storeroom above, being careful not to make too much noise. The emerald bracelet around her mother’s wrist would lead her down here. While the Inbetweener sorted through a tray of utensils next to the butcher’s table, Nyx silently opened the iron door and squeezed out, sliding it closed behind her. She moved carefully around the room, keeping to the shadows, making sure the creature’s back was to her at all times. It didn’t see her. But the girl did. She screamed louder, staring at Nyx with teary, urgent eyes. Nyx held a finger to her lips; the girl nodded and quieted. The clown faced her again, a long scalpel in his hand, bronze eyes full of sadism. Nyx slipped behind one of the cement columns. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother enter with long, twin daggers in hand. The blades were slim, wavy, made of Reaper Iron and with handles of polished rosewood. Her father was next, and he brandished an enormous sword. The blade was made of a rare type of Starbone Metal—thick and black, shaped like a ridged bovine horn. Nyx’s mother came around behind her while her father rounded the opposite side of the room, moving toward the table. From where she stood, Nyx could see the clown’s partial transparency—definitely unnatural. It glared down at the girl, showing its full, sharp-toothed, black-lipped smile. With a single curt nod to Nyx and her mother, Nyx’s father moved toward the center of the room. The girl kept her eyes trained on Nyx’s father as he rose up behind the Inbetweener. Her father lifted his blade as the clown swung around with a frightful hiss, then brought the sword down swiftly, attempting to bury its tip in the creature’s chest. But the clown swung wildly, knocking the sword off course. A hollow scream resounded as the blade slashed the Inbetweener’s hip. The clown lunged forward, snarling, knocking Nyx’s father to the ground. “Help the girl!” her father yelled through the commotion. Nyx ran to the table and ripped the tape from the girl’s face. She sobbed loudly, and Nyx began unwinding the tape around her wrists while her mother worked on the girl’s ankles. Nyx noticed then she was shaking but no longer crying. The sound had changed. The girl was shaking with laughter. Hysterical laughter. Nyx’s mother met her gaze, both of them confused. The girl continued to laugh, her entire face reddening. Nyx thought she might pass out. She gripped the sides of the metal table—it screeched as it bent in her hands. “Nyx,” her mother said, slowly backing away from the table. The girl opened her eyes. They were brilliant emerald. “Fools,” she gasped. BEWARE the trickster with emerald eyes. It was a trap. The girl stopped laughing, the corners of her mouth pulling down as if being yanked by invisible hooks. Nyx backed away as the girl swung her legs over the table. Her skin bubbled and boiled, turning from fair to lava—orange and yellow and red, radiating heat. Her red hair singed away, as did her nose and ears. She grinned at them, showing off her full set of long, white, razor-sharp teeth. “You Laheys are a real embarrassment to your kind. You know that, don’t you?” The girl took long strides toward them, pretending to inspect nails she no longer had. “You will no longer slaughter your own kind; you will no longer stand in our way.” Her voice seemed to echo within itself. “We will wash over the earth like a plague until there is nothing left of the Reapers you think yourselves to be. You have betrayed your kind. We are going to rise with the great Young God as our leader.” Before Nyx could absorb her words, the creature closed the space between them. There was a loud crack, and her mother was thrown across the room, smashing into the cement wall there. The creature spun and faced Nyx, but Nyx moved just as fast, slashing down with her scythe and carving a deep groove in the girl’s chest from which thick liquid, black and bubbling, poured. Steam rose from the wound. Reaper Iron working its magic. The girl growled at her, eyes fierce. She lunged, slapping the scythe from Nyx’s hands and sending it skittering across the floor. Nyx had two seconds to grab the knives strapped to her legs and brace herself before the girl came crashing down on top of her. Burns, cuts, bruised heads, bites, knees to the stomach, and elbows to the face. In the chaos of it all, the girl froze. When Nyx was able to focus her eyes again, she noticed one of her daggers buried up to the hilt in the side of the girl’s neck. Nyx tore it out again and black, gooey blood burst from the puncture. Nyx kicked her away but the girl’s blood was already running—and burning—down Nyx’s arm. The girl lay on the ground, squirming, hands to her neck. Nyx could see the wound healing. She needed to completely take her out and focus on the Inbetweener—what they had actually come for. She needed to take away the source of her—of anyone’s—power: the brain. As Nyx scanned the room for her mother, the girl began to rise. Nyx’s mother was still limp and unconscious on the floor—she wasn’t going to be much help. Then Nyx saw it: the staff of her scythe, on the floor some thirty feet away. But the girl was already sprinting toward it. Scrambling to her knees, Nyx darted for it too. The girl made a sound somewhere between a wail and a laugh, her claws scraping the rubber soles of Nyx’s boots as she skidded, catching the scythe in her hands. Nyx turned and slashed at the air. A lifeless head, spurting black blood, landed at her knees. She looked up just in time to see the girl’s headless body slump over in front her. Blood pooled around Nyx, burning into her jeans. Nyx blinked and the girl’s remains burst into ash. Getting to her feet again, Nyx’s attention quickly turned to the snarling to her left. Her father was standing over the Inbetweener as it lay on the ground. “Who sent you here?” Her father spat, panting heavily, blood dripping from his brow. The creature tried to wriggle free on broken legs and arms, hissing and growling like a feral animal. Her father brought down his blade and buried it deep in the Inbetweener’s chest with a crack. All that remained after he pulled the sword from its body was a pile of wet, decaying leaves and party streamers. They stood for a moment, finally able to catch their breath. As the pile of streamers dissipated, Nyx’s mother stirred in the background. They turned to see her slowly hoisting herself up. Most of her black hair had escaped its tie and fell around her in a voluptuous cloud. A nasty bruise was forming on the side of her head, and her eye had begun to blacken. “Geez, honey,” she said to Nyx’s father as he rushed over to her. She held her head and scanned the room, confused. “Did you take a wrong turn or something while I was asleep? How far off are we?” Nyx’s father looked at her. She shrugged. “From where, Mae?” Mae looked at him incredulously. “Vegas, Christophe. Vegas. Did you—are we lost? Nyx, are we lost right now?” She had obviously taken a bigger hit than they thought. Nyx tried not to laugh. “Okay, honey,” Chris said, taking her arm. “Let’s just get you in the car and take you home, hey?” As they walked to the stairs, he leaned over to Nyx and whispered, “I’ll take your mother to the car. Make sure we didn’t leave anything behind.” Nyx nodded and resheathed her scythe. As soon as her parents were out of earshot, she bolted for the heavy door to the freezer and slid it open. Erebus was gone, as was his weaponry. “Shit,” she breathed, walking to the center of the room, searching for any clue as to how he could have just disappeared. She checked every shelf, knocked the walls with her fist. It was all cement walls—no secret doors. Nyx turned to leave, annoyed. Crossing through what little light there was, she paused, catching sight of something shining on the floor. She knelt down and reached for whatever was just under the nearby shelving. When she pulled out her hand again, she held a shiny, silver locket. She found the seam of the pendant and pressed her nail into it, trying to see if it would open. It didn’t budge. Nyx sighed and stood up again. She looked around the room once more, then slid the pendant into her pocket as she made her way out. + + + She’d had a sister once. A twin. They’d looked nothing alike. Nyx was bold and dark—dark hair, orange eyes, freckles, and skin like soil. Nyx was like their mother, completely. Tellus, on the other hand, had their mother’s curls, but had inherited nothing else. Tellus was all sun matter. Dusty-red hair, green eyes, splays of dark freckles along cheeks of gold. Tellus was the day and Nyx was the night—so completely opposite that strangers found it hard to believe they were even sisters. But despite their differences, they were utterly inseparable. And now, all Nyx had left of her were scattered dreams in which Tellus would come and visit. Tellus had died a few days after their fourteenth birthday. After months of pain in her abdomen, doctors had found a tumor the size of a tomato tangled in her bowels. In less than six weeks she had died in her sleep. If anything, that experience—the worst days of Nyx’s entire life—had proved one thing: that despite everything in their seemingly indestructible nature, creatures like the Laheys weren’t bulletproof. Now, six years later, Nyx’s mind had created its own coping mechanisms. The dreams were always in a dreamscape Nyx wasn’t sure actually existed in the real world. Tellus and Nyx would sit under the same oak tree overlooking the same misty lake. Tellus was always different, though. Not once did she ever look the same. Sometimes she showed up looking more zombie than Necromancer, with rotting flesh that exposed her teeth through her cheek. Her hair would be wild and full, filled with twigs and dirt. Her dress would be tattered and yellowed. She wouldn’t speak much. She might look at the tattoo on Nyx’s thigh and recite the verse over and over again: Fire, metal, blood, and bone. Protect thy haven from creatures that roam. The Reaper’s Oath. Other times, she might catch birds flying past and break their wings, or set the tails of squirrels on fire. Sometimes she appeared in an immaculate white gown, skin glowing, a crown of flowers braided into her curls. They would talk for hours. About school, about family. She’d ask about Nyx’s training, about their younger cousins Bethany and Persephone. Tonight was like that. After the hunt, Nyx sat at the base of a tree, braiding long blades of grass in her hands. Behind her, she heard the hush of feet on grass and noticed the familiar scent of Tellus’s homemade rose soap. Tellus came and sat next to her, kissing the top of her hair. Nyx smiled at her, feeling quite proud of herself for being able to re-create her sister’s image so perfectly in her mind. Tellus didn’t speak at all. Not until the very end, before Nyx woke. “I’m so proud of you, Nyx.” “What for?” Nyx asked. “I’m really proud of Erebus too. You should be so proud of yourselves.” “Who?” And then Nyx remembered the locket and the boy from the park. “What are you talking about? I don’t know him.” “Not yet.” Tellus smiled. “But you will, soon.” Nyx’s eyes snapped open then and she became instantly aware of a heavy, warm weight across her legs, down at the end of the bed. “Bjørn,” she mumbled. “Get off, my legs are asleep.” She tried wriggling her toes to annoy the hound. Bjørn had been a third birthday present from their aunt Maura. She’d crafted him from pine needles, stones, opal, and spring water. Over the last seventeen years he’d grown into a goliath of a wolf. Fur the color of pitch and storms, eyes like Saharan sand. “Bjørn,” she repeated, nudging him again. Nyx noticed it then—he was growling. She sat upright and focused on his large figure in the darkness. Bjørn was staring out the glass wall of her bedroom and into the backyard. Lips peeled back, hair on end. “Bjørn,” she whispered, trying to calm him. “Shh, shh, shh.” She looked out the window then and saw it—a giant, jet-black raven sitting atop the veranda only a few feet away. Its face was disfigured by a large scar across a single milky eye and a mutilated beak. Its other eye was the bloodiest red she’d ever seen. And it just sat there. Staring at them through the window. At Nyx."

Relic and Ruin will hit shelves on June 7, 2022. Mark your calendars!