As in any good compromise, both parties were vaguely displeased, but said nothing about it. Piper sneered prettily but merely said, “Great. Time to check in with my father.”

“Instead of possession, you could scry in the bathtub to communicate with your father,” Neeve suggested quickly. What she didn’t say was that she felt scrying would use far less energy than possession. It might not save a tree, but it might preserve it for a little longer.

The demon twitched its antennae towards Neeve. It knew what she was doing. A second later, Piper looked over appraisingly; the demon had clearly tattled directly into her head. Neeve waited for a retort, but Piper merely ran her edges around the edge of the bathing pool in a thoughtful way. She said, “They’ll be more moved to love if they see my face, anyway. Demon, connect my father on that thing. Let it be thus, or whatever.”

It was thus, or whatever.

Laumonier was in a public men’s room. He stood in front of the mirror, and also in front of the door to the men’s room to make sure no one came in.

Piper squinted into the pool. “Are you at Legal Sea Foods? I can’t believe it. I hate everything.”

“Yes, we wanted oysters,” Laumonier said, his voice emanating from the demon instead of the pool. His eyes were narrowed, trying to get a better view of wherever his daughter was. “Are you in a wasp’s nest?”

“It’s a shrine,” Piper said.

“To what?”

“Me. Oh, I’m glad you asked it like that. You set up my punch line perfectly. Look, I’ll make this quick, since I’m dying for a bath. What have you done on your end?”

“We have set up a look-see for your item,” Laumonier said, stepping out of one of the stalls. “We have timed it to happen the day after a Congressional fund-raiser at a boys’ school there, in order to allow out-of-town guests to blend in. What is it we’re selling?”

Piper described the demon. The demon took flight and circled the pool, and from Laumonier’s expression, Neeve could tell that the demon was also describing the demon to them. They were clearly impressed by the twisting of their thoughts.

“Good find,” Laumonier said. “Let’s be in touch.”

They vanished from the scrying pool.

“Bath time,” Piper said triumphantly. She did not tell Neeve to give her privacy, but Neeve did anyway. She needed to get out. She needed to be alone. She needed to find calm, so that she could see things truthfully.

She wasn’t sure she would ever be calm again.

Outside, at the top of the waspy stairs, Neeve clutched at her hair. In retrospect, she knew that she had used the universe’s power only for personal gain. That was how she had got here. She could not be angry at this lesson. She was going to have to try to save it. That was what it came down to. She could not live with herself otherwise, knowing she’d stood by while a holy place was destroyed.

She began to run.

Neeve did not ordinarily run, but once she had started, she couldn’t believe that she had not done it immediately. She should have started running the moment she saw the demon, and not stopped until it was too far away to hear it in her head. Fear and revulsion suddenly caught up to her, and as she heaved through the forest, sobs gasped from her. Demon, demon, demon. She was so afraid. The dry leaves beneath her feet turned into tarot cards with her face on them. She slipped on their surfaces, but as they flipped from under her shoes, they were leaves once more.

Water, she thought to the forest. I need a mirror if I’m to help you.

Leaves stirred listlessly over her. A drop of rain spattered on her cheek, mingling with her tears.

Not rain. Water for a mirror, Neeve thought. She looked over her shoulder as she ran. Stumbled. She felt watched, but of course she would feel watched. This entire place was watching. Skidding down a slope, her hands catching only on dry leaves that shifted her further, she found herself looking at a hollowed-out stump.

Water, water. As she watched, water gurgled to fill it. Neeve placed her hand in it and prayed to a few select goddesses, and then she held her hands over it to scry. Her mind filled with images of Fox Way. The attic she had stayed in, the rituals she had done there. The mirrors that she had set to propel her through possibilities that had eventually taken her here.

She badly wanted to look over her shoulder.

She couldn’t break focus.

Neeve felt the moment it took hold. She didn’t recognize the face, but it didn’t matter. If it was a woman in 300 Fox Way, the information would get to people who wanted to do something about it. Neeve whispered, “Can you hear me? There’s a demon. It’s unmaking the forest and everything attached to it. I’m going to try to —”

“You know,” Piper said, “if you had a problem with me, I wish you would have come to me first.”

Neeve’s connection was broken. The water in the stump rippled, just water, and then the hard black shell of the demon rose up through the surface. With a little shake of its antennae, it crawled on to her arm. Heavy. Malevolent. Whispering terrible possibilities that were increasingly terrible probabilities. Piper came into focus on the other side of the stump, walking through the leaves to them. Her hair was still damp from the bath.

Neeve did not bother to beg.

“God, Neeve. You New Age types are the worst.” Piper flipped her hand towards the demon. “Unmake her.”

There was something living about the night.

Declan and Matthew had gone. Gansey, Blue, Ronan and Adam remained at the Barns, sitting in a circle in the hickory-scented living room. The only lights were the things Ronan had dreamt. They hovered overhead and danced in the fireplace. It felt like magic hung between all of them, even in the places the light didn’t touch. Gansey was aware that they all were happier than they had been in a long time, which seemed strange in light of the frightening events of the night before and the ominous news they had just received from Declan.

“This is a night for truth,” Gansey said, and any other time, they would have laughed at him for it, perhaps. But not tonight. Tonight, they all could tell they were part of a slow, wheeling machine, and the enormity of it staggered them. “Let’s piece this thing together.”

Slowly they described what had happened to them the day before, pausing to allow Gansey to write it in his journal. As he jotted down the facts – the ley line seizing at 6:21, Noah’s attack, the black-oozing tree, Adam’s eye moving of its own accord – he began to feel the shape of the roles they played. He could nearly see the end if he looked hard enough.