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happened?”
    â€œYou need to do something, Mommy.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œFinding the princess.”
    â€œThe evil prince will probably tell you if you ask nicely.”
    â€œHe can’t. He’s dead.” Bonnie went into a complicated story about the good prince, golden horses, and a castle far away. Caley’s mind drifted.
    â€œAren’t you going to do something?” Bonnie demanded.
    â€œWhat were you doing in the basement at— What time is it?”
    â€œI went to get my bear. The black one that Adam took and threw down there. He grabbed, Mommy. Aren’t you going to do something?”
    â€œUh—I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
    â€œNot Adam, the evil prince in the basement.”
    â€œHe’ll go away.”
    â€œI told you, he can’t,” Bonnie said. “He’s dead.”
    â€œBonnie, love—”
    â€œI saw him. He’s dead.”
    Caley rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “Sweetie, Mommy really doesn’t feel very good right now. Could we play another time?”
    â€œI’ll tell Zach,” Bonnie said, and skipped off.
    Caley heard Zach grumbling, then galumping down the stairs. She closed her eyes.
    After a few seconds of silence, a hushed voice floated up. “Mom?”

6
    â€œWhat?” Caley called out before her soggy mind registered something alarming in the word mothers answer automatically a hundred times a day. Mom, where is my other blue sock? Mom, do I have to brush my teeth? Mom, I can’t find my library books. Mom, there’s a hole in my shirt. This time there was alarm and tension in the word. It was Mom, help me, this is more than I can handle. She snatched the robe lying at the foot of the bed and swirled it around her shoulders as she ran for the basement stairs. “Zach?”
    â€œDown here,” he said, his voice reverting to eight years old.
    Heart thumping, she padded down the steps.
    â€œBonnie was right.” Zach was standing on the bottom step.
    On a step above, she peered over his head. The evil prince is dead. She pulled herself together. Loosely. That was as good as it got. The metal furnace panels had been removed and a man lay facedown in a puddle of blood on the cement floor, head and both hands jammed into the furnace.
    Her stomach twisted. The room started to dim. Suck it up, Mom!
    â€œStinks,” Zach said.
    She took his shoulders and turned him around. “Upstairs. Go.”
    He turned back. “What if he’s not dead?” Zach whispered.
    â€œTurn off the heat,” she said, “then call 911. Tell them”— There’s an evil prince in the basement with his head in the furnace —“there’s been a serious accident.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shove.
    Oh God, oh God. Careful to avoid the blood—it looked dark and sticky—she touched the ankles. They were cool and she felt no give as she closed her hands around them. They didn’t feel human. She pulled gently. He wouldn’t move. He must be dead.
    Just in case there was some life somewhere, she jerked hard. The man slid back and there was a squishy clunk as his head hit the floor. Aahhh aahhh ah. She backed away.
    His size and shape were like Mat’s, but the hair—the small patch that was unsinged—was different. Wasn’t it? Darker. It couldn’t be Mat. Could it? What the hell happened down here in her basement? Nerves tingled on the back of her neck. She looked around. Who did this? Could he still be here? She raced up the stairs, slammed the door shut behind her, and locked it.
    â€œMom?”
    She whirled around. “Oh, Zach. Did you call?”
    â€œYeah. You okay?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œWhy’d you lock the door?”
    â€œUh—so the Littles wouldn’t go down. Where are they?”
    â€œAdam’s watching television.”
    That child’s mind was probably