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locked.
    It wasn’t. The door swung open onto a dark and empty room.
    All Mā mī’s dire warnings echoed through my brain as I stepped inside. No trespassing, Kai-my-son. Unless you like a three-year itch.
    No itch. No spells at all, so far as I could tell. Just a shadow-dark room made strange with abandoned vials and beakers and the white-dusted coals of a dying fire. That pricked my curiosity. Why did Mā mÄ« need a fire so early in autumn? I lit a candle and scanned for more clues.
    The vials were all empty. The beakers were coated with a thin silvery residue that emanated magic, both potential and unleashed. Now I knew where all those special ingredients had gone. Dozens of empty boxes and canisters and stoppered vials littered her desk. Among them, I found stacks of scribbled sheets and astrology readings, but none of them made sense.
    By now I was scared. Sure, my mā mÄ« was stronger and fiercer than any human I’d known. Maybe even fiercer than a watch-demon or two. But never, ever, had she failed to come home at night, without leaving word.
    Vanished. Just like Lian.
    I hurried from the workroom, across the landing, to her small bedroom. It was empty, too.
    A nudge at my arm recalled me. The griffin hovered in midair, its golden wings glittering in the faint light from the hallway. When it saw it had my attention, it leapt on my shoulder.
    â€œHow did you get up here?” I asked.
    It gave an odd keening sound and butted my head.
    â€œGo on. You’re dead.”
    The griffin nibbled at my ear. Just as you might expect for a pet chosen by my mother, it was not gentle.
    â€œOw! Okay, not quite dead.”
    It butted me again and keened. Cautiously, I scratched the griffin behind its ears. It gave a rough trill that sounded like a purr.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” I said. “You miss her?”
    The griffin tucked itself under my ear, its tail curled around my neck. Its feathers were cold and stiff, its tiny paws hot. I could feel its nervous heartbeat against my skin. For a dead thing, it was acting very much alive.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I whispered to the griffin. “She’s just visiting a friend. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
    I could only hope I wasn’t lying.

3
    M ONSTERS SWARMED THROUGH MY DREAMS THAT night, making me twitch and shiver and sometimes bolt upright, positive that something was eating the flesh from my bones. Each time I woke up, I heard the whispery tolling of the temple bells. Softer still came an eerie, slithering noise, like fine, metallic chains being drawn over stones—the watch-demons making their rounds.
    I had finally fallen into a blank, dreamless sleep when Old Man Kang’s rooster sang out its morning cry. I buried my head under my pillow and groaned. The next minute, a weight thudded onto my back, driving the breath from my body. Four sharp points dug into my back.
    Chen . . .
    Chen jabbed me underneath my right arm—hard.
    I yelped and twitched away. “Stop that! I’m not in the mood for any jokes.”
    A sharp jab in the sole of my left foot jerked me awake.
    Chen, you stupid—
    I threw off my bedclothes and sat up.
    Chen crouched in the far corner of my bedroom, between the open door and my washstand. His spines were slanted back, his bristles, too, and he had an odd expression on his piggy face—as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t know how, and besides he wasn’t really in the mood. When he caught my eye, he tilted his head and stared pointedly at the foot of my bed.
    There sat the griffin, chewing holes in the blanket.
    â€œYou,” I growled. “Look, I told you—she’s not here.”
    It shot me a disbelieving glare, then fastened its beak on a loose thread and yanked.
    â€œStop that!” I tried shooing it away.
    It snapped at me and hissed. I flung my pillow. With a shrill cry, the griffin launched into flight, scattering feathers and dander and