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it moved with unnerving stealth, it was too large to pass between the trees without betraying its presence. Branchessnapped here and there, and apples plopped to the ground with hollow smacks. The sounds gradually drew nearer. Elisabeth stopped panting; her lungs burned with the effort of holding her breath. An apple struck the well and burst, spattering her with sticky fragments.
    “Apprentice . . . I’ll find you . . . only a matter of time . . .”
    The whisper caressed her mind like a flabby hand. She reeled,clutching her head.
    “Better if you gave up now . . .”
    The greasy suggestion swirled through her thoughts, compelling in its bloodless pragmatism. Her mission was impossible. Too hard. All she had to do was give in, put down the sword, and her suffering would be over. The Book of Eyes would make it quick.
    The Book of Eyes was lying.
    Gritting her teeth, Elisabeth looked up. The Malefict stoodabove her, but it hadn’t seen her yet. Its eyes twisted in their sockets, moving independently of one another as they scanned the orchard. The ones she’d injured had closed up, weeping rivulets of ink like tears.
    “Apprentice . . .”
    Resisting the whispers was like treading water in sodden clothes, barely keeping her nose and mouth above the surface. She forced herself to stop holding her headand clenched her fingers around Demonslayer’s grip. Just a little longer , she told herself. The monster shifted closer, and a yellow eye looked down. When it spotted her, its pupil dilated so hugely that the entire iris appeared black.
    Now .
    She thrust Demonslayer upward, piercing the eye. Ink cascaded down her arms and dripped onto the moss. The Malefict’s bellow shuddered through the night.This time, as she scrambled away, she saw new lights winking on in the town below. More joined them with every second that passed, spreading from house to house like banked embers flaring back to life. Summershall was waking. Her plan was succeeding.
    And her own time was running out.
    An arm swept from the darkness, tossing her through the air like a rag doll. A bright shock of pain sparked throughher as her shoulder clipped a tree trunk, sending her spinning through the damp grass. She tasted copper, and when she sat up, gasping for breath, her surroundings blurred in and out. A strap of her nightgown hung loose, torn and bloodied. The Malefict’s dark shape towered over her.
    It leaned closer. It had a lumpy head, but no face, no features aside from those countless bulging eyes. “An odd girl, you are. Ahhh . . . there’s something about you . . . a reason why you woke tonight, while the others slept. . . .”
    The Director’s sword lay in the grass. Elisabeth snatched it up and held it between them. The blade trembled.
    “I could help you,” the monster coaxed. “I see the questions inside your head . . . so many questions, and so few answers . . . but I could tell you secrets—oh, such secrets, secrets you cannot imagine, secrets beyond your strangest dreams. . . .”
    As if caught in a whirlpool, her thoughts followed its whispers toward some lightless, hungry place—a place from which she knew her mind would not return. She swallowed thickly. Her hand found the key hanging against her chest, and she imagined the Director slamming the grimoire shut, cutting off the monster’s voice.“You are lying,” she declared.
    Guttural laughter filled her head. Blindly, she lashed out. The monster heaved back, and Demonslayer whistled harmlessly through the air. Wood splintered behind her as she scrambled away. The Book of Eyes had struck the tree that had stood behind her a moment before, a blow that would have crushed her like a toy.
    She fled, stumbling over fallen apples. Disoriented,she nearly smacked into a pale shape that stood between the trees. Something winged and white, with a sad, solemn face eroded by time. A marble angel.
    Hope seized her. The statue marked a cache with supplies