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that shadow thingie was Aunt Lelia or not. Aunt Lelia’s visits weren’t exactly the warm and fuzzy kind. She was always warning me about impending doom. I had noticed that she was getting weaker as Set got stronger, and seemed in pain—tormented—when she did manage to visit me.
    I t was time I found out more about Aunt Lelia—and my mom. Nobody would talk to me about our mysterious family tree, but I did know that my grandparents had disowned Cynthia Briarstock Bartolucci. Oh, and let us not forget about the still circulating school rumors that Mom hooked up with a teacher and got preggers (with me, ugh).
    Right now, what mattered most was that I didn’t want my Aunt Lelia to suffer. So, I had to figure out a way to free her from Set’s control. You know, along with preventing Set from destroying all mankind. And I really need to pass my next Algebra exam.
    Hmm. I better prioritize my to-do list.
    I reached the end of the staircase, and I jumped the last step. Thinking about sheuts , Aunt Lelia, Mom, and Set had upped my heebie jeebie factor by ten. I took a couple of steps, and stumbled to an abrupt stop. My whole body tingled with heat, with nausea. A pit opened in my belly, and my stomach wobbled, a stern threat to puking. I put my hand against the nearest wall and drew in a shuddering breath. I felt like Jell-O in an earthquake.
    I sank to my knees.
    My vision blurred.
    My heart pounded.
    I clutched at the wall, and tried to breathe.
    Just. Breathe.
    I fell forward, on my hands and knees now, trying to get my lungs to work.
    I teetered to my side and collapsed against the rough stone floor.
    I saw the shadow emerge from the floor and take a more human shape. A female shape. It—she—turned toward me. She wasn’t tall, but she was lean and fit, and dressed in a tight black pant suit that reminded me of a Cat Woman Halloween costume. Silver daggers glittered dangerously from their tucked positions on her belt. She wore a dark leather jacket with a large cowl that covered her head. The only thing I could discern from her hidden face was the glittering maliciousness of her smile.
    Familiarity stabbed me.
    I knew her.
    She withdrew one of the knives, and glided toward me.
    “S-stop,” I pleaded. “Stop. Please.”
    Then I saw Mac Jacobs slink away from the other side of the staircase, his face mottled and his lips moving. His gaze was on me, and those green eyes were filled with hate. A deep and terrible hate.
    Mr. Jacobs was trying to kill me , too?
    He walked forward, his hands out as though he planned on choking the rest of the air from my lungs.
    The woman whirled around, and stepped in front of Mr. Jacobs.
    “Don’t be a fool,” she snarled. “She’s mine. She’s always been mine.”
                  “You made your choice,” he said. “Return to your master, slave .”
    The woman froze. She snarled, her hands going up, as though she planned on hitting him—or casting a spell. Then her fingers curled inward. Her body twisted, dissolving into an oily puddle that splashed onto the floor … and disappeared.
    Air flowed into my lungs, and I could breathe again. As I sucked in as much oxygen as I could, the wobbling nausea in my stomach gurgled, and my head ached with lightning strikes of pain. Amid all this physical awfulness came the snaking cold of fear. It slid through my limbs, coiled in my belly, wrapped around my heart. 
    As his gaze landed on me, Mr. Jacobs’ self-satisfied smirk dissolved. Then he hurried forward.
    I tried to scream, to cry, but no words, no sounds left my mouth.
    The man loomed over me, and his hand gripped my shoulder.
    Terror snapped at me like the crocodile snout of Sobek, the eater of evil souls.
    Ugh. Why was the room spinning?
    I tried to think … tried to move … tried to… .

 
     
     
     
    Molly’s Reaper Diary
    Sometimes, You A re on Your Own
     
    YOU CAN’T ALWAYS assume that the people in your life—those alive or dead—can help you. It’s