The people and creatures of Artimé looked up at their leader and broke into applause.

“All right, Simber. Take me to Claire. And then stay alert. Watch for my signal.”

Lani gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth as the great gray wolf stumbled off. She was confused. “Father?” she whispered, but he was already gone.

She had seen the wolf before from a distance. And she’d thought it odd that such a wild creature would have bounded out of the mansion the previous day, only to disappear again shortly thereafter. And then it all began to make sense.

“Oh, Father, what have I done? What have you done?” Gingerly she picked up the gun, feeling its weight in her hand, remembering when she was ten and her father had let her hold it—had even taken her to the Quillitary range on Purge day when she was eleven to teach her how to carry it safely, and to let her shoot it when no one else was around. He had made her promise not to tell anyone. That was one secret she’d kept, because it seemed too—too—sacred a moment to work into one of her wild stories.

But to her, now, the gun represented awful things. She disarmed the gun and slid it into her vest, realizing that despite her knowledge of its workings, and all her father had taught her, perhaps even in preparation for this day, she could never, ever use it. She snuck off through the trees, growing wearier and hungrier as the evening slipped into night, and suddenly wondered what had happened to Alex, for it had been hours since she’d last seen him. She stopped short. Hmm, she thought, wondering if she could manage to do one of Alex’s favorite spells. She withdrew a paintbrush from her pocket, whispered, “Invisible,” and brushed herself up and down with it.

The last thing to disappear was the gleam in her eye.

Back at the mansion the injured Samheed had too much time to think about how his actions as Will’s assistant had contributed to the battle raging. And seeing his father again—once his hero—so willing to kill his own son … how could Samheed have ever wanted to go back there? Be a part of that? Now the guilt overcame him, and he could lie still no longer with this battle raging around him. He struggled to his feet, slipped his component vest on, and when the caretakers weren’t looking, he limped outside.

As the entire remaining Quillitary marched into the sea, a drenched, bedraggled body finally hoisted himself up to his feet on the beach. He coughed and spit seawater, and began wiping the sand from his face and clothes. In the dark he located the looming mansion and stole quietly in that direction, limping and squishing slightly.

He stepped over bodies until he found one wearing a vest like Alex’s. Aaron disrobed the fallen Artiméan and slipped the vest over his own shoulders, feeling for the one magical item he actually knew how to use.

He found a treasure of them and took one, rubbing it between his fingers, his eyes darting wildly now, looking for prey. I’ll earn my position back! I must prove myself to the high priest. I’ll find the old man, and I will kill him. And then I’ll finish off Alex, once and for all.

At the corner of the mansion Aaron stood, deep in the shadows. He saw her—the great high priest, the one he would do anything for in order to regain her favor. He knew that now he must be Alex. Act like Alex. They must not suspect. He only hoped no one had yet heard what had really happened to his twin.

As he watched Mr. Today approach, he looked around at the bizarre assortment of creatures.

“Alex,” someone whispered. Aaron jumped and turned sharply, coming face to face with a sharp-toothed alligator that had several spindly arms. He nearly screamed in fright.

“Alex,” Ms. Octavia whispered again. “Be ready with your scatterclips. The lethal verbal component is ‘die a thousand deaths.’ If Justine makes any false moves, do your worst, my boy. She’ll have to die if any of this is to be resolved. Are you comfortable with that?”

Aaron blinked, sucked in a breath, and nodded. He didn’t understand half of what the creature was saying, but it was enough to know that he had accidentally stumbled upon the verbal component to the spell, which was also the mantra of the Quillitary. He held the clip, poised, appearing ready to throw in the direction of Justine, but his eyes burned into the back of the head of Mr. Today, who stood only slightly to the side of the high priest.

Samheed, seeing the high priest, crept forward behind the octogator and Alex, realizing the severity of the scene before him—Justine and Mr. Today, about to be face-to-face once again. He remained quiet, pulling a throwing star from his vest in case it was needed. If only he could take down Justine, it would prove to everyone that he was not a traitor.

Ms. Octavia readied herself as well, and then glanced more carefully at the boy beside her. She frowned. Something didn’t seem right.

Samheed noticed her glance, and he took another look at Alex, at the way he stood, and at his hand that held the scatterclip. Samheed’s eyes narrowed and then flashed with fire. He and Will Blair had been studying Alex for months. He knew what was wrong. This boy held the scatterclip in his right hand.

“It’s not Alex!” Samheed whispered.

Aaron’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to run, but Samheed muttered, “Break a leg!” which made Aaron squeal in pain and hop on one foot.

In one swift, smooth motion four of Ms. Octavia’s remaining seven appendages threaded and twisted over and under the boy’s arms and around his legs, rendering his struggles useless and forcing his good leg to buckle. He dropped to the ground.