Jix turned to Milos, studying his face, and his eyes: bright blue with speckles of white, like a sky dotted with clouds. “What about you?” he asked Milos. “Do you not feel guilt for what you did?”

Milos took a moment before answering. “None,” he said. “None whatsoever.”

But they both knew he was lying.

Around them, in the living world, the chaos born from this awful evening was taking root. Crowds were gathering, loved ones were grieving, distant sirens drew closer. Jix was glad that the living world could be so easily tuned out by Afterlights. He did not want to witness further results of their actions.

“So what do we do with him?” asked the wild-haired girl.

“Push him down! Push him down!” said the squirrelly one.

“No,” said Milos, “he is a skinjacker. He deserves better than that.” Then he held out his hand to Jix. “Join us, and I promise you will be a part of something grand and glorious.”

Still Jix made no move. Working under His Excellency, Jix had always dreamed he’d be part of something larger than himself. He even dreamed that he would be taken into the king’s inner circle, for Jix was a well-respected scout. But scouting kept him at a distance, and when it came to the king, out of sight was truly out of mind. Whenever Jix returned with news, no matter how important, His Excellency would never even remember his name.

As Jix looked at these villainous, barbaric skinjackers, he found himself more and more curious about them, and oddly attracted to their way of life. Little was known about Mary the Eastern Witch—but here was an opportunity to learn more. What he ultimately did with that information would be entirely up to him.

He looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms, and made a decision. “I want to be there when she wakes up. I want to be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. Then I’ll ask her for forgiveness.”

The wild-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Jix gently lifted the spirit of the sleeping girl onto his shoulder. “Take me to the Eastern Witch.”

The five of them made their way back to the train, everyone but Squirrel carrying a sleeping spirit.

“It’s not my fault,” complained Squirrel. “I couldn’t hold on, my hands were greasy.”

“Your hands are always greasy,” Moose pointed out.

“Right—and it’s not my fault!”

Jix spoke very little on the journey, but even so, he was still the center of attention. They all stared at him, some being more obvious about it than others. Jackin’ Jill didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was staring.

“I’ve seen a lot of freaky Afterlights, but I’ve never seen one like you,” she finally said.