I fumbled for it through the pain. It was in the car. I’d never make it there. I couldn’t even stand up. I whimpered with the agony of simply trying to raise my head. Where was Barrons? What was he doing? The air was ice. The pavement beneath me frosted, and I felt it move up my knees, and creep over my thighs. An arctic wind whipped at my hair, tore at my clothes. Debris battered me.

What was Barrons doing? I had to see!

I sought the sidhe-seer place in my head. The mere existence of the Book inflamed it. It was everything we feared in the Fae. Everything we existed to defend against.

I inhaled fast and deep, sucking down breaths so icy they burned my lungs. I tried to embrace the pain, and convince myself I was one with it. What had Barrons said? I overmuscled things. I had to relax, quit fighting it. Let it crash over me and ride it like a wave. It was easier said than done, but I managed to push back on my knees, and raise my head.

In the middle of the cobbled street, thirty-five feet away, was the Beast.

It looked at me. Hello, Mac, it said.

It knew my name. How did it know my name? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The shrieking in my head stopped. The pain vanished. The night stilled. I was in the eye of its storm.

Barrons was five feet from it.

I wish I could describe it to you. I’m glad I can’t. Because if I could find the words for it, they would be stuck in my head forever, and I don’t want anything about it stuck in my head. Its visage is terrible enough, but once it’s no longer in front of you, your brain can’t quite hold on to it. The way it moves, the way it looks at you. The way it mocks. The way it knows.We see ourselves in other people’s eyes. It’s the nature of the human race; we are a species of reflection, hungry for it in every facet of our existence. Maybe that’s why vampires seem so monstrous to us—they cast no reflection. Parents, if they’re good ones, reflect the wonder of our existence and the success we can become. Friends, well chosen, show us pretty pictures of ourselves, and encourage us to grow into them.

The Beast shows us the very worst in ourselves and makes us know it’s true.

Barrons was leaning.

The Beast became the innocent hardcover.

Barrons bent to one knee.

The hardcover became the Sinsar Dubh, with bands and padlocks. It waited. I could feel it waiting.

Barrons reached.