“Let go!” Claire shouted over Thorn’s outraged cry, but it was no use. Scythe’s strong fingers had managed to pinch the Make-a-Face, and the enchanted cap, which had expanded and threaded its way across her body like a wet suit, protested the attempt at its sudden removal. Claire could feel the magic stretching across her, tension building like a pulled rubber band. The magic would either break, revealing her, or it would snap back against her.

She braced, ready for the recoil, but instead, there was a soft snip, and Scythe let go.

Without his hand, Claire stumbled forward. Helplessly, she tried to hold the unraveling halves of the Make-a-Face together, but yarn, Spyden silk, and river sand cascaded around her feet. And in the bulging sides of a knocked-over sugar bowl, Claire saw her own gray eyes and frizzy brown hair.

“You! ” Scythe gasped. Claire tried to hide her own face, though it was way too late. “You’re the girl who was with Sena. You’re Claire Martinson!”

“Leave her alone!” Thorn said, and Claire looked to see Anvil brandishing a silver candlestick, even if his eyes didn’t seem quite focused yet.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself, whoever you really are,” Scythe growled, never taking his eyes from Claire. “I don’t want to harm Apprentice Martinson. In fact,” he said, neatly twirling his hammer and hooking it back onto his belt, “I’ve been looking for her.”

Stunned, Claire felt her mouth drop open as a gazillion questions swarmed her, but all she could manage was a breathless, “What? ”

Scythe shook his head. “Not yet. Not here.” And with a meaningful look, he waved at them to follow him around the silver stacks to a familiar wardrobe.

“Sorry about the scissors,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But I had to be certain because, well, you’ll see.” He opened the wardrobe and slid the false back silently open, then stepped aside.

At first, all Claire could make out was bare shelves and clusters of candles. They were of uneven lengths, so that the shadows they threw looked like a set of crooked teeth munching on the wall. But after a moment, she realized that in a dark part of the room sat two figures. Their backs were to the door, all their attention focused on the pile of keys in front of them. As Claire watched, one of them with tufted black hair held up a golden key. “How about this one?” he asked.

“Where did you get it?” a girl with fire-red hair asked, and when the boy pointed toward a smaller pile, the girl sighed irritably. “That’s my ‘already tested’ pile!”

“Whoops,” the boy said. “Sorry about that, but don’t worry! The worst thing that can happen is that one day your nose itches and you forget you’re wearing the gauntlet and accidentally break your nose.”