“And they will reward our return,” Mr. January added. “We will have our thrones beside theirs.”

The Katies said nothing.

“Now,” Mr. January said, his voice getting smooth and calm once again. “May I suggest you surrender? You see, now that you’ve given us the gift of breaking reality, we have all the time in the world. Even if you somehow wriggle your way free now, we’ll only come after you again. And again. And again. Instead of all this struggle, you could simply . . . step through the door.”

He moved slightly to the side and waved his cane behind him. The darkness seemed to ooze back a little farther. From the shadows, a door knit itself into existence. It was plain, without even a frame around it, and when it swung open, it left a straight-edged hole.

On the other side, gray mist seethed, formless and empty. Eleanor shivered. The gray world. They’d been through that door on Halloween. And now it was Halloween again—more or less.

At least this meant she wouldn’t have to open the way to the gray world herself.

“So what do you say? Step right in, and this can all be over,” Mr. January said.

“Not a chance,” Pip replied.

Mr. January shrugged, like it didn’t particularly matter to him one way or the other. “Just thought I’d offer. In that case . . .” He paused for dramatic effect—but whatever he was going to say, he didn’t get the chance.

“Get ’em,” Pip said simply—and Eleanor and the others charged.

For a moment, the People Who Look Away seemed so surprised they didn’t move at all. The second after that, everything erupted into chaos.

The three dogs were the first to react, leaping to meet the charge. Jack surged out front to meet the graveyard dog, driving him back with a sweep of his sword, while Wander danced in with her moonlight thread, wielding it like a whip the umbral hounds skittered away from.

The cat-of-ashes plodded forward reluctantly and hissed in an almost apologetic tone as she advanced on Eleanor. A tiny gray shape zipped out the back door and darted straight toward the big cat. She halted in surprise as the kitten-of-ashes launched herself, all fangs and pinprick claws, straight at her.

“Oh, for the love of—” Eleanor heard her say, and then, “Ow! Ow! Ow! You little brat, stop that!”

The cats staggered off toward the orchard, dodging and flipping and yowling.

The rattlebird launched into the air, only for Otto to chuck a glass bottle right at it. The bottle broke against its chest, and glowing vines burst out, wrapping the rattlebird’s wings up tight and sending it crashing to the ground. The hedgewitch and Otto fanned out, both of them with intent expressions of concentration.

From the orchard lurched the mushroom-covered bodies of the bearlike mucks, but Pip was ready, moving to intercept them.