I can hear the girls whispering, and I pull my legs up to where my hands are on the torch holder. I get my boots firmly wedged between the wrought-iron rings for balance and to take some of the weight off my hands. The iron is surprisingly sturdy and easy to grip, but even so I won’t be able to hold myself in this inverted position for very long. Blackwood shushes the room and I have to smile: Dad always said that if you can’t do something without being noticed, create confusion.

I carefully place my braid between my teeth and let my right arm hang down along the wall, finding the chip in the stone. And I wait.

It takes only two seconds before the air near my hand warms. I hold my breath. Nyx came directly after me again. Boy, this girl doesn’t play games. If she’s after you, she’s after you, simple as that. Judging by the fact that I can’t hear her breath and our heads should be fairly close together, I’m guessing her back is to me. I move my hand forward, miscalculating her height and grabbing her shirt just above the waist. Thankfully I catch the edge of the cloth, too, and secure it between my fingertips. I yank.

She lets out a surprised yelp.

Blackwood lights a candle and the entire room looks at us, blinking in the pale light. The shock on their faces is obvious. I unhook my feet from the torch holder and jump to the floor.

Nyx’s eyes narrow. “Winning second is still losing,” she says under her breath.

I grin at her. “But didn’t we just learn that it’s the most recent win that everyone remembers?”

“Nicely done.” Blackwood nods at the cloth in my outstretched hand. From the tone of her voice I can tell that something in her has relaxed, like she’s just decided not to throw me out.

“You can’t win second if you’re already dead,” Nyx says so quietly that I almost miss it. I stop smiling. She’s determined, focused, and straightforward and it’s obvious she doesn’t like me. I get the feeling that by winning tonight, I’m going to lose something in the near future.

I PULL OPEN my bedroom curtains and light dapples my room, giving it a soft warm glow. But the floor is like ice and the moment my bare feet hit it I jump, snatch up my discarded socks, and practically fall over trying to put them on.

The chill sobers me up and the events from the night before come rushing into my thoughts—the challenge, Nyx’s threat, and the Jackal conversation I had with Layla. I don’t see how it could be a coincidence that she used deceptive, innovative, and clever to describe Aarya—the same words my mom used to describe a family of stuffed animals in a game we played when I was small. It was a childish game—at least I thought it was. My mom said she used to play it with Aunt Jo and their mother back in Italy. Each animal family had three words to describe them, all of which are emblazoned in my memory like nursery rhymes.