“I know more than you obviously!” I said through gritted teeth.

Zeran thrust one of his prods against my chest. “You’re beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Likewise.” I knocked his prod away with my staff. “Maybe I should let you find your brother on your own.”

“Fine!” Zeran said. “You were only pretending to be my friend anyway.”

“And maybe you’re a spy after all!” I said, accusing him, but then I frowned. This was all wrong. Why were we fighting? This didn’t make sense. “Zeran, are you feeling irrationally angry?” I grimaced, finally remembering the thing I had forgotten about the adze. “Much like the aziza, the adze can influence a person’s emotions, but they can only influence ones that cause chaos.”

“Maya, watch out!” Zeran said, pushing me aside.

I hit the ground as he swung his prods at a cluster of fireflies that had been creeping up behind my back. They scattered for a moment but quickly started for us again. I would’ve smacked my forehead if I hadn’t needed both hands. The other thing I forgot was that the adze could appear as fireflies, which was how they usually slipped into people’s houses. One adze might be easy to defend against, but there were dozens of them buzzing around. “Don’t let them touch you—they’ll drink your blood.”

Zeran rotated his wrist as he adjusted the prods. The electric hum from them grew louder, and I could feel the charge in the air. “These are the adze?”

“Yeah,” I said, as the fireflies scattered again, but this time they retreated into the shadows.

Zeran helped me to my feet. “Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re walking into a trap?”

I glanced ahead at the looming trees and the wrought-iron gate at the end of the road. “We are definitely walking into a trap.”

Zeran rocked on his heels. “I won’t blame you if you want to go back.”

Before I could answer, a voice cooed, “Now y’all have come too far to turn into yellow-bellied chickens.”

I squinted as the shadows peeled back from a tall man leaning against the gate, wearing a black fedora hat with a red feather. He had dark brown skin and a face so beautiful he could’ve been on magazine covers. He wore a plain white button-down shirt and matching trousers that looked much too hot for the bayou. “Are you Black Mamba?” I asked.

The man let out a hoarse laugh and stroked his chin. “I can see how you think that on account of my color, but alas, I’m the caretaker.” When I frowned, he added, “I take care of the estate. Keep things tidy. Feed the gators.”

“Those gators?” Zeran pointed at the shadows.