Matthew went down the hall to brush his teeth (the movement of the bristles over his gums and teeth made it sound like Declan’s shouts were oscillating) and got a drink of water (Declan’s voice sounded higher when Matthew was swallowing and lower when he wasn’t) and looked at himself in the mirror.

He thought the same thing he had thought every morning for the past several weeks: I don’t look like a dream, do I?

The boy in the mirror was taller than the one who had appeared in the mirror a year ago. When he opened his mouth, he had all the proper teeth. He looked all right. He could be forgiven for having thought he was just like everyone else, all this time. But looking all right and being forgiven didn’t really change the truth, which was that Matthew was not human. He was just human-shaped.

The boy in the mirror frowned.

His face didn’t look used to frowning.

Declan’s screams escalated.

Right.

Matthew shuffled down the hall to his brother’s room.

The scene was the same as it had been every morning for the past several days. There was a pile of mice. Some winged lizard things. A badger with a secretive kind of smile, but just around the eyes. A pair of deer the size of cats. A cat the size of a deer, with hands like a person. A collection of birds of varying sizes and shapes. And possibly the most impressive thing, a rough-coated black boar the size of a minivan.

All of these creatures were piled on top of Declan’s bed, which was where the screaming was coming from.

“Deklo!” Matthew said. “Mmm, cold.”

The room was chilly on account of the open window, which was the work of the hand-cat. Matthew had accidentally caught it in the act before, when he was out walking the hills in a dazed, lost, predawn walk. He’d heard a clank and a clatter and looked up to see the hand-cat swiftly climbing the gutter to the dormer that led to Declan’s room. Without any pause at all, the creature had shimmied the window open. It was both impressive and creepy to watch the hand-cat working its little nails under the edge to get it open. Opposable thumbs really were splendid things.

Declan’s voice was muffled. “Get them out.”

He was difficult to see in the bed because he’d made himself a sheet-blanket cocoon, the edges sealed against the mattress as much as possible to keep the smaller creatures from burrowing against him. They were not put off, though. The hand-cat plucked at the sheet near his face with intense devotion. The cat-sized deer were mewling and pawing (hoofing?) at the legs of the bed. The winged lizard things pounced playfully on Declan’s feet each time they moved beneath the blanket.

“Sometime this century,” Declan’s voice said. “Out.”