“Not so fast,” he says, and I thrash against him, my teeth sharpened. I want to finish him, to devour him in what will soon be broad daylight, but I don’t get a chance. That’s because we’re suddenly not alone.

A low growl, a flash of gray, and the wolves are in a ring around us, emerging as if from nothing.

Tyrone’s face goes pale as sea-foam, and I choke up a laugh.

“You want to call the police on them too?” I ask, as he lets go of my arm and tries to back away. Not that it does him any good. They’re everywhere now, circling faster, their bodies a haze of fur and claws around us.

Bee huddles closer to me. “What should we do?”

I look to the wolves, and they look back at me, their teeth glistening, their gazes bright as holly.

“Go on.” I advance a single unsteady step. “Get out of here.”

The promise of morning hangs in the air, and I’m convinced this won’t work. That they’ll charge us in an instant and tear out our throats. And let’s face it: we just don’t have time for that today.

But that’s not what they do at all. Their tails tucked, the wolves slink away, one by one. Tyrone should be happy now, but instead of being grateful, he just glares at me.

“What are you?” he asks, and he looks liable to take hold of me again.

“Don’t,” I say, rage searing through me, and there’s a sudden jolt of movement beneath us. At first, I’m sure it’s another earthquake, as familiar as an old friend in these parts. But it’s not the ground that’s shifting. It’s the rubble. And it’s moving because of me, because I’m coaxing it to life. All the decay that I thought had burned into nothing is shimmering at our feet. It rises, bit by bit, fragments of cobwebs and ash and dust. The rot I trained in my bedroom is here with us, and it’s ready to do my bidding.

“There he is,” I whisper. Then I stand back and smile as it slithers toward Tyrone.

He edges away, one careless step after another, his eyes wide. “What is that?”

“It’s me,” I say, and for the first time, I’m a little bit proud of it.

Tyrone’s halfway across the street now, his gaze darting over his shoulder, looking for the rot. Looking at me too. “Get out of here,” he wheezes, “and don’t come back.”

I can’t help but laugh, as the decay settles down again, returning to the wreckage. “Don’t worry,” I say. “We won’t.”