Alana had overheard all the details from Carrie Keene, who had been surprisingly loud in the library earlier that day. The Petersons’ dog had been found running around the neighborhood. Their front door was open, and there was a large smear of blood on the kitchen floor. The police were called, and they searched the house. It was empty. The Petersons — Donna and Steve and their three kids, Noah, David, and Riley — were gone.

Aside from the blood, there were no clues. Crime-scene techs went through the house. Nothing had been touched. They were baffled.

Alana had a bad feeling as soon as she heard about it. Her sword confirmed it; it hummed softly in her gym bag all day. When she took it out that night, it glowed as she put it in its scabbard and tied it to her back.

This was her job. This was what she was for.

She leaped the fence and landed in the backyard, dead silent in her Reeboks. The back door was locked, but opened easily with a shove.

Alana didn’t need to turn on any lights. Her vision extended well past human baseline. Nothing appeared to be disturbed, if you didn’t have Alana’s senses. The kids’ cereal boxes were lined up on the counter, right next to their bowls and spoons. Their backpacks were by the door, their homework still on the dining room table.

But there was the smell of dried blood, which Alana knew, and the scent of the Other Side, which unfortunately she knew even better.

She sniffed again, and caught something else. She thought, Oh, those morons.

She walked quickly down the hall and into the room of Riley Peterson, the youngest child. Five years old, she’d heard Carrie say. There were rainbows and stuffed animals and unicorns. (Which always baffled Alana, to be honest. Unicorns were assholes.) There was fingerprint powder left behind by the techs on every surface.

In the corner was Riley’s bed, a big, iron-framed, hand-me-down antique with a canopy, like something out of a story about a princess.

Alana went over to the bed and lifted it easily. Idiots.

Riley Peterson was curled in a tiny ball, clinging to one leg of the bedframe. Her arms were scratched, and her eyes were shut tight.

Middleton’s finest. Having someone else do all the hard work all the time made them lazy. They didn’t bother to look under the bed.

Alana gently but firmly pulled Riley free. Riley didn’t make a noise aside from a small squeak, but hung on as tightly as possible.

Alana sat her down gently in the center of the room. Riley opened one eye cautiously, and then the other.

“Hey,” Alana said.

Relief flooded into Riley’s face, and she threw her arms around Alana’s neck. It took another moment to disentangle her.

“Do you know me?” Alana asked. It was a small town, after all.

Riley shook her head.