Once the sword is in her hand, like it was made for her grip, she knows why. She looks at it with a kind of baffled awe. Everything that never made sense about her suddenly fits.

She hesitates, because of course she would. This is all insane. She hasn’t been raised with any of this. She’s had none of her mother’s upbringing. To her, all of this is fairy tales and horror movies brought to life.

She is only a quarter magic. She is mostly human. She’s eleven years old.

But fortunately, she loves fairy tales and horror movies. In her head, she’s been training for this her whole life.

Like her mother, she was born for this. The sword glows in her hand and the night leaps back like it’s frightened. She knows exactly what to do.

She rushes at the Shadowmen as they rise from the ground, swinging the sword and shouting at the top of her lungs.

Wade lashes out with one fist and knocks Mary off her feet, sending the scalpel flying away into the darkness.

She cut him deep, but he feels the wounds crusting over with the black tar that runs in his veins now instead of blood. She sliced his carotid and one eye, and if he’d still been alive, she probably would have killed or crippled him.

Instead, he oozes out more of himself, growing a slick new skin. Stronger and tougher. Better.

It still hurts like hell, of course. He’s going to make her pay for that.

From the corner of one eye gooey with black stuff, he sees something coming at him fast, too fast for him to avoid.

It’s Alana. She hits Wade like a truck, and he achieves a short flight before he lands hard, thirty feet away.

She turns to Carrie and her mom.

“Go,” she says. “I’ve got this.”

“Alana — ” Carrie says. She holds out the pistol.

Alana grins and rolls her eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

Then she faces Wade, while Carrie and her mother limp away

Now it is just Eric and Colchester, staring at each other across the Serpent’s Crown.

Well. Three, actually. Because Jeremy is there, too. Waking up.

“You said you would help me,” Jeremy says to Eric, his face dissolving into a puddle of tears at the unfairness of it all. “You promised.”

“I said I would help you,” Eric explains. Magical contracts are binding in a lot of very unpleasant ways for those who break them. So Eric was very careful about his words and his intent. “And I will. I’m going to help you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy stops. He looks at Eric with confusion. The ghost form of Colchester freezes above him, stuttering like a video image that can’t quite load.