Except Mateo had liked Van Gogh when he took art history. Van Gogh was beautiful. Captive’s Sound was grotesque.

This started at Nadia’s house. Once again Mateo thought of what he’d seen when he looked into the attic—like a flash, a purple flash of light surrounded by all those dark red sparks—and then there had been that incredible shiver when his eyes met Nadia’s. But the shiver … well, that was just Nadia’s dark eyes. The light, though—

Seriously, what do you think purple light had to do with this? Why would that make you feel so weird? Either you’re going crazy or you’re coming down with the flu. Or you’re going crazy and coming down with the flu for extra fun.

Somehow he got home, pulling up to his house right as he thought he couldn’t take it anymore. The ocean roared even louder in his ears—or was that his own blood rushing through? His heart was beating fast, his skin sweaty, all of it adrenaline overload.

At least Dad wasn’t home yet. Mateo slammed the door behind him and stumbled to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to help.

At least, until he stood up and looked in the mirror.

His face was the same, but around it was—Mateo would have called it a halo, except that it was dark instead of light. Within it twisted shapes, too foggy and indefinite to be identified, but his mind supplied suggestions. Snakes. Broken glass. Thorns.

Water dripping from his forehead and chin, Mateo lifted his shaking hands to try to touch the halo. Would it feel like slime? Like razor blades? It couldn’t be anything good; it had to hurt, but somehow he had to prove to himself that it was really there.

Instead his hands passed right through it. Mateo felt a slight chill against his fingers, but nothing else.

In his reflection, the halo swirled around his fingers, seeming to stick to them like tar.

Mateo bolted from the bathroom and ran from his house, scrambling down the rocky slope that led from their backyard down to the beach. Gritty sand dragged at his boots as he stumbled toward the ocean—toward the vast darkness where nothing had changed, nothing was sick, and everything remained sane.

Is that why you did it, Mom? Is that why you decided to drown? Was this the last place left you could get any peace?

But the waves weren’t dark any longer. Out in the distance, not far from the lighthouse, a beam shone up from the water like a spotlight aimed at the stars. It gleamed a vivid pale green, more steadily than it should have for something submerged in the ocean.

Hugging himself against the chill, staring at the eerie light, Mateo fought back the urge to vomit. The fear that had been haunting him since the dreams began was on him now, like a bird of prey on its kill, and he felt paralyzed. Numbly he thought that he should call Elizabeth—one of the handful of numbers saved in his phone, by far his most called. She’d know what to do. She always did.