He is still pretty much in beagle form, although his shape bulges and stretches erratically, like he might change into something else at any second. The antler from Eight’s Chest is clenched in his teeth, the sound not at all muffled by it. Flecks of drool drip down the antler and into BK’s fur. He stands up on his hind legs, his snout pointed at the moon, the oddly melodic noise flowing out of him. It looks like he’s in some kind of trance.

Eight teleports in from downstairs. “I’ve got Sam and Malcolm monitoring emergency channels, just in case some nosy neighbor calls the cops,” he says. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, John, but I think it’s got something to do with that antler.”

“No shit,” Six says. She snaps her fingers at BK. “Quiet, Bernie Kosar!”

BK doesn’t even seem to notice. I spot Marina over at the edge of the rooftop, using her night vision to keep an eye out for anyone that might spot us. Luckily, we’re high enough and Chicago is loud enough that I don’t think anyone will hear BK. Even so, I don’t want to take any chances.

“Did you try taking the antler from him?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Nine replies. “He didn’t like that. Growled at me and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t sound like BK,” Sarah says, her eyes widening with concern.

“Think this is some kind of Chimæra nightmare?” Six suggests.

I shake my head. All this weirdness with BK started when he got hold of that antler. It doesn’t seem like anything in our Chests should work against us. Even my bracelet, which hurt like hell initially, turned out to be helpful. There should be a rational explanation for this.

“Where is Ella?” Sarah asks. “Could this be like what’s happening with her, but for Chimæra?”

“Sleeping right through it,” Marina replies. “And this seems totally different.”

I reach out with my telepathy—Bernie Kosar, you need to be quiet now—but don’t get any response. Not seeing any other option but to try and wrestle the antler away from him, I step forward. Before I take a second step, Bernie drops onto all fours, letting go of the antler. His howling echoes in my ears for a few seconds after it’s over. I grab the antler with my telekinesis and pluck the slobber-covered thing out of the air. BK pants happily, looking around at everyone.

I make eye contact with Nine, both of us patched into BK telepathically. “It’s like he doesn’t know what just happened,” I say.

“Are you drunk, BK?” Nine asks, mystified.

BK bounds over to us, tail wagging. He’s got the same look of dog euphoria that he gets when we’ve just come back from a really satisfying run outside.