“I didn’t even see him at first.” Her voice shrinks. “He wasn’t there, and then … he was. Just this tall, bony, goblin-looking-ass dude, grinning at me, and I was sure I was dead. I saw my whole fucking life flash before my eyes, and then … I don’t know.” Adriana squeezes her hands so tight her knuckles pop. “Everything gets fuzzy after that. He told me something, then the next thing I know, you’re coming up your front steps and I’ve been sitting there so long my feet are numb. But I don’t know when I got here, or how long I was waiting. It’s all a blur.”

“Is there a spell for that? Some way to bring back your memory? Or, like … I mean, he spoke through you! Like, he planted his words in your head. Maybe there’s some way to reverse that and use it against him?”

She frowns, but her eyes are distant and thoughtful. “Like how?”

“He used magic to do it, so there must be some kind of counterspell, right?” I barely know more about magic than I do about math, but I’m desperate right now. “Magic is all about balance and harmony, and equal and opposite reaction, and stuff, right? If he zapped you, there has to be a way to zap him back!” I’m practically pleading. “Your grandma has all those grimoires full of big-deal spells … Maybe there’s something in one of them!”

“Auggie…” Adriana shakes her head, stricken. “Even if there is, I can’t summon the kind of power something like that would require—and if I tried … Remember the time in sixth grade we decided to make lasagna and ended up setting your whole oven on fire because we had no clue what we were doing? It would be like that, except with my brain.”

“He has my parents. I have to do something.” More tears roll down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. It’s the first time I realize that my glasses are missing—that I lost them, and didn’t even notice, because I don’t seem to need them anymore. You have until Thursday to decide. The Nexus always goes hyperactive on the vernal equinox … Is that when my time runs out?

Suddenly, my best friend shoves to her feet, her fingers worrying into fists. “I think my abuela knows something.”

“What do you mean?” I finally stand up as well, shaky inside and out, remembering Ximena’s plastic bag—thinking about Hope’s freaky woodcut.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her acting weird the night you came over for dinner,” she replies with a snort. “She snatched some of your hair, and I let her convince me it was for a protection spell!”

“It wasn’t?” My voice reaches for the stars.