“I’ll be careful,” I said, suddenly a lot more nervous. “So what happens now?” I questioned, looking at the candle on the footstool.

“Now I invite him over.”

I stifled a shudder as Latin flowed from Nick. My lips curved down at the alienness of it. As he spoke, Nick seemed to take on a different cast, shadows under his eyes growing, to make him look ill. Even his voice changed, more resonant and somehow echoing in my head. Again there was a slow buildup of ever-after energy, rising until it was almost intolerable. I was antsy and nervous, almost relieved when Nick said Algaliarept’s name with a drawn-out, careful precision.

Nick sagged, taking a clean breath. I could smell his sweat over his deodorant in the close confines. His fingers slipped into my hand, giving me a quick squeeze before dropping it. The clock ticked from the living room, and the sound of the traffic past the window was hushed. Nothing happened.

“Is something supposed to happen?” I asked, starting to feel silly, standing in Nick’s closet.

“It might take a while. Like I said, it’s a trial membership, not the real thing.”

I took three slow breaths, listening. “How long?”

“Since I’ve been putting myself in the circle instead of him? Five, ten minutes.”

Nick’s mood was easing, and I could feel the heat from our shoulders almost touching. An ambulance sounded faint in the distance, disappearing.

I eyed the burning candle. “What if it doesn’t show?” I asked. “How long do we have to wait before we can get out of the closet?”

Nick gave me a noncommittal, stranger-in-the-elevator smile. “Uh, I wouldn’t step out of the circle until sunup. Until he appears and we can banish him properly back to the ever-after, he can show up anytime between now and then.”

“You mean if it doesn’t show, we’re stuck in this closet until morning?”

He nodded, his eyes jerking away as the smell of burnt amber came to me. “Oh, good. He’s here,” Nick whispered, standing straighter.

Oh, good. He’s here, I repeated sarcastically in my head. God help me. My life was so screwed up.

The pile of ash at the end of the hallway was hazed with a smear of ever-after. It grew with the speed of flowing water, up and out to take a rough, animal shape. I forced myself to breathe as eyes appeared, red and orange and slit sideways like a goat’s. My stomach clenched as a savage muzzle formed, saliva dripping to the rug even before it finished coalescing into the pony-size dog I remembered from the basement vault of the university library: Nick’s personal fear of dogs brought to life.

Harsh panting rasped, the sound pulling an instinctive fear from the depths of my soul that I hadn’t even known I had. Paws tipped with nails and powerful hindquarters appeared as it shook itself, the last of the mist forming a thick mane of yellow hair. Beside me, Nick shuddered. “You okay?” I asked, and he nodded, his face pale.