Germ shrugs, picks up the flashlight, points it at a wall, and turns it on. But it’s only a beam. She hands it back to me. As soon as I take hold of it, the bright, breathtaking bluebird appears—and then wreaks havoc. She circles the room, tearing down the chandelier above the overturned dining room table, knocks over the one vase that was still standing, and nearly eats Fred the spider as he sits on my knee. Just in time, I cover Fred with my free hand, and turn the flashlight off again before she can reach him.

“I don’t think she just destroys bad guys,” I say.

“Um, yeah,” Germ says.

Under Ebb’s worried gaze, I shepherd Fred into my pocket.

“This time,” Germ suggests, looking thoughtful, “maybe see if you can control it more. Like, be calm, know what you want to point it at. Try to think of it as an extension of you. Like your arm or something. That’s what we learned in nunchucks class.” Germ has taken every athletic class known to mankind.

I warily hold the flashlight again, taking a deep breath before I turn it on, then direct it at a safe, empty corner of the room.

The little bluebird appears again. This time, though, she is slow and gentle, pecking around the floor at imaginary seeds. She seems to suddenly notice us, looks over, cocks her head inquisitively. I tense up as she hops toward me, nervous she’ll hurt me. But she only hops up onto my hand.

My fingers twitch a little. She feels like part air and part feathers. Like a half-imaginary, half-material thing. She appears to like me. To want to please me, actually.

“We should name her,” Germ says. “How about ‘Chauncy’?”

“Chauncy” is Germ’s name for everything that needs a name, because she thinks it’s funny.

“I knew a boy named ‘Chauncy,’ ” Ebb says wistfully. Germ snorts into her hand.

The bird sits on my finger, nuzzling up to me, chirping very softly—as if she didn’t harbor a powerful, destructive side. She doesn’t have much of a voice, but her liquid dark eyes hold cleverness, I decide. And courage, despite her size.

“Little One,” I say decisively. “She looks like a Little One.”

We walk out onto the lawn, so that we won’t break anything else in the house. (Not that it matters with the house already so broken—we just don’t want things to land on our heads.)

“Get her to do some stuff,” Germ says.