I prepare the tripod. Poppa assembles the telescope. I sit on the quilt, the dew-stained grass already soaking through the blanket to dampen my clothes.

“Tonight I spy with my little eye,” Poppa says as he closes one eye to focus on something in the sky. He pauses and turns to look at me. “Well, why don’t you tell me.”

The tendrils draw back as if burned. Influences hisses.

I imitate him, drawing close to the telescope, closing one eye to gaze at what he’s located in the sky. I inhale sharply and exclaim, “Mars!”

Poppa laughs, his wrinkled face a map of his happiness and sadness.

“How right you are, my little astronomer!” He hands me a Twinkie, and I rest my head on his shoulder as I eat.

My eyes fly open as Influence tears from my mind. Lennon stands in front of me, a gun in her hand. When she realizes what’s happening, her eyes go wide, and she lifts her weapon.

“No!”

Influence races for her. The impact causes her to stagger as she absorbs the darkling. Before she can regain her stance, a black shape zooms before my vision. It crashes into Lennon and transforms as they tumble to the ground. The spell’s interrupted, and the coin and the gun go flying.

It’s Shy! I’ve never felt such joy. I want to collapse with relief, but another black shape enters the mausoleum and shifts. I’m caught in strong arms and held up.

“Oh no, you don’t,” a familiar voice says.

“Roth?”

“If you fall, the occulates will consume you,” he says. “Stay up.”

I obey, shaking as Roth unsheathes his scythe and starts stabbing at the occulate pool at my feet and hands. The creatures hiss and steam, and soon my hand and feet are free.

“Get the coins,” I order Roth as I stand.

I call the thread forward and move toward Lennon. She’s clawing at Shy, reaching for his hair and ripping feathers from his wings. Then she rears back and hits him hard in the side. He cries out and falls, breathless. Lennon scrambles to her feet and reaches for him, but she freezes when she notices me.

“You wouldn’t,” she says.

“Anora.” My name escapes Shy’s lips in a harsh breath, and he shakes his head.

I glance at his hand, and I swear I see a flicker of a silver thread in his palm. I can almost see the connection between us. But then it disappears.

My fist shakes, and as bad as I want to watch her soul being consumed, I know it’s not right—the thread has caused enough damage. As my thread reels back into my palm, Lennon reaches for a nearby scythe. A shot rings out, and she falls backward, hitting the ground hard.

I twist to find Roth holding her gun.

“Damn,” he says. “We should use these more often.”