“It’s one of the oldest and most famous relics we have,” Van Stavern said. “No doubt you’ve heard the tale. Medusa, the snake-haired gorgon. Perseus, the hero who avoided her petrifying gaze. The Aegis is a powerful relic, capable of reflecting occult powers. Perhaps even more devastating, its mirrored surface reveals truth, which can be a grimmer foe than any monster.”

The eye swiveled in its socket, turning from shield to girl. “It’s calling to you, isn’t it? The shield chooses those with stout hearts and keen minds. Heroes. Truth-seekers.”

For the first time Emrys could remember, Serena seemed genuinely awestruck. Her eyes were wide with wonderment. And in that moment, the sense of destiny that Emrys had been feeling—that they were meant to be here; all three of them, together—rose, along with every hair on his neck.

This was real.

They were going to save the—

“No.”

Serena took a step back from the shield, her face pulling into a scowl. “It’s too much, too fast,” she said. “I’m not joining some battle against evil knickknacks on a whim. You two do what you want. I won’t snitch, but I won’t be forced into it, either.”

The girl turned her withering gaze on Emrys … and the book nestled in his arms.

“Now listen closely, Professor Hex, because I don’t like repeating myself. Take. Me. Home.”

INTERLUDE

Casper Leonard loved storms.

The bigger, the better, as far as he was concerned. He loved the way they reminded humanity of its smallness. He took a strange comfort in knowing that the responsibilities on his ever-growing list were fleeting, in the grand scheme of things. That all our pressing little tasks—our bustling cities and profound works of art—amounted to little more than a layer of dust to be scrubbed clean by nature’s sweeping hand.

And tonight’s pressing little task was laundry.

Casper had been so busy studying for his upcoming exam that he’d failed to notice the dwindling pile of clean underwear until it was too late. Now, with the World History test tomorrow and the storm raging overhead, he’d found himself without anything to wear to the exam.

Just as his parents had promised, life as a freshman at Acheron University had been a time of awakenings for Casper, though most of them were of the rude variety. He’d had chores back home, of course, but not quite so many of them, and not all at the same time.

Thankfully, the Screamin’ Suds twenty-four-hour laundromat stayed open through the storm, though its owner, Mr. Landon, had yet to emerge from the back. Casper was alone, except for the faded poster of Infra Red, Mr. Landon’s favorite singer, her head curled back in what looked like an epic shriek.

Casper didn’t mind the solitude. He reclined in a plastic seat, reading and re-reading the same paragraph about Marco Polo’s meeting with Kublai Khan. Outside, wind pummeled the laundromat’s windows with shadowy fists. Occasionally, strobes of lightning brightened the sky, startling Casper like sudden headlights.

He just hoped the power stayed on long enough for the rinse cycle to finish. He could air-dry his boxers if it came to it.

As if on cue, the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Casper sucked in a breath, waiting for darkness to fall over him like a blanket. But the power held. The world kept spinning, and the washing machine with it. Propped against Casper’s chest, Marco Polo kneeled before Kublai Khan, their pivotal meeting suspended in time.

Casper only caught sight of the hourglass because of the lightning.

A glittering lance of brilliance illuminated the street outside—and there it was, propped against the curb. Its elegant, golden frame was shocking enough to see in a place like this, but Casper swore the sand inside the top bulb looked dark and pulpy. Almost … red.

As the brightness faded, the street was plunged into shadow again. A moment later, thunder growled.

Casper stood, setting his textbook aside. He stalked toward the window, gazing out into the blustery gloom, and waited for another flicker in the sky.

He didn’t need to wait long. A bright flash of lightning spotlighted the hourglass. The sand was definitely red. Bizarre. As Casper watched, grains began to snake down into the lower bulb, as if some inner timer had just been activated. The sand was hypnotic to watch, curling lazily downward into a small but expanding pile.

The silence struck him like a blow. All the noise of the laundromat just vanished—the creak of the washing machine and rattle of wind replaced by a riotous quiet. Casper’s arms exploded with goose bumps. At first, he thought the power must have finally gone out, but that wasn’t right. The lights were still on. And outside …

He gasped as he looked out the window. A silvery fork of lightning still stretched across the sky, skewering clouds like they were oozing hunks of meat. It just hung there, frozen in place.

“That’s not possible,” Casper mumbled, the words ridiculous even to his own ears. That wasn’t how lightning worked. This wasn’t how the world worked. And yet …

He pushed against the door handle and it swung open easily. Outside, the street was just as silent as the laundromat. Rain was suspended in the air, tiny needles of moisture that melted at his touch, dampening his skin. Casper listened for cars navigating the wet roads, or wind buffeting the trees. Nothing.

Until he saw the figure.

An old woman stood in the middle of the road, her creamy cardigan and velvet slippers jarringly inappropriate for the weather. She didn’t even have an umbrella! But she smiled at Casper. Her eyes were vague, almost lethargic.

Though the sight of the woman was unnerving, Casper raised his hand in greeting. Had she wandered away from an assisted-living facility somewhere? Maybe she was in trouble.

The woman raised her hand back.

“Hello?” he called.

“Hello, Casper,” she said. “My, this storm is something, isn’t it? They say bad weather always looks worse through a window, but it’s plenty vicious out here.” She tilted her head. “Could you do me a favor, dear?”

Casper took a step forward, squinting at the stranger.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” She didn’t look familiar. And where would he even have encountered her? Casper had only lived in New Rotterdam since the start of the semester. Could this strange old lady possibly be from the university?

The woman’s smile widened. Her hazy eyes focused. “Normally, I wouldn’t rush things,” she said, ignoring his question. “You all have so little time as it is. But this weather has me feeling sluggish. Do you mind if we skip the chase entirely? Just this once.”

“The … chase?” Casper repeated. He didn’t like this.

He glanced nervously toward the laundromat. The door was still open. How quickly could he get inside and bar the entrance if he had to? Casper turned back and—

The face that now hovered inches from his own did not belong to an old woman. Skin peeled back into leathery folds, unveiling a cavern of a mouth that was lined with horrific, barbed teeth. The face dangled in midair from a sinewy throat—a throat that was quickly swelling open with each throb of serpentine muscle.

Casper screamed. The fangs closed down.

The street went quiet again.

From several feet away, an hourglass counted patiently, the lone witness to Casper’s fate. He disappeared that night, scrubbed clean from the world beneath the silent storm.

7

When Emrys awoke the next morning, the Atlas was gone.

He sprung up from his bed in a panic. He didn’t believe for a second that it had all been a dream—no dream could be so vivid. But he’d left the Atlas at his bedside, within easy reach and his immediate line of sight, just as he had when Sir Galahound had been a frightened little puppy in a brand-new home.

He might be an initiate of the Order of the Azure Eye—marked in some intangible way—but that book was Emrys’s sole physical connection to a world of myths and monsters. It was proof—not only that the unseen world existed, but that Emrys had a place there. Besides that, the Atlas was a living being in Emrys’s care. Had he failed his charge already? Had his mom found the book while he’d been sleeping? Or his dog? Or the—what were they called—the Yellow Court? Could they have tracked him down so soon?

In his groggy panic, Emrys took a few moments to realize the Atlas had been replaced by a notebook he’d never seen before. It appeared to be a standard composition book, with black binding, rounded edges, and a black-and-white speckled cover. It was gently used and thoroughly unremarkable—with the exception of a drawing, scrawled in blue ink, set right in the center of the notebook’s front cover.

It was a drawing of an eye.