Emrys wasn’t sure if that had been by choice. Had Mr. Pierce simply gone into hiding before the kids could bring him to account for his crimes? Had he retreated deeper into the sheltering shadows of the Yellow Court? Or had he been taken off the board, punished by his collaborators for the loss of a one-of-a-kind relic?

Emrys couldn’t know the answer to that or any of his other questions. He believed Pierce truly had survived a harrowing encounter with Edna Milton in his youth. He also felt certain that Pierce had been the one leaving the hourglass where it would be found by unsuspecting victims, allowing Edna to hunt. But what would drive a man to subject other innocent people to a horror he himself had barely survived? What could the Yellow Court possibly have offered him? How could anyone be so selfish and cruel?

One day, you’ll understand.

Emrys shuddered at the thought. He hoped Pierce was wrong about that.

“You’ve seen now what happens when the wrong relic falls into the wrong hands,” said Van Stavern. “Monsters are the result.”

“Are you talking about Edna Milton?” asked Emrys. “Or about Enoch Pierce?”

“Both,” said Van Stavern. “Monsters wear many skins. And some walk among us.”

“The better to shove us into oncoming traffic,” Serena said sullenly.

They’d gathered in the reliquary, where Van Stavern had briefly praised them on their victory—before seeing the full extent of the damage and directing them to set things right at once. Although she bore the least blame for the state of the place, Hazel spearheaded the restoration efforts, spurred on by her obvious guilt.

“I can’t believe I missed the whole thing,” she said. “If anything had happened to you—to either of you …”

“It isn’t your fault,” said Serena. “That’s all there is to it.”

“You did miss a bit of sand, though,” said Emrys. “Over by the suit of armor.”

There had been a lot of sand to sweep up, and broken glass, and the place still smelled faintly of smoke. But Van Stavern confirmed that nothing had been irreparably damaged—aside from the hourglass, of course.

“You know,” said the book, “standard procedure is to secure the relics for containment and study. Not to destroy them.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” said Serena. “Now are you going to teach Hazel and me this portal spell, or what?”

Emrys perked up at that. “Does that mean …?”

“That I’m joining your monster-hunting club?” said Serena. “A monster swallowed my shoe last night, Emrys. I think I’m in the club whether I like it or not.”

“I’m glad,” said Hazel. “I wouldn’t want to do it without you.”

To Emrys’s surprise, he didn’t feel a pang of jealousy hearing Hazel say that. In fact, he realized he agreed with the sentiment entirely.

“Hold on,” he said. “You need to make it official.”

Serena sighed, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t even hesitate. She strode over to the nearby pedestal, lifting the gleaming shield as if she’d intended to do so all along. “It’s lighter than it looks. But heavier, too.” She slid the shield onto her arm, then turned back in their direction. “If it helps keep us safe, then I’ll carry it.”

“It suits you, truth-seeker,” said Van Stavern.

Emrys grinned. He didn’t know precisely what Van Stavern meant by the epithet, but the shield did suit her. And when he saw himself and Hazel reflected on its surface, they didn’t look like scared little kids. They looked capable and determined.

“Now, the spell,” said Van Stavern. “It will allow you immediate access to the Blue Reliquary—”

“The Doomsday Archives,” said Emrys.

“Come again?”

“We should call it the Doomsday Archives, like on the wiki. After all, if we’re the last remaining members of the Order, then we should find our own way into the story. And I think the wiki will be a big part of that. We’re going to need every advantage we can get—the relics, sure, but more modern tools, too.”

Van Stavern fixed him with his single watery eye. “Right you are, Emrys,” he said. “I can see the Order is in fine hands. If you three are our future … then there is hope for us yet.”

The next time they gathered for movie night, they decided to take a break from horror. There was no shortage of superhero movies, with predictable plotlines and uncomplicated morality. And happy endings, of course. Emrys decided he could do with more of those.

Before Serena could launch her streaming app of choice, her TV defaulted to a local news channel. Mayor Royce stood at a podium, flanked by two men. One was lanky, with a sadistic sharpness to his features; the other was squat with hooded eyes. A fly trap and a pitcher plant. They were the police detectives that Emrys and Hazel had seen at their school. The air of menace they’d exuded that day wasn’t at all softened by the television. Royce, for his part, seemed utterly at ease before the assembled reporters, despite the antagonistic relationship between the mayor and the press. Emrys swore he could see the contempt in the man’s smile, the sneer of a playground bully with powerful parents who could indulge every cruel impulse without fear of reprisal or consequences.

The text at the bottom of the screen revealed that Royce was suspending the city’s recycling program. “Ultimately, this will free up resources that can be better allocated to initiatives that truly matter to taxpayers,” he said.

“I hope the taxpayers know how to swim,” Serena said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ugh, hurry up and change the channel,” Emrys said. People had actually voted for him? How could anyone fail to see him for what he really was?

“Hold on,” said Hazel. “Do you see that?”

“Ow,” Serena said, rubbing her eye.

Slowly, Emrys realized their second sight had kicked in. But why? What had triggered it this time? He gazed around the apartment, waiting for the Midtown Mummy to leap out of the shadows—or some new evil artifact to emerge, bent on swallowing them whole.

Then he took another look at the TV, and he gasped.

How could anyone fail to see him for what he really was? That’s what Emrys had wondered.

So what was he?

Emrys didn’t know. But as he and Hazel and Serena stared slack-jawed at the TV, he swore the mayor was staring back at them, his shark eyes glinting with malice.

On his lapel, he wore a small pin in the shape of a chess piece. It was a yellow king.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One of our favorite things to discuss during school and library visits is the exciting potential that comes from cooperative storytelling. Creating art with others invites an electric, unpredictable sort of sorcery and makes the process feel a bit less lonely. In a series that aims to explore our anxieties about the world, that’s been doubly important for the both of us.

But in truth, every book that goes through a publisher is a cooperative venture. Often there are unsung heroes helping to shape the story whose names never appear on the cover. So we’d like to take a moment to sing their praises ourselves.

First and foremost, thanks to Tiffany Liao, our inspired and inspiring editor. What can we even say? Your enthusiasm for this project has been the beacon that guided us through New Rotterdam’s foggy seas. Thank you for your patience as we found our footing and for your wise, generous, big-hearted counsel during the drafting process. You had a clear vision for this series, even when we were stumbling through the dark. We can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on us, or for the deft hand you had in shaping this book into everything it could be.

That goes for everyone on the Zando team, as well. What an absolute gift it’s been working with this bright and energetic crew of people. TJ Ohler, thank you for your brilliant insights and endless patience. Thanks to the publicity and marketing teams who absolutely blew us away with their enthusiasm and creativity, especially Associate Publicist Sara Hayet and Director of Publicity Chloe Texier-Rose, and Marketing Coordinator Amelia Olsen, Senior Marketing Manager Allegra Green, Associate Director of Digital Strategy Anna Hall, and Director of Marketing and Imprint Partnerships Nathalie Ramirez.

Thank you to the small army of sages who kept us and this book on track: Copy Editor Rachel Kowal, Managing Editor and Production Manager Sarah Schneider, and Associate Production Editor and Contracts Coordinator Jed Munson. And to the team at Neuwirth, Managing Editor Jeff Farr, Managing Editorial Assistant Noah Perkins, Production Associate Lexi Winter, and Production Director Beth Metrick. And to Director of Rights Sierra Stovall and Head of Sales Andrew Rein, for your work getting this out to readers far and wide. And a huge thank you to Zando’s CEO Molly Stern for allowing us to be among the first middle-grade projects Zando publishes. We are absolutely humbled by the honor.