Charlie didn’t sleep much that night either. He tossed and turned for hours thinking about Emma and the daemons. Charlie wasn’t afraid of what the daemons would do. He was afraid of what they had already done.

  “I should have just told her,” Charlie muttered to himself. “But how could she ever trust me if she knew?”

  Charlie kicked off the blankets in frustration. He checked the clock for at least the tenth time that night. 5 AM. That would have to be good enough. Emma would probably still be sleeping. That will make what he had to do easier. He got up and dressed in the dark. Pajama bottoms, with jeans over the top. Long flannel shirt, with a hoodie over that. It was warm on summer nights like this, and he was overheating by the time he got to the door. He felt a bit more secure for the extra padding as protection though, just in case. On impulse, he stopped by the garage to pickup a heavy wrench as well.

  Quiet sleeping houses scattered far between. The horizon was beginning to glow with pre-dawn light. No one watched him tuck the wrench into his hoodie so he could climb over the fence. He straddled the fence for a moment, using the height to peer across the neighborhood. No fires, at least. No police. He rolled over the side of the fence and dropped confidentially into Mrs. Orwell’s yard like he’d done so many times before. It would always be Mrs. Orwell’s yard, no matter who lived here, for a hundred years to come.

  Charlie walked up to the porch. All the lights were off. She might still be awake in the library though, since the shelves were in front of the windows. He tested the door and found it unlocked. He shook his head. He didn’t like this. He was doing something wrong. But he entered anyway. Why should he respect the witch’s property, after what she’d done to his family? Maybe he should have told Emma how wicked her grandmother really was. But he thought she must have loved her grandmother, and he felt pity for her. It’s not like he took care of her grandmother’s daemons out of the goodness of his heart. She’d left him no other choice.

  No time to waste before Emma might wake. He left all the lights off so not to risk it. That just made him feel more like a criminal sneaking through the house. Charlie headed straight for the kitchen, pausing only a moment to notice all the clocks had synchronized to midnight now. Then shrugging, he went to the oven and pulled it open. The foul breath from the daemon mouth inside almost made him choke. He covered his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. He’d intended to leave the light off, but he couldn’t bear those jagged teeth leering at him without seeing its expression. Charlie turned on the kitchen lights and closed the door.

  The oven’s monstrous mouth grinned wickedly. All those needle thin teeth in multiple rows fit together into a perfect mesh. Then opening wide, its black sluggish tongue lolled out toward Charlie to lick the air.

  “I know, I know. I’m getting it now,” Charlie told the mouth. He dodged the probing tongue and reached for the top shelf. He grabbed a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a tiger sitting on its hind legs. But instead of cookies, when he reached inside, he pulled out a handful of little blue mushrooms. The oven daemon became excited. Its black tongue continued to distend, now snaking its way along the ground toward Charlie.

  “Okay okay, but you have to be quiet. You know what to do.” Charlie tossed the mushrooms inside the oven, which gratefully gnashed its teeth. The mushrooms exploded when they were punctured into little clouds of foul yellow gas. Charlie coughed and closed the oven. He counted off ten seconds, and then opened it again. The yellow smoke was still there, but it seemed farther away. Inside the oven, Charlie recognized the yellow sky of the Gray World where the daemons lived.

  “Hello?” he called softly. “Is the Master there?”

  “Always here. Always watching.” The voice rolled slow and deep. It wasn’t coming from the oven, which was still chomping on its prize. A cloud of black smoke rose in the yellow sky. It suspended in the air for a moment, warping and changing shape as though something moved within. Then a red eye opened, and another, and a third. Two where they ought to be, one in the forehead of the face which resolved itself from the smoke.

  “I did what you asked me to do. I followed Emma and confirmed that she is a witch. Just like her Grandmother. Now it’s your turn.”

  “You did more than I asked of you. My daemons would have brought her to me if you hadn’t fired off your gun.”

  Charlie swallowed. He was nervous. He wanted to slam the oven shut and pretend none of it was real. But he knew this daemon called ‘The Master’ didn’t have a contract to let him enter the world. The Master could not escape from the portal in the oven on his own. So Charlie held his ground and said:

  “I’m not going to let you have your prize before you give me mine.”

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  “You have nothing to fear. We have a contract. The Master never breaks his word.”

  Charlie nodded. “Let me see my brother.”

  The black smoke cleared, just for a moment, a passing breeze of yellow wind. Charlie glimpsed his brother for a half a second, wide-eyed and terrified. Then the smoke concealed him once more.

  “Give me my witch.”

  The red eyes in their normal place blinked. One then the other, then the first, never ceasing. The third eye in the forehead never closed. Charlie found himself always staring at this one.

  “Let me see the contract again,” Charlie said uneasily. “I don’t want any loopholes.”

  Laughter like rolling thunder through the cloud. The smoke parted to reveal old parchment, much like the type in Mrs. Orwell’s desk. It was written in blood, and Charlie involuntarily rubbed his left forearm in memory of signing it last week. That was before Mrs. Orwell died, when Charlie still thought he needed protection against her!

  The deep voice began to solemnly read:

  “Let this contract bind the souls of Charlie Wendle and the Gray World’s Master. Neither shall know peace until the contract is fulfilled, in living or in dying. An exchange, freely given, so both may prosper with no ill will.

  The Master invites his friend Emma Larson to live in the Gray World and join her grandmother. Charlie will help her find her way into the portal.

  In exchange, The Master will release Freddie Wendle from the Gray World and send him back home.”

  The contract was swallowed in smoke once more, and the face returned. The daemon’s voice was kind and patient as he added: “And of course, both of our signatures, at the bottom. You see, there really is no room for funny business or ambiguity. I wish the little witch in my world, and your brother to be in yours. Surely you want the same. After-all, her grandmother did steal little Freddie in the first place, didn’t she? She is no friend of yours.”

  Charlie nodded. It was true. It was Mrs. Orwell’s own daemons who stole his brother in the night. Then frowning, he shook his head.

  “Mrs. Orwell was still alive when I signed that. I was angry at her. I should have worked that out with her, but I was afraid of her too. I never should have gone to you for help. Now I know Emma better, and I don’t want her to be hurt.”

  “Emma will turn on you. It is the way of witches.” The deep voice wasn’t so kind anymore. There was a growl rumbling underneath. “Just as her grandmother did. Remember how much you hated her that night? It was just the three of you, wasn’t it? She showed you and your brother such pretty magic. She promised you a daemon egg, didn’t she?”

  “I said it was a mistake. What more do you want from me?”

  The Master was clearly enjoying himself though. He chuckled as he said: “A daemon egg, to hatch into a wish. You didn’t care about what you were getting your little brother into, did you? All you could see was your own greed. Blinded by such feeble treasure.”

  “I would have helped so many people with the wish! I don’t want any of this anymore!” Charlie nearly shouted. He clapped his hands over his mouth, looking nervously to the closed kitchen door.

  “The Old Witch never gave you that wish, did she? She only took your brother for her spell. You sacrificed him for your own ambition, and betrayed yourself for nothing. Maybe your brother is better off here. I must love him more than you do.”

  Charlie thought he heard a sound upstairs in the library. He held his breath and listened. The face in the smoke cocked its head to the side, listening too.

  “Is she there with you now? Bring her to me.”

  “I want you to promise you won’t hurt her. What do you want her for anyway?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

  “Do not worry,” the darkness cooed. “She is going where hurt is no longer possible. First it was Mrs. Orwell, always in the way. Now I simply wish to pull a weed up by its roots before it spreads.”

  Charlie frowned. “That can’t be right. Mrs. Orwell was still alive when we signed the contract. Does that mean you knew she was going to die? Are you the one who killed her?”

  The Master laughed. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Ding dong the wicked witch is gone. You will thank me for sparing the world another one.”

  The smoke parted again to reveal Freddie. This time it stayed clear, and Charlie was able to see where he was. Two years younger than Charlie, with reddish hair and twice the freckles. His face was thinner than last week. His eyes were tired, their expression haunted and hollow. He leaned on a marble balcony with an obsidian tower behind him, seemingly carved straight from the mountainside.

  “Freddie! Can you hear me!”

  He was looking at something in the distance and did not turn. But he seemed so close — without thinking, Charlie reached inside the oven to try to get his brother’s attention. The oven door snapped shut as he did so, nearly taking off his hand. Charlie tumbled back just in time to land heavily on the tiled floor. The oven chomped its teeth a few more times, and when they opened again, the smoke was gone. The yellow sky was gone. The Gray world, the Master, his brother, all gone. Just those rows of needle teeth, and the black sluggish tongue jeering at him.

  The door opened behind Charlie. He nearly screamed, his nerves so frayed. He was still on the floor as he turned, so the first thing he saw was the black lace dress with the animal bone buttons. At once he thought it was Mrs. Orwell, and then he really did scream. It took a few moments for his eyes to focus on Emma. Even realizing his mistake, he thought he could still see the old witch when he looked at her.

  “Charlie? You’re here early,” Emma said in surprise.

  It took several heaving breaths before Charlie could regain his wits.

  “You should have knocked.” Emma frowned. She looked at the oven door, ajar again. The black tongue was waggling at them. “What are you doing in here?”

  Charlie didn’t say a word. He picked himself off the ground, and reached for the top shelf again. The cookie jar — the blue mushrooms, now in his hand. There weren’t many left, probably only enough for a few more minutes of the portal. The next time it opened, he would have to make sure Emma was inside before it closed.