“Sounds like a raw deal to me,” I grunt.

“It was,” Dervish agrees. “But those were the terms. Davey had to agree.” Dervish pauses, then says softly, “Davey lost. His brother stood as his partner. The demons overwhelmed him. Davey was killed before even one of the games was decided. His son too. All three were ripped to pieces by the demons.”

He takes the photo from me and gazes at it in heavy silence.

“But Davey’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” he resumes. “Lord Loss developed a taste for this new contest. He approached Davey’s relatives—those with magical powers—offering them the chance to compete for lives as Davey had.

“Most refused. But two—both with young children on the verge of turning—accepted the challenge. One was defeated—but the other won. His victory gave hope to others, and a series of Garadexes and Gradys have sustained the challenge over the long decades since. Some win, some lose. Most who win subsequently lose their souls in the ensuing battle in Lord Loss’s realm, but a few have made the journey back, proof that it can be done.”

Dervish lays the photo back in the drawer and closes it slowly. He blinks owlishly and wipes a hand across his eyes—he’s fighting back tears.

“Your parents didn’t win,” he says. “Gret was infected. Your father and mother challenged Lord Loss. One of them proved inadequate to the task. All three died as a result. I was meant—”

His voice catches and he turns away, rubbing his eyelids, trembling with emotion. “Your father and I had an agreement,” he says bleakly. “If any of his children succumbed to the disease, I was to be his partner. I thought he was wrong to have children, but I loved him, and I loved the kids he fathered. I wasn’t going to stand to one side in their hour of need.”

“Then why weren’t you there?” I cry, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“He never told me Gret was changing,” he croaks. “Your mother must have convinced him to let her face the demons with him. I’m sure Sharon had Gret’s best interests at heart, but I was a better chess player, and a much stronger fighter. Cal should have held me to my promise. He should have called. Maybe I could have…”

He breaks down. His eyes close. His hands clench into fists. Then he raises his face to the ceiling and howls. From the secret cellar I imagine I hear an echoing howl, as the transformed Bill-E Spleen pauses during feeding and answers his uncle’s tortured call.

I stop crying before Dervish does. I don’t think he cries very often, so he has a hard time regaining control. When the tears finally cease and he’s wiping his face clean with a denim sleeve, I put an accusation to him as softly as I can. “Are you saying it was Mum’s fault?”

“Of course not!” he answers promptly.

“But if Dad had picked you instead of her…”

Dervish hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve got to be truthful—I was the logical choice. But logic and magic don’t always mix. Sometimes amateurs fare better than professionals. Nobody ever really knows how they’ll fare until they put themselves on the spot.”

He pulls out a handkerchief and blows his nose. “In the end, it’s all relative. Your father chose— rightly or wrongly—and the outcome stands. We can’t change the past and we’d be fools if we tried.

“But whatever my personal feelings about his choice,” Dervish adds, “don’t ever think I believe it was your mother’s fault. It wasn’t. It was our curse, not hers. She deserves nothing short of absolute love and respect for taking on that curse, and laying her life on the line to try and avert it.”

I nod slowly, thinking it over. “But if they hadn’t laid their lives on the line,” I whisper. “If they’d called in the Lambs and not gone to Lord Loss…”

“They’d be alive.” Dervish says it bluntly. “That’s why I said you might not like the truth. They put Gret’s life before their own—and yours. If they hadn’t interfered, you’d have lost a sister but kept your parents.”

I stare at him uncertainly, my lower lip trembling, part of me hating Mum and Dad for putting me through this, another part hating Gret, blaming her for the mess.

Dervish reads my thoughts and shakes his head calmly. “Don’t go down that road, Grubbs,” he says. “Cal and Sharon did what they had to. They’d have done the same for you if you’d been infected. I know you feel cheated. I know you want them back. But if you look deep inside, and recall the people they were, the love they had for you and Gret, you’ll understand why they did it.”

“They should have told me,” I moan. “They cut me out completely. I could have helped. I—”

“No,” Dervish says firmly. “The rules are clear—only two may challenge Lord Loss and his familiars. Telling you would have achieved nothing.”

“It would have prepared me for the worst,” I disagree.

“I don’t think they wanted to think about that,” Dervish sighs. “Doubts have a way of eating a person from the inside out. Most who face Lord Loss choose not to focus on all that can go wrong, because it makes it more likely that something will go wrong.”

“But—” I begin.

“Grubbs,” Dervish interrupts curtly, “we can sit here arguing all night. But that won’t bring your parents and Gret back. And it won’t help Billy. Letting go isn’t easy, but you have to forget about your parents for a while. If you can’t, you’re no good to me.”

“‘No good to you’?” I echo, frowning. “What are you talking about? What do you want me to do?”

Dervish leans forward, his features impassive. “I want you to be my second,” he says. “I want you to stand by my side and battle Vein and Artery while I challenge Lord Loss at chess.”

The world goes numb.

THE CHOICE

“You’re loco!” I scream. “Sheer bloody nuts!”

“I’m many things,” Dervish answers calmly, “but I don’t think I’m crazy.”

“You must be! Only a crazy man would ask a kid to fight a couple of demons!”

Dervish studies me quietly, then gets to his feet and picks up his Lord of the Rings chess set. He heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” I snap, lurching in front of him, blocking the way.

“I’m taking this down to the cellar,” he says. “I need to have five sets in place before I summon Lord Loss—each game is played on a separate board.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I hiss. “I won’t do it! I’m not—”

“Grubbs,” he silences me with a smile. “It’s OK. I asked. You refused. That’s the end of it. It was a request, not a command.”

I glare at him suspiciously. “It was?”

He nods. “There are others who can help. One of my friends is a near grandmaster. He’ll face Lord Loss. I’ll handle Vein and Artery.” He nods at a plain chess board to my left. “But I’d be obliged if you’d help me carry the sets down.”

My eyes narrow. “If you’re trying to trick me…”

“No tricks,” he says, and I believe him. Getting out of his way, I pick up the board and follow him out of the room.

Down the stairs to the main hall. Taking our time, careful not to drop any pieces. Thinking hard about what Dervish said.

“If you’ve got friends who can help,” I mutter, “why ask me?”

“Billy’s your brother,” Dervish replies. “I thought you might want to be part of this.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” I press. “You need the best person for the job. Why offer it to me?”

“Ideally I want to face Lord Loss with someone who’s proved their courage and ability under fire,” he says. “Someone who’s faced a demon and lived. I only personally know six people who’ve done that. Meera was one of them. But she can’t do it now.”

“What about the others?”

“Four of them are currently out of contact.” He reaches the door to the cellar and stops talking while he opens it with his elbows. Silence as we descend. I wait until we’re at the wine rack which hides the entrance to the secret passageway before asking, “And the sixth?”