“Later,” Lord Loss hisses, head shaking violently. “Later!”

He turns to the board on my right—the one with the Incan pieces—and broods over it in menacing silence, collecting his thoughts.

He pushes me hard on the Incan board. Slow but steady advances. Cutting off my avenues of attack. Forcing me back. Pegging me to my own half.

I take no notice of the mounting threat. When I can’t move forward, I slide sideways, dancing out of the path of his soldiers, shrugging it off when he captures one of my rooks, laughing as my knights leap clear of the closing net.

Lord Loss’s breath thickens the closer he gets to victory. Bloody sweat seeps from his pores. He twitches on his chair.

I ignore the danger I’m in. Keep one eye on Dervish as I shift a pawn forward. He’s locked in close-quarters combat with the familiars, holding Artery away from his throat at arm’s length, while Vein chews on his left leg. It looks serious, but I observe with cool disinterest.

Lord Loss grunts contentedly and takes my pawn. A path is opening up to my king. Another few moves and I’ll have to sacrifice my queen.

“You’re not laughing now,” Lord Loss notes sadistically.

“Only because my laughter seems to disturb you,” I smile sweetly, sending one of my knights to the right of the board, to cover my queen.

Lord Loss brings up a rook, blocking my queen’s path of retreat. I move my knight again, lodging it between my queen and his rook. Grinning wickedly, he swiftly takes my knight with a pawn.

I wince—then wink. “I can’t believe you fell for that one,” I chortle.

Picking up my queen, I slide her diagonally far up the board, through the gap left by the pawn he moved when capturing my knight—and knock Lord Loss’s black queen clean off the table.

His breath stops. His mouth closes. His stomach rumbles.

“Checkmate in four moves,” I note drily. “Or is it three?”

In response, Lord Loss picks up his king and crushes it softly between his mangled fingers.

“Two-two,” he croaks, and turns to the board on my far left—the final board—the decider.

Lord Loss moves his pieces sluggishly. He plays with sad remoteness, face cast in dull misery, flinching every time I capture one of his pieces, handing the game to me without a real fight.

I feel a bubble of joy rising in my chest—and swiftly move to burst it. If I show any emotion now, he might seize upon it and revive with a flourish. Although it’s difficult, I remain detached, moving my pieces instinctively, automatically, not dwelling upon thoughts of victory.

Gradually I rip his defences to shreds. I check his king and he beats a sad retreat. For a couple of moves he threatens my queen, but then I drag her out of the way and check him again, with a rook. For a second time his king is forced to flee.

A short while later I trap him on the left side of the board. He’s caught between my queen, two knights and a bishop. He starts to move his king. Pauses. Does a double-take. Sighs deeply and slowly tips the king over.

“Checkmate,” he intones morosely.

I blink—I hadn’t seen it. “Are you sure?” I ask, frowning.

In response he pushes himself away from the table and floats out of his chair, face impassive.

Real time crashes over me. I’m hit by a wave of hot air. Sounds—Bill-E’s howls, the snapping of Vein and Artery’s teeth, Dervish’s grunts. I spin. My uncle’s on the floor, furiously wrestling with the demons. Blood everywhere. His left leg cut to ribbons. His right hand chewed off.

“Stop them!” I scream, darting to Dervish’s aid.

Artery hears me, turns and snarls. Spreads his hands wide—morsels of Dervish’s flesh caught between his teeth. Rises to meet me.

“Peace, Artery,” Lord Loss says, and the demon stops. “Cease, Vein,” he commands, and the crocodile-headed monster quits chewing on Dervish’s arm and looks questioningly at her master. “I have been beaten. We must respect the rules of the game.”

The demons chatter and gibber madly. The flames in Artery’s eyes flare and he hisses at his lord, shaking his head negatively. Vein snaps her jaws open and shut, then turns again on Dervish.

“You will obey me,” Lord Loss says softly, “or I shall have your heads.”

The demons pause. Then Vein clamps her teeth around Dervish’s arm. Dervish screams. A blinding red light fills the cellar. I shut my eyes and cover my face with my arms.

When I dare look again, Vein’s lying in scraps of bloody flesh around my uncle. Artery has backed up to one of the webs and is whimpering fearfully.

Lord Loss floats over to Dervish and studies him blankly as he sits up and sets to work on his injuries, using magic to patch himself back together.

“I won,” I remark, carefully approaching my preoccupied uncle, wary of Lord Loss—he might have killed the rebellious Vein, but I still don’t trust him.

“So I see,” Dervish says, not glancing up from his wounds.

I’m bitterly disappointed by his reaction. I expected cheers and tears, hugging and back-slapping—not this.

“You needn’t sound so excited about it,” I sniff.

Dervish looks up at me. A thin smile crosses his lips, then vanishes. “I’m delighted, Grubbs,” he sighs. “Truly. But this isn’t over for me. I have to fight Lord Loss now, and it’s a fight I probably won’t win. So while I’m ecstatic for you and Billy, I’m a little too worried about myself to celebrate.”

“What are you talking about? We won. I beat him. We can…

I stop, recalling the full rules of the challenge. Lord Loss is under oath to cure the person affected by lycanthropy if he loses at chess—but the one who beats him has to travel to the Demonata’s universe and fight him there.

“But I beat him!” I cry, stooping to catch Dervish’s eye. “I’m the one who has to go with him and—”

“No,” Dervish interrupts. “The player always goes, while the one who fought the familiars remains. But since we swapped roles, we can choose who goes and stays. Isn’t that right?” he asks Lord Loss.

Lord Loss nods slightly. “It is an ambiguous point, but I have had enough of the boy. I shall seek him out some other time. As I vowed, he will pay for his humiliation of me, but for now I wish only to wash my hands of him.”

“But you’re wounded!” I protest. “You’re not fit to fight any more. Let me. I know how to beat him. I can do it. I’ll—”

“This isn’t a debate,” Dervish says gruffly. He grips both my hands in his and squeezes tightly. “You performed brilliantly on the boards, Grubbs, but this is a different matter. He’s far stronger in his own universe than he is here. Leave it to me, OK?”

Tears roll down my cheeks unchecked. “I don’t want to lose you,” I sob.

“But you must,” he smiles. “At least for a while.” He finishes healing himself and stands, groaning loudly. Turns to Lord Loss. “The cure?”

Lord Loss sneers. “I had not forgotten.” He floats across the room to the cage. Bill-E backs away, snarling fitfully, but at a gesture from the demon master he flies across the cage and thrusts his arms through the bars.

Lord Loss wraps two of his own arms around Bill-E’s and slides the other six through the bars of the cage, encompassing the struggling werewolf. He exerts pressure, until Bill-E goes stiff, then presses his face forward, places his lips over Bill-E’s and exhales heavily, as though giving the kiss of life.

Bill-E’s fingers fly out rigidly, then curl up into tight fists. His legs shake fitfully, then go slack. After ten or twelve seconds, Lord Loss breaks contact and releases Bill-E. He floats backwards, coughing and spitting. Bill-E teeters on his feet a moment, then crumples to the floor.

I start towards my brother, concerned. Dervish stops me. “Wait. He’ll be OK. There are things I must tell you before we say goodbye.” I face my uncle, who speaks quickly. “You know where the forms, credit cards and contact numbers are. Use them. Act swiftly. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help. And don’t let the authorities take you away from here. They might interfere when they discover the condition I’m in, seek to separate you from me. Don’t let them.” His face is grim. “Lord Loss has threatened you—that’s serious. He can’t harm you in Carcery Vale—as long as you stay out of this cellar—but you’re vulnerable elsewhere. In time you’ll learn spells to protect yourself—friends of mine will help—but for now you mustn’t leave the Vale.”