“You really think Mr. Clayton will approve of this?” Eustace said, and she could tell the idea didn’t sit right with him either. “I’d bet he’d kill you himself if he knew. He and Beth are friends.”

“You wanna go wake him up, be my guest.” Taggart and Eustace engaged in a brief stare-down, and when no one else spoke, Taggart yanked her arm and continued on his way.

“Tell him about the demon you mentioned,” Eustace said at Elizabeth.

As though on cue, an ear-piercing scream lifted in the air, not far from where they were—near the clearing just ahead—and her heart stopped with everyone else’s.

“Shit’s sake,” Eustace said under his breath, tightening his hold on Betsy. Taggart pulled his handgun from his holster and so did Deputy Holman, who’d been quiet the whole time. Elizabeth wanted to tell them guns would be useless, but she couldn’t speak. Every part of her froze with fear.

Henry.

Slapped by the blunt, breathtaking wind of reality, she turned to Taggart, pleading like she’d never pled before. “Sheriff, you have to let me go. He’s in danger.” Taggart’s brow furrowed and she went on, “It’s her, the demon, and if you want to get through this with no more deaths, I have to go to her. Leave me and get out of here.” She struggled in their arms. “You have to trust me.”

Taggart looked at Brian. “Let’s keep going.”

She fought with all her strength, dragging her feet. It wasn’t long before they reached the clearing and they paused, observing the stillness. Nothing was here; not even the smallest insect could be heard. The moon reigned high in the sky, the west still a grayish hue from the setting sun, and the stars were beautiful—far too beautiful for the doom she felt inside.

“Tie her to a tree,” Taggart said at Brian, and through the authority in his tone, she sensed his conflict.

“Sheriff!” she cried while Brian shoved her against the nearest trunk—a cedar, damp against her back. A rope looped through the small chain of her cuffs then around the tree, her hands pulled tightly against it. “Please, let me save him! Let me save you!”

She jumped when a shot cracked through the air; Taggart’s gun was angled upward behind them. “We have her!” he shouted. “You want her, come and get her!”

It came then, the air of Diableron—nearly seizing her chest. Elizabeth stared at the trees across the clearing, preparing herself. This was it, the time everything would change. The wind told her so, stirring the forest as doom stirred her heart.

Amidst a difficult breath, she announced, “This is your last chance, Sheriff. She’s here. Go home.”

“Who’s here?” he asked with a shaky voice, and she knew he felt it too.

She appeared from nowhere, only feet away, and startled gasps lifted everywhere, even from Elizabeth. Her face, black, void, and melting away, twisted as she looked at every vulnerable soul with eyes Elizabeth couldn’t see even if she tried. By the way Nicole screamed and Brian stumbled back—and how everyone whimpered—Elizabeth guessed Diableron was appearing as something different to each person, showing their deepest, most personal fears. And perhaps to some the very sight of her would be their deepest fear.

Elizabeth shouted at them, trying to get their attention while she struggled against the tree, but to no avail. Taggart’s gun had fallen to the earth, and Holman was on his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Look away! Look at me!” Taggart didn’t and in the most booming voice she could muster, she yelled again, “Dammit, Sheriff, look at me!”

He finally did.

“It’s not real, whatever you’re seeing. She’s only trying to scare—”

Something knocked the air from Elizabeth’s chest and Diableron was face to face with her at once, just like before. That cold, damp, heavy flavor; the invisible weight crushing her insides, sucking the oxygen from her chest too fast for Elizabeth to catch it. Her surroundings spun, her head whirled, and behind Diableron’s angry, bared teeth, the black hole that was her mouth tried sucking her in. Behind Diableron, people began standing again, looking around in disorientation, and she knew the images before them were gone.

“Where…is he?” Elizabeth managed stiffly.

“Sssuffering, like he deserves.”

Tears rose to Elizabeth’s eyes, though her breaths were diminishing. She tried not to sob, since she couldn’t afford the oxygen, and shook her head. “No.”

“It’sss no matter, Elizabeth. A soul like hisss isn’t worth sssaving. I’m doing the world a favor, doing you a favor. I’m sssaving you.”

“You’re…wrong, Aglaé. No matter…what you’ve done to him…he’ll never be a monster.”

She screeched, again baring teeth far more frightful than the beast’s fangs, and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the sound, the pitch hurting her ears. Then his roar, deep and booming: her eyes snapped open to the best sound she’d ever heard. He came into the clearing from her right, his leg in a limp and blood caking his fur. The light of the many lanterns lit the gash across his chest, showing muscle and other pink matter, and the crowd gasped.

He approached Diableron in a ready crouch with fangs bared, and she met him, releasing Elizabeth and leaving an oily mist to hover. Panting desperately, Elizabeth allowed oxygen to revive her. The demon laughed an awful sound as she began circling Henry, but he leapt for her. His fangs tore through the air, the action startling and abrupt, and the people Elizabeth once called friends flinched beside her.

The fight—nothing but a blur of rolling blackness and mass—transpired too quickly to catch, but Elizabeth heard the cries of pain coming from both. Tied against the tree, utterly helpless, her wrists became raw from the cuffs. But before she could beg Taggart to free her again, the scene changed before her.

Henry and Diableron came to a standstill—his body in a crouch, his breaths labored and raucous, blood and debris clinging to his fur—and a light came from within the demon, blinding and white. Then she wasn’t Diableron at all, but the most beautiful woman Elizabeth had ever seen, more beautiful than the illustration in her book. Her wavy and flowing red hair appeared to actually glow.

“What…the…?” Taggart breathed beside Elizabeth.

Aglaé didn’t seem to notice her audience as she sauntered toward the beast. “Poor, pathetic Beast,” she said, her voice raspy, and sensual in an unearthly way. “Look into my eyes, Monster. Come to me.”

“No!” Elizabeth shouted, and Aglaé’s eyes shot to her with an abrupt sharpness, allowing, in her distraction, for Henry to attack. His fangs took hold of Aglaé’s shoulder, staining her silky gown with red instantly. But with a scream and a flip of her palm, she hurled him as though he weighed nothing, and he fell to the grass with a thud.

While he labored to stand, Aglaé ran to the crowd and sobbed, kneeling before Taggart and pleading in a way so real even Elizabeth almost believed it. God, even in distress she was exquisite. “Please,” she cried, grasping a fistful of Taggart’s polyester pants. “Please don’t let him kill me.”

“I…won’t,” Taggart said, almost in a trance.

“She’s not real, Sheriff!” Elizabeth shouted.

Aglaé’s glare was subtle at best. She rose, gently placing her hand on the side of Taggart’s face, her other on his arm. “Your gun. Use it, Sheriff. You’re so strong and brave. Save us all.”

“Don’t.” The two of them blurred, swirling. Even though it would always be fruitless, she struggled with the cuffs.

Taggart picked up his gun, though with difficulty since he was shaking, and aimed it at the beast, who managed to stand on all fours. Before Elizabeth could plead again, he fired, startling her more than he had the first time; but the beast was gone, standing at the opposite end of the clearing. Taggart’s bullet had missed entirely, and Elizabeth released a sob of pure relief.