When I told everybody about our date with Crow at the chapel, we all agreed on one thing.

It was totally a trap.

Since everybody on Crow's side assumed Mom was the mage, she'd have to be the one who went to represent me. If she didn't agree to go with them and bring back Crow's people, I could guarantee they would try to take her magic. And once Crow realized she didn't have the Slumber gift—

Well, Dr. Jacobs probably said it best. He'd kick open the gate of hell and set all the dogs loose.

"So why even go?" Martina asked. We only had a couple hours till sundown, so we'd all gathered around the table to figure out our options. "What's the point?"

"We need to at least try to talk Crow out of his plan." Dad filled up a fresh cup of coffee, home from his stakeout. Now that we knew where Crow was, there wasn't any point in watching the Hemming. "Remember, in our best-case scenario he leaves that church alive, and we go our separate ways."

If we poofed Crow, he'd be stuck with me forever, like a genie trapped in a lamp. "I don't think he's gonna go for that."

Mom scoffed. "Somehow, neither do I."

"If it goes south"—Dad took a seat at the table—"and there's a good chance that it will . . ." He stared into his coffee for a moment, calculating all the options.

But Pine didn't hesitate. "Kill him." It was all he'd been saying since he got here.

Mom nodded. "I agree. We take the shot."

"Don't forget the fortune-teller," Martina said.

Dr. Jacobs leaned back in her chair, arms folded. "Christine Hemming will already have eyes on Plan A, B, and C. We need to skip right to J or K. Something she won't expect."

"She doesn't know I exist," I said. "If I can get Dixon to keep his mouth shut, at least for tonight, I can use my magic to catch her by surprise."

Dad combed his fingers through his beard. "So, all we need is a plan to get Evelyn out of there safely, and a plan to destroy Crow."

After a couple hours of back-and-forth, we'd hammered out a half-decent strategy. There wasn't too much time left till sundown, so everybody got to work preparing for Mom's one-on-one with the devil.

My musical magic wasn't exactly stealthy or fast, so it made the most sense to cook up some dinosaurs ahead of time.

Mom would need protecting in case things went wrong, and Boyfriend was our hardest hitter for sure. But even after he pretty much dropped to one knee and gave me a ring, nobody trusted him enough to run around off-leash.

So, we got creative. When I summoned Boyfriend for the second time in one of the vacant horse stalls, Dr. Jacobs threw him a venison shank she'd kept frozen from last deer season.

The raptor ate the entire leg, tearing the meat off like wrapping on a birthday present and smacking it up raw. When I thought there was nothing left, he cracked the bone open with one hard chomp and licked up the pink, squishy stuff inside.

Just watching made me want to throw up. At least that would keep him going for a couple hours.

I wasn't sure whether this next part would work, but everybody figured we might as well try. So, when he was done, I reached into his mind and gave him one command. "Sleep."

He fell right over. No yawn or nothing. Just thud. It was easy as throwing a blanket over a bird cage, and there he was, sprawled across the clay floor, knocked out cold.

Dr. Jacobs strapped a belt around his muzzle to bind his jaws shut, just in case. Then Dad and Pine had to work together to lug his dead weight through the stables. He must've been about as heavy as a grown man, but finally they managed to dump his sacked-out body in the back of Dr. Jacobs' truck.

Boyfriend scrunched up in the truck bed and tucked his head under his wing.

When I climbed up on the tailgate, I could actually hear him snoring.

Martina hopped up on the opposite side of the truck and gave me a mischievous look. "This is your chance."

We'd probably both been wanting to do the same thing since we laid eyes on these pillow-soft feathers.

Carefully, I leaned over the wheel well and rested my hand on Boyfriend's side. Please, God, let him be in a dream he didn't want to wake up from.

He didn't move, so I gave him a few gentle pets.

The orangey-bronze feathers on his back and side felt smooth and soft, maybe even a tiny bit greasy. But the white ones on his belly were light and fluffy, and my fingers sank into the warm cloud of his body heat.

It was everything I hoped it would be.

Martina joined in and let out a little gasp. "So soft," she whispered.

Just for fun, I twiddled his owl ear.

Boyfriend's tuft twitched. He curled his claws, throttling an imaginary animal, and his talons grated against the truck bed.

I yanked my hand away and dropped off the tailgate. Martina stiffened, ready to throw herself backward.

Boyfriend sighed in his sleep and went still.

"Okay," Martina said, releasing a breath. "That's probably enough."

While Dad, Dr. Jacobs, and Martina worked together to tuck Boyfriend in under a plastic tarp, the sky started turning pink.

The raptor was fueled up and ready to go. He was the muscle. But I had one more dinosaur I needed to summon—one who could keep us connected to Mom. And, if she needed a distraction, someone who could bring the chaos.

Outside the stables, I took a seat on a log under a juniper tree and strummed up Bitey Face.

He shook the dust off his pigeon-gray body and shimmery blue tail and crawled up into my lap.

While I hand-fed him little sprigs off the juniper bush, my stomach writhed inside me like an octopus.

Pine came over and sat beside me. What's wrong?

I hugged Bitey Face close to my chest. As long as I kept the food coming, he didn't seem to mind getting held like a teddy bear.

"This whole plan is held together with duct tape and spit," I said. "But there's one thing I can't stop thinking about."

Pine waited.

"If Boyfriend and the other raptor really got summoned at the same time, from the same bones, then Crow still has another dinosaur in his pocket. And if or when things fall apart tonight, he's gonna bring it out." I yanked another twig off the bush, and Bitey clipped off dainty beakfuls of needles and berries. "That's what killing me—the mystery dinosaur. It's the one thing we can't plan for."

If it helps, Pine said, we have something Crow can't plan for.

I gave him a skeptical look. Is it friendship?

He poked his pointer finger into my arm.

Me. I guess that was true. Mrs. Hemming still didn't know I existed.

"Oh." I snapped my fingers and pulled out my phone. "That reminds me."

I opened up Dixon's long list of left-on-reads. I'd received a lot of big, screaming capital letters from him today. It was probably hard for him to imagine that his spam texts might not be my biggest problem.

Handling it tonight, I typed. Give me time. Sent.

That was all I felt like I could say, but hopefully it'd be enough to keep him from snitching on me to his mom. He didn't have to wait forever. Just till tomorrow.

The screen door banged, and Mom came down the porch steps all in black. Her lacy blouse was buttoned at the collar and tucked into a pair of slim slacks. She'd picked out boots with power heels, but knowing her, she could run in them if she had to.

"What do you think?" She joined Dad, Martina, and Dr. Jacobs at the truck and stretched out her arms for a quick turn. "Do I look like a necromancer?" She probably meant to use Mrs. Hemming's word for us as a joke, but in her mouth, it still went sour.

With her blackout getup and three or four golden rings on each hand—perfect for punching Crow's teeth out—she looked like a glitzed-up funeral director.

I joined the circle, toting Bitey Face under my arm. "You always look more mage-y than me."

"I still don't like you going alone," Dad said.

"If Christine sees us together, she's more likely to scry Cecelia," Mom said. "And if . . ." She glanced at me and caught herself. But when she looked back at Dad, they seemed to share this secret understanding, like maybe they'd had a conversation behind my back. "One of us needs to be with her."

Dad swallowed and nodded. A silent promise.

Pine stepped forward, breaking the serious bubble around them. "Take me."

"You've been through enough," Mom said. "I'm not putting you in danger again."

"I can't die," he said. And he had a point. If any of us went with her, Pine was the obvious choice.

But Mom shook her head, just like I figured she would. "Let me take care of this. It's my mess." Then, she looked at me. "One more accessory."

I set Bitey Face on the ground and prodded him over to her side. Then I reached into his brain and left him with a final set of instructions. "Stay with Mom."

He wove behind her legs, heeling like a dog with a swish of his sapphire tail.

I stepped back to look at them together, taking in the whole picture.

Now she looked like a necromancer.

Dr. Jacobs hooked her thumbs in her belt and looked up at the pink-streaked clouds. "It's about that time."

My eyes locked with Mom's.

I should've said I love you. But all I wanted to say was I'm sorry. Sorry she had to face Crow for me. Sorry that I couldn't bring Grandpa back for her. Sorry for being an embarrassing substitute.

A lump blocked my throat and tears welled in my eyes.

Mom wrapped me up in a hug. But it fit like a too-small sweater, so tight and warm I felt like I might suffocate. She squeezed me so hard, it felt like she'd never see me again.

"It'll be okay," she said.

I sucked in a sharp breath and pressed my knuckles against my mouth, crushing down a sob. She was such a bad liar.

Mom took my face in her hands. "Cecelia. Focus." She waited until I forced myself to meet her eyes, and then said, in her gentlest voice, "We don't have time for this."

I squeezed my eyes shut. A few tears escaped, but I nodded, struggling to steady my breath.

"I need you to watch my back," she said.

"I know," I said.

In that chapel, Bitey would be her only tie to us, and Boyfriend would be her only defense. I controlled them both. She needed me at my very best if she was going to get out of this in one piece.

I swiped the wet tracks off my cheeks and pulled away from her, trying to be the person she needed me to be this whole time—just for one night. "Okay."

"Okay." She opened the door to the 4 Runner, put Bitey inside, and slipped into the driver's seat. "Let's go."

Dad reached for me, ready to pull me into a hug, but I pretended not to notice.

Instead, I swept around the back of the truck, pulling up my T-shirt collar to dry my eyes. "I better sit with Boyfriend," I said. "In case he wakes up."

Dr. Jacobs got into the driver's seat and Martina and Dad piled into the cab. With Mom driving by herself and the other five of us in the Dodge, it was too bad we couldn't switch cars. But somebody at the chapel might recognize Dr. Jacob's truck, so we had to make do.

I climbed into the back and sat on the tarp, scrunched into a free corner near the rear window. Boyfriend was so big that, curled up, he took up most of the bed.

Still, Pine managed to find a spot across from me, careful to bend his legs over Boyfriend's tail.

The drive to the chapel was quiet. I watched Boyfriend's rusty feathers ruffle in the warm evening wind, until the sun sank below the horizon.

After a few minutes on the main road, Dr. Jacobs split away from the 4Runner to turn onto a side street. She zigged and zagged down a few rural backroads before switching her headlights off. We rode the final stretch in almost complete darkness, down a long, straight farm road with pasture on either side.

Finally, she pulled over under a clump of oak trees and turned off the truck.

Now, with the wind noise out of my ears, I could hear crickets singing in the tall grass and the click of the Dodge's engine cooling.

At the end of the farm road, across the highway, stood the historic chapel, a retired one-room schoolhouse with white stonework, sky-blue walls, and an A-frame roof topped with a little white steeple. Even from far away, I could feel soulshine glowing in the cemetery beside it.

I'd never seen so many cars parked in the gravel lot there, but tonight there had to be twenty vehicles packed bumper-to-bumper. Looked like we weren't the only ones invited.

After a minute or two, the 4Runner's headlights appeared at the end of the highway. Mom.

I shut my eyes and let myself sink into Bitey Face's senses.

He lay curled up in the passenger seat, taking in the dark car with night vision just slightly better than mine.

I turned his head to look at Mom.

She gripped the steering wheel tight, and every time a pair of oncoming headlights flashed across her face, I caught her lips moving. Whispering. No—humming.

I strained to make out the words over the road noise.

". . . has the ranch supplies you're lookin' for . . ." She took a deep, shaky breath as she turned the wheel, pulling through the cemetery gates. ". . . we got feed and seed and oodles more . . ."

The car rolled to a stop.

We were here.

Mom sat there for a long moment, her hand on the stick. Like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to put it in park or shift into reverse and forget this whole thing.

I poked Bitey Face's head up to look out the passenger window.

Soft, yellow light shone out the chapel's side windows. Two police officers stood at the double doors, guarding the front.

"Here we go," Mom whispered. She snapped the car into park, fumbled for the handle, and shoved the door open.

Bitey leapt off the passenger seat and jumped out after her, landing between her two black boots planted firmly in the gravel.

Mom took long, slow, strides, walking up to the cops as cool as an outlaw.

As soon as she reached the double doors, they frisked her.

When we planned at the table, Dr. Jacobs suggested a conceal-and-carry. But we all knew Mom would never get through those doors with a pistol. And if she got caught with a gun before even getting in front of Crow, it probably would've made things worse.

When they found nothing, the policemen stepped aside. One of them nodded her in.

Nice and easy, Mom reached for the handle and pushed the door open with a creak.

Suddenly, back in the truck bed, the little window in the rear windshield slid open, jarring me out of focus.

"What's going on?" Dad asked.

"She's in." I shut my eyes again, falling back into Bitey Face's little goose-sized body.

The inside of the chapel was dim, lit only by standing racks of flickering candles. The two short rows of pews on either side of the aisle were packed with people in their Sunday best. It looked like a Christmas Eve service in July.

Every single person in the room turned to look.

On instinct, Bitey ducked low and slunk behind Mom for shelter.

But she stood tall, fixing her eyes at the end of the aisle.

Where a pulpit should've been, there was an antique armchair surrounded by racks of candles. And in that chair sat Crow, gripping the upholstered arms with strong, hairy hands. The vulture cape bristled around his shoulders and its black wings spilled over the sides of the throne. Someone had made him a crown out of prairie grass and wildflowers.

A pile of stuff lay at his feet—fruit and nuts, jars of honey and bottles of alcohol, rings and watches, boxes of cigars. Things all these people must've assumed he would want.

But the way he hunched in his seat, glaring at Mom like a panther, it was clear none of this mattered to him. There was only one thing in this whole world that he really wanted, and she had it. And he was ready to take it.

Mrs. Hemming, standing off to one side of his throne, stepped into the candlelight. "Evelyn." She folded her hands and smiled like a secretary. "We've been expecting you."

Mom waited in the open doorway, taking in the whole circus.

"Please, you're welcome here." Mrs. Hemming waved her up the aisle. "Come right in."

The double doors shut behind us, and Bitey flinched at the bang.

Was welcome the word?

With no options left but forward, Mom took one slow step. Then another, and another, ignoring the room full of eyes.

Her boots echoed on the hard ground, and the silence between each footfall was filled by the click-click-click of Bitey's claws.

She stopped in front of the pile of gifts and rocked her weight onto one hip.

Crow shifted onto his elbow and rested his chin in his hand. His mouth was hidden behind his knuckles, so it was hard to read his expression. But his heavy eyebrows cast dark shadows over intense, almost hungry eyes.

"We have a proposition for you," Mrs. Hemming said.

But Mom cut her short, calm as a koi pond. "I'm not here to talk about that."

Mrs. Hemming's smile wilted, leaving behind wrinkles she normally didn't let show.

Mom took another step toward Crow, entering his circle of light. "I'm sorry for your loss." She was 24 karat genuine. Tender as a touch on the hand.

Crow stared back at her.

I couldn't tell what he was thinking. But I remembered something Mrs. Hemming said, about him being the last Neanderthal alive. At least, the last one he knew. Had he ever heard those words?

"I know how it feels to lose someone you can't ever replace." Mom glanced down at Bitey, at me, and closed her hands into fists. "With power like this, right here at my fingertips, it's hard not to think—'If only I could get him back. Everything would be okay.'" She looked back up at Crow and shook her head. "But that's not how it works. Not even for me."

Mrs. Hemming let out a dry laugh. "Actually," she chirped, all matter-of-fact, "that's exactly how it works."

"No, it's not." Mom's voice fell flat as a deck of cards, and she dealt out the facts one at a time. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We're here for a little while, and then someone else gets their turn." She refocused on Crow. "That's the deal. That's how it works."

He closed his eyes, completely still. A crease formed in his forehead.

"It's not easy to be the one who gets left behind," Mom said. "But my father once told me that it's a very important job. And it starts with saying goodbye."

"So, what are you saying?" Mrs. Hemming cut in again. "You won't do it?"

Mom kept her eyes on Crow. "I'm asking you to reconsider. To really think about what would make your people proud and happy." She dropped her voice low and private. "Is this about the ones you love? Or is this about you?"

"How dare you," Mrs. Hemming snapped.

"Shut up, Christine." Mom's voice was perfectly level. "You're not part of this."

Dixon's mom surged forward like she was ready to slap her with her French tipped claws.

But Crow raised his hand to stop her.

A gasp, not even quite a whisper, shushed through the crowd behind us.

Mrs. Hemming clapped her trap shut. She stalled for a second, her high-heels glued to the ground. But after an awkward beat, she cracked, stepping back into the shadow behind Crow's chair.

The room got so quiet I could hear hot wax dripping on the floor.