The gun was loud in the room, like thunder, rocking Hazel back onto her heels. But the bullets struck the monster’s bark and slid off as though they were mere pebbles hurled by a child. Sorrow went for Mr. Gordon.

Carter intercepted, swinging a candlestick at her, but the creature wrapped its long fingers around him, pulling him to her. Hazel raced toward them, slamming her saber into Sorrow’s back. The monster didn’t even seem to notice.

“Hey!” Jack yelled, and then something spattered the monster. The stinging smell of alcohol filled the air. He’d thrown brandy at her, brandy from his parents’ now-open liquor cabinet.

“I’ll set you on fire,” he said, holding up a book of matches in trembling fingers. “Get away from them. Get out of here.”

The monster seemed to regard him for a long moment, letting Carter slump to the ground. He was unconscious, a green stain spreading across his lips.

It had happened so fast.

Hazel heard her mother scream from the other side of the room. She glanced to one side and saw that Ben was dragging her behind the old upright piano.

Jack struck a match.

The monster rushed at him, fast enough that the flame flickered out in his hand. Hazel threw herself between them, raising her saber, going for the creature’s eyes. The blow grazed Sorrow’s cheek, but no more sap ran.

Jack fumbled to light another match, but as he did, the room became full of rushing wind. Somewhere in the distance, crows called to one another.

With a howl, Severin launched himself onto her back again. Holding on to her branches, he pressed the saber to her throat, clearly hoping to still her, clearly hoping she might be afraid. But she shook herself, trying to throw him off. Hazel tried to slash at her, tried to cut her arms, her sides, even her impossibly long twig fingers. No blow made a single mark. Hazel was batted against a wall, thrown into a small knot of people who screamed as she fell against them.

She was sore all over. Standing took a great effort. Her head rang, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She blinked blood and sweat out of her eyes. She was bleeding from a dozen cuts she didn’t recall getting. She had no idea how many more times she could do this.

Severin crashed against the floor, rolling into a stand. He was still moving, but Hazel could see that some part of him had given up.

Then she heard the sound of the piano.

She turned, and Sorrow knocked her off her feet again. Hazel hit the wood floor of the house hard, slamming down onto it, the breath knocked out of her. She turned on her side and saw her brother sitting on the bench, his broken fingers splayed across the keys. Playing music.

The notes swelled around them. It was as though Ben was playing the sound of weeping. Sorrow howled into the air.

Then he seemed to slip. The music faltered. He couldn’t do it. His broken fingers, the ones he’d never let set right, the ones he’d never let heal, weren’t nimble enough for the piano. She shouldn’t have been staring in astonishment; she should have been using that frozen moment he’d given her. Hazel pushed herself to her feet, hoping it wasn’t too late.

She ran for Sorrow, but the monster was ready for her. It snatched her up and threw her down onto the sofa so hard that the legs cracked. It rolled backward, taking Hazel with it. Dazed, she looked up at the creature leaning over her. Branches and moss and shining eyes.

“Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones,” Sorrow said softly. A long arm shot out toward Hazel.

Then Ben started to sing. Formless notes, like the ones he might have played had his fingers worked, rose from his throat. It sounded almost like weeping, like her wails. It was grief, terrible and immobilizing. Despite the knot in her hair and Jack’s spell, Hazel felt tears in the back of her throat, felt them burn the backs of her eyes.

A keening, terrible sound came from Sorrow. She thrashed back and forth, knocking down chairs. The sharp broken ends of branches ripped the upholstery of the couch. She howled with grief.

“Ben,” Hazel yelled. “You’re making it worse.”

But Ben didn’t stop. He sang on. People wailed in despair, in rage. Tears wet their clothes, soaked their hair. They collapsed in heaps. They slammed fists against the walls. Sorrow thundered toward the piano, knocking it to one side. It fell with a terrible crash. Her branching fingers covered her face. The monster’s shoulders shook with weeping.

And then Hazel understood. Ben was taking her through the storm of grief. He was singing her through the rage and despair. He was singing her through the terrible loneliness, because there was no way to shut off grief, no way to cast it aside or fight against it. The only way to end grief was to go through it.

As she realized that, his song began to change. It grew softer, sweeter, like the morning after a long cry, when your head still hurt but your heart was no longer broken. Like flowers blooming on a grave. One by one, around the room, the weeping stopped.

The monster grew still.

Ben ceased his singing. He slumped down onto the piano bench, exhausted. Reaching up, his mother twined her fingers with his. Mom was still crying.

For a moment there was only silence. Sorrow looked around her with her strange knothole black eyes, as though waking from a long dream. Severin pushed himself to his feet and walked to her.

She stared down at him, reached out with her long twig fingers. This time she seemed conscious, aware. Her expression was unreadable. Hazel had no idea whether she would strike at him or not.

He reached up a hand and touched her mossy cheek. For a moment the monster leaned into his touch, almost nuzzling. Then, pulling away, she clomped out through the doorway, past the smashed furniture and stunned townsfolk, and was gone.

CHAPTER 19

Hazel dropped the saber. It made an echoing clang. Her knuckles felt bruised. Everything felt bruised, but at least her bones were intact. The sitting room of the Gordons’ house was a mess of broken frames, ottomans ripped open, leaves and dirt strewn across the scratched wood floor.

A woman was moaning from one of the corners. Someone else was weeping, sobs that no longer sounded forced from her throat. She was crying all on her own.

“We need the monster’s blood,” Jack said to her from the floor, where he was cradling an unconscious Carter. Hazel turned toward him, startled, because he wasn’t normally so vicious. Seeing her expression, he shook his head. “That’s what you said would wake these people up, what’s going to fix Carter. We need her blood.”

Hazel nodded. Of course. That was what the Alderking had told her. It was a puzzle, the math kind you got in school: To get the blood of a monster, you need a magical sword; to get a magical sword, you need to know whom your secret night self is in league with; to know whom your secret night self is in league with, you need to know who’d want to free Severin; to know who’d want to free Severin, you needed…

“Come,” said Ben. His voice sounded low and rough, as though he’d hurt it singing as he had. He reached out a hand toward Jack, gripping his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. We’re all looking for the same thing now, and we don’t have much time to find it.”

“Heartsworn,” Severin said. He nodded toward Hazel, a dip of his head, an acknowledgment. “You fought well.”

Instinct had propelled her into moving in a way she hadn’t known she could. So long as she didn’t think too much. The moment she considered why she was holding the blade at a certain angle or what she was going to do next, she’d faltered, all the momentum gone out of her. Fear had done a pretty good job of keeping her attention on the present, but now that she wasn’t scared, she couldn’t make her body do any more tricks.