He reached within Master Janusz with hands made of smoke and nothingness, and saw the other man’s eyes bulge. With all his strength, he tore his own soul free from its moorings and pushed — pushed it into Master Janusz, hearing the mage’s tinny scream as his soul was forced out into nothingness….

A few moments later the door burst open. The landlady, hearing the commotion, had raced upstairs. She saw before her a scene she had expected: her dying young tenant had expired, white-faced and still in his bed. Master Janusz stood in the center of the room, a dazed expression on his face.

“The boy,” she said. “He died?”

The Master did a very strange thing. He grinned from ear to ear. “Yes,” he said. “He is dead. But I will live forever.”

“Aaron.” It was Tamara’s voice. “Aaron, I know you’re in there.”

Call opened his eyes. They felt like heavy weights. Celia had gone, if she had really been there in the first place. Tamara was sitting next to his bed. She was holding one of his hands.

But it was kind of strange that she was calling him Aaron. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t Aaron. Except he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t. Memories swirled inside his head — a Chaos-ridden wolf puppy, a burning tower, a monster made of metal, a room full of mages, and he was one of them. One by one he killed them all, so they could never go against him. He watched them fall and laughed….

“I was the Scythe of Souls,” he croaked. “I was the Hooded Kestrel, Ludmilla of Prague, the Scourge of Luxembourg, the Commander of the Void. I was the one who burned down the towers of the world, who parted the sea, and death will die before I do!”

Tamara made a choked noise. “Aaron,” she said. “I know you’re in there. I know Constantine is doing this somehow. He’s driving Call out of his mind.”

It’s not Constantine. The words swirled up inside Call’s mind. He didn’t quite know what they meant, but they carried an enormous urgency with them. He found words spilling from his mouth suddenly:

“It’s not Constantine,” he gasped. “There’s another mage. One even more evil and way more ancient. His memories were blocked up, but we unblocked them and they’re basically blowing up Call’s brain.”

Tamara’s eyes widened. “Aaron,” she breathed. Her body jerked forward. “Aaron, you have to save Call. You have to close those memories off! Wall them up! And Call — you have to help him. You have to let him do it.”

For a moment, it seemed as though he’d fallen back into the morass of memories, that time slipped and went sideways again, but then there came another feeling, like a cool cloth against his brow. It was the feeling when someone came into your mess of a room and put everything away when you were gone, but in the right places, in the places you’d meant to put things.

“Aaron?” Call said. He was able to separate himself from the torrent again.

I’m here, came Aaron’s voice. Do you know who you are?

“Yes,” Call said. From the end of the bed, Tamara was watching him warily, clearly reserving judgment as to whether Call talking to himself out loud was a good sign or a bad one.

And who exactly is that? Aaron asked, sounding as though he was coaxing a cat.

“Callum Hunt.” He turned toward Tamara. “I’m okay now. I know I’m Callum Hunt. I remember — well, I remember a lot.”

She let out her breath all at once and sagged against the footboard of his bed.

“How long was I … like that?” His stomach growled. It had seemed both instantaneous and endless, the cascade of memories. He could feel them still, at the edges of his mind, whispering.

“Five days,” Tamara said, and Call gaped at her.

“Days?” he repeated.

“Let me bring you some food,” she told him, and rose. He caught her wrist on the way to the door.

“I have to tell you some things,” he said quickly.

She smiled a soft smile that was at odds with her usual fierceness. “Later,” she told him, and he was too exhausted and wrung-out to protest. He watched her walk out the door, then slowly and painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. His whole body ached, his leg the worst of all.

In his memories, in those other bodies, his leg hadn’t hurt. But he didn’t miss the feeling. It had been horrible, being that evil, deathless mage. And being caught in those memories had felt like drowning, gasping for consciousness the way he might have gasped for air. He didn’t know how Aaron had controlled them.

Are you okay? he asked Aaron. And then, because they were alone, and he wanted to know: Are you afraid?

Yes, Aaron said. For a long moment, there was only silence in Call’s head. And yes.

Tamara came back carrying plates of lichen and fizzy sweet drinks. Gwenda and Jasper followed her, carrying even more food — sandwiches, pizza — and setting it up where Call could get to it easily without getting out of bed. Soon his blanket was covered with platters of food.

Tamara went back to the door as Gwenda and Jasper sat down near Call. “Okay, we’re supposed to tell Master Rufus that you’re awake, but we wanted to talk to you before we did,” she said in a low voice. Then she snapped her fingers. “And someone else wants to see you, too.”

Havoc trotted in. He seemed a little subdued and looked nervously at Call. For a wolf, he had a great side-eye.

“Hey, boy,” Call said in a hoarse voice, remembering how Havoc had flinched away from him in the forest. “Hey, Havoc.”

Havoc trotted up and sniffed Call’s hand. Apparently satisfied, he lay down on the floor and stuck his paws in the air.

“Master Rufus thinks you were sick from using too much chaos magic,” said Jasper, but he sounded dubious. That was probably because he’d heard Call raving about his memories and burning down cities.

“That’s not what happened,” Call said. No one looked that surprised. Gwenda took a sandwich and nibbled the edge. “Look, I have to tell you something and I promise it’s the last secret I will ever have. Like if it even seems like another secret is coming my way, I will dodge and weave to avoid it.”

Liar, some part of him said. Some part of him that wasn’t Aaron, but that he couldn’t hide from Aaron. After all, Gwenda and Jasper still didn’t know there were two souls inside of him. But at least he had told Tamara. At least he wouldn’t have any secrets from her.

“Okaaaaay,” said Gwenda slowly. “So did you remember being Constantine?”

“Kind of,” said Call. “But I remember being someone else, too.”

“Like past lives?” Jasper asked.

“Exactly like past lives if instead of reincarnation, you imagine me as a mage who learned how to push the souls out of living people and put his own soul inside instead.”

“Like body-hopping?” Gwenda said, wrinkling up her nose.

“Exactly,” said Call. “Now imagine he only body-hops from Makar to Makar because he doesn’t want to lose his chaos powers. Imagine him — me — shoving the soul out of Makars through history and then becoming different Evil Overlords.”

“How many?” asked Tamara.

Gwenda got up and started toward the door. Call sighed. He supposed he should have expected that.