Release the demon under promise that I’d be repaid handsomely, my enemies destroyed? Hmm, where had I seen this before? Oh, right. Every demon horror movie ever made. And the horror part started right after the releasing part.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Ah, yes. Set me free and I shall take my revenge on the world. Start wars and famines, hurl thunderbolts, raise the very dead from their graves…Perhaps you could help with that?”

The voice slid to my ear again. “You are still such a child, aren’t you? Believing in bogeymen. Of all the wars and massacres in the last century, demons are responsible for perhaps a tenth; and that, some would say, gives us too much credit. Unlike humans, we are wise enough to know that destroying the world that sustains us is hardly in our best interests. Free me and, yes, I will have my fun, but I’m no more dangerous out there than I am in here.”

I considered it…and imagined the audience screaming. “You stupid twit! It’s a demon!”

“I don’t think so.”

Her sigh ruffled my shirt. “There is no sight sadder than a desperate demi-demon. After decades alone in this place, beating the bars of my cage, howling to deaf ears, I’m reduced to begging favors from a child. Ask me your questions, and I shall play schoolteacher, answering them at no cost. I was a schoolteacher once, you know, when a foolish witch summoned me and invited possession, which is never wise, even if you’re trying to destroy the dreadful little Puritan village that accused you of—”

“I don’t have any questions.”

“None?”

“None.”

Her voice snaked around me. “Speaking of witches, I could tell you a secret about the dark-haired one you visited. Her mother—too ambitious by far—heard of another witch bearing a sorcerer’s child, so she had to do the same. Now she’s paying the price. A mixed-blood spellcaster is always dangerous.”

“Tori’s dad is a sorcerer?” I said in spite of myself.

“The man she calls Daddy? No. Her real father? Yes.”

“So that is why—” I stopped. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“Of course you do. How about the wolf boy? I heard them talking to you about him. I remember the pups. They lived here, you know.”

“They?”

“Four pups, cute as could be. Perfect little predators, flashing fangs and claws even before they could change forms—all but the biggest of the litter. The lone wolf. The smart wolf. When his Pack brothers flashed those fangs and claws one time too many, those who’d opposed the inclusion of the beasties got their way.”

“What happened?”

“What happens to pups that bite their owner’s hand? They were killed, of course. All but the clever one who didn’t play their wolfie games. He got to go away and be a real boy.” Her voice tickled my ear again. “What else can I tell you…?”

“Nothing. I want you to leave.”

She laughed. “Which is why you’re lapping up my every word like sweet mead.”

Fighting my curiosity, I found my iPod, stuck in my ear-buds, and cranked up the volume.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Davidoff knocked at my door again. Time for a history lesson, apparently. He led me to his office and entered the code to a closet-sized vault lined with bookshelves.

“We have more reference books than this, naturally. The rest are in the library, which you’ll visit soon. However, this”—he waved at the closet—“is what a public library would call its special collection, containing the rarest and most prized volumes.”

He slid a red leather-bound one from the shelf. Silver letters spelled out Nekromantia.

“The early history of the necromancer race. This is an eighteenth-century reproduction. There are only three known copies, including this one.”

He lowered it into my hands with all the ceremony of passing over the crown jewels. I didn’t want to be impressed, but when I felt the worn leather, smelled the mustiness of time, a thrill rippled through me. I was every great fantasy hero raised in ignominy, then handed the magic book and told “this is who you really are.” I couldn’t help falling for it—the story was hardwired in my brain.

Dr. Davidoff opened a second door. Inside was a surprisingly cozy sitting room with leather chairs, a jungle of plants, and a skylight.

“My secret hiding spot,” he said. “You can read your book in here while I work in my office.”

After he left, I checked out the narrow skylight, but even if I could manage to climb twenty feet to get to it, I’d never fit through. So I settled into the chair with the book.

I’d just opened it when he returned.

“Chloe? I need to leave. Is that all right?”

Leave me alone in his office? I tried not to nod too enthusiastically.

“If you need anything, dial nine for front reception,” he said. “This door will be locked.”

Of course…

I waited until I heard the outer door close. I was sure he’d locked my door, as promised, but I had to check.

It was a rich girl lock, Rae would say—the kind that keep out only kids who’ve never had to share a bathroom and, occasionally, break in to grab a hairbrush while their sister hogs the shower.

A side table held a stack of paperbacks. I found one with a cover sturdy enough to do the job, then copied Rae by wriggling it in the door crack until the lock clicked.

Voilà, my first break-in. Or breakout.

I stepped into Dr. Davidoff’s office. What I needed was a file cabinet, stuffed with records on the study, but all I could see was a desktop computer.

At least it was a Mac—I was more familiar with those than PCs. I jiggled the mouse and the computer popped out of sleep mode. The user login screen appeared. There was only one user account—Davidoff, with an eight ball as the graphic. I clicked it and got the password box. Ignoring it, I clicked on “Forgot password.” The hint appeared: usual. In other words, his usual password, I supposed. That really helped.

At the password prompt, I typed Davidoff. Then Marcel.

Uh, do you really think it could be that easy?

I tried every variation on Lyle House and Edison Group, then, in what I considered a stroke of insight: Agito, with several possible spellings. After my third wrong guess, it had again prompted me with the hint: usual. A few more tries and it asked me to enter the master password so I could reset the user account password. Great. If I knew what the master password was…

I remembered reading that most people kept their password written near their computer. I checked under the keyboard, under the mouse pad, under the monitor. As I peered under the desk, a voice whispered, “It’s Jacinda.”

I jumped so fast I banged my head.

A tinkling laugh. “Careful, child.” It was the demi-demon. Again.

“The password is Jacinda?” I said as I backed out from under the desk. “That’s Rae’s mom’s name. Why would he—?” I stopped myself.

“What connection does Dr. Davidoff have with Rae and her mother? Another delicious secret. All these scientists, so proud and lofty, pretending they are above mere human frailties. Foolishness. They are prey to them all—greed, ambition, pride, lust. I’m particularly fond of lust. Very amusing.”

As she prattled, I typed in Jacinda. The password box vanished and Dr. Davidoff’s desktop began to load.

I opened a Finder window and searched on my name. The window began filling with hits. I tried clicking on one in a folder labeled “Genesis II subjects,” but misjudged and instead opened a file called simply “Genesis II” in the root folder of the same name.

The first paragraph looked like something out of Aunt Lauren’s medical journals—the summary of an experiment. I read:

The blessing of supernatural powers is tempered by two serious disadvantages: dangerous or unpleasant side effects and the constant struggle to assimilate into human society. This study attempts to reduce or eliminate these disadvantages through genetic modification.