Copyright © 2015 by Bethany Frenette

Cover photograph © 2015 by Shutterstock

Cover design by Christian Fuenfhausen

Designed by Marci Senders

All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

ISBN 978-1-4231-9028-8

Visit www.hyperionteens.com

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For my dad, who taught me a lot about imagination (and always encouraged me to use mine)

In the deepening twilight that fell across the city, a single star burned red.

At first glance, I thought it was a plane. I watched it a moment, waiting for it to flash and continue its steady course overhead, tracing a path above the rise of buildings around us. But it didn’t blink. It didn’t flicker or fade. The light remained, a tiny crimson flame in a sky that was otherwise blue and blank.

On the sidewalk ahead, Tink took a few steps forward and then swung back to face me. She tilted her head, giving me a quizzical look. “Why are you stopping?”

I glanced up once more. The night was cloudless, the sky wide and empty against the glow of downtown lights. The star was gone, the little flame extinguished. “Did you see that?” I asked.

“Not again,” Tink groaned. She scanned the street, turning in a slow circle with her hands set on her hips. Her eyebrows lifted. “What am I supposed to be seeing here? A squirrel? Another cat beneath a car?”

Three blocks back, I’d made her stop so I could investigate a pair of eyes gleaming out from between the wheels of a parked Jeep. When I’d dropped into a crouch and reached my hand under the car, a cat had darted away with a series of hisses, then disappeared behind a fence.

I shrugged. “Hey, that could have been a Harrower.”

Tink fixed me with a blank stare.

“A small one,” I suggested.

She rolled her eyes. “I am beginning to regret bringing you with me.”

“You’re not the only one.” I paused again, searching the darkening blue above me. Between the roofs of buildings, I saw only sky. The red star—whatever it had actually been—did not reappear. “As thrilling as this is,” I continued, “I have to admit, I thought being a Guardian would be a bit more…glamorous.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Not anymore. When Tink had become a Guardian and I hadn’t, I’d been more than a little jealous—but over the past several months, I’d also seen enough of demons to know that being called to fight them wasn’t all about powers, or about defending the helpless. It wasn’t all superheroes and secrets. Being a Guardian meant being a protector, but it also meant pain. It meant death. I knew that. I had witnessed death. I had killed. And even before that, my mother had spent countless hours warning me of the dangers that came along with the calling.

But what no one had bothered to mention was the one thing I might actually have listened to. As it turned out? Spending Saturday nights on patrol was pretty boring.

“Glamorous,” Tink repeated, wrinkling her nose as she looked at me.

“Exciting?” I tried.

“You want us to get attacked?”

“Well, no,” I said. Though I hadn’t run across any demons in the past several weeks, I wasn’t in any particular rush to change that.

“Because I am perfectly happy being bored,” Tink said. “As far as I’m concerned, all the Harrowers can just crawl their way back Beneath and stay there.” She marched ahead, moving toward the end of the block.

I hurried to catch up with her. The street was quiet, cluttered with parked cars and apartment buildings crowded closely together. The occasional tree lent the avenue a hint of green. In the hush, I heard strains of music from an open window. Yellow light filtered out through screens and curtains. The air was hot and sticky, and so thick we might as well have been swimming. When a mosquito landed on my arm, I slapped at it, leaving a tiny reddish smear that I wiped on Tink’s shoulder when she wasn’t looking.

We’d been walking the outer edge of downtown Minneapolis for over two hours, and so far our only encounters—aside from the cat—had been a group of preteen boys shouting lewd comments, a dog with its head stuck in a trash can, and a shirtless man who had come lurching out of an alley toward us, his chest red with sunburn. The shirtless man had been startling enough that Tink had jumped and screamed, but it turned out to just be some drunk guy who wanted a light for his cigarette. Tink’s shriek had scared him, and he’d lurched away again.

Tink was still rather embarrassed by the incident. As we turned the street corner, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Why do smokers always go around asking for a light, anyway? Shouldn’t they have a lighter?”

“Maybe he left it wherever he left his shirt.”

She sighed. “See? I told you I’m not cut out for this. If that guy had been a Harrower, I’d probably have peed my pants.”

“At least no one would be able to tell,” I said. Tink had chosen to dress all in black: long-sleeved T-shirt, pants, even her shoes and socks. Since Guardians weren’t bothered by extremes in temperature—rather handy, given Minnesota’s weather—she appeared perfectly comfortable, while I was sweating in my shorts and tank top. I plucked at her sleeve. “You don’t think this makes us look just the teensiest bit suspicious?”

“Your mom runs around the Cities in a hoodie with a giant white star on the back,” Tink pointed out.

“Yeah, but Mom is…Mom.” Though I supposed if Tink was going to be a teenage superhero, she might as well look the part. “You could at least be a bit more creative,” I added. “Maybe we should come up with a costume for you, now that you’re an official Guardian. You know, something that doesn’t scream I’m here to steal all your valuables and murder you in your sleep.” Given Tink’s fondness for glitter, we could just find her a wand and staple some wings to her back.

Before I could suggest this, however, she aimed a glower at me. “First of all, kindly remember that I am now capable of kicking your ass. Second, I am not official. This is just a trial run.”