Mr. Richards released his grip on the knife and staggered back a step, knocking over a candle or two as he went. One rolled into the shelves and flames began to lick across the line of books on the shelves purely for dramatic effect. I waved a hand at it impatiently, dismissing it from my thoughts. Irrelevant. It wasn't really there. The heat wasn't real, the library wasn't real, and the insane librarian cultist wasn't real. Only the body beneath mine and the danger it still posed had any facet in reality. And with that in mind...

I slapped Mercy's cheek. Hard. Her head lolled to the side bonelessly, long hair spilling over the edge of the desks like a red-gold curtain. She didn't react. No sharp intake of breath, no flinching around the eyes, no reaction in her pupils as her head turned toward the light. She wasn't in there. Of course, that's what she probably wanted me to think. So I smacked her again.

"Up," I ordered. "It's over. So you can get your skanky ass back into this construct and talk to me, or I can start dismantling the mindscape and find you. Dealer's choice."

Flames crackled nearby and in the distance, more sirens wailed. Harry and Dad were on their feet, wobbly but still upright. Both let out cries of outrage and horror when they saw what I'd done to Mercy. Poor, dead Mercy. What a joke. Harry was shouting something at me but fell silent when I flicked a wrist in his direction. It was ridiculously easy to control now that I was aware of what was really happening, like pressing the mute button on a remote.

I drummed my fingers on the desk, ignoring the warm slide of her blood over the surface. It wasn't real. I hadn't just killed my cousin Mercy because I didn't have a cousin Mercy. Yes, Aunt Allison and Uncle David had died when I was young, the unfortunate victims of a home invasion. The burglar had been high and looking to sell any large appliances he found inside. They weren't supposed to be home. It was bad luck, not supernatural interference. I had to hand it to her. The set dressing on this little fantasy had been absolutely superb. Though how could I expect anything less from the person lurking behind the curtain?

I turned in a slow circle, taking in the blackening stacks of books, the greasy clouds of smoke, and the shiny button eyes peering out of them. Those should have been my first clue. My mind had been trying to tell me from the very start, but I'd been too dense to put the pieces together.

"Harvest, huh?" I mused. "You just couldn't resist. It was my favorite when we first met. Mr. Richards was Mr. Reed in that one, though. And he was the red-herring, not the villain. But you knew that already, didn't you? You even used that knowledge to try to sucker me in the first time. But you were Mercy Pearson then. Poor, battered Mercy. And now you're poor, orphan Mercy. That's pulled from Moppets, wasn't it? The spinoff from the Bucky franchise. This is a reel of Darby Crane's greatest hits."

I tilted my head toward the frozen image of my Father and Harry. Their images stretched over other shapes, molding over them like cling wrap. It took effort, but I managed to peel away the thin, fleshy mask. The men underneath were built along the same lines. Both were tall, but one was at least a head shorter than the other. Both were handsome in a generic, Hollywood way. The one playing my father even had gray eyes. That must have been a plus during casting.

I jabbed a finger at the taller of the two. "This is Harrison Stafford, so you even had Harry being played by another Harry. Well done. Crane partnered with Jean-Pierre Lalonde to create Catacombs when the New French Extremity movement was in its heyday. Harrison played an American detective on a holiday in Paris. It was grittier than most people liked."

I turned toward Dad next. Or at least, the man she'd pasted his image on. "And the role of Michael Carpenter was played by Christopher Roy. Of course, he played Officer Jude in Unhallowed. That one was experimental too. Lots of controversy about the religious criticisms in the film. It was sort of the precursor to Harvest, which hit the middle-of-the-road commentary. All the other characters were spliced together from various extras, I bet. You had to use familiar settings and motifs, or you'd drive me absolutely bug nuts, and what use would I be to you then? You could blame any discrepancies on psychic damage that I do have."

I shook my head with a bitter laugh. This seemed too surreal. How the hell could I have bought into it for this long?

"But I didn't take it lying down. Coraline. The Matrix. Alice in Wonderland. Rowan's appearance was even a rip-off of Regan from The Exorcist. My head was just appropriating the language you were using to give me a message. Things aren't right. Your eyes have been plucked out. You're living in a dream world and you're being used by someone else. And that someone else is a demon here to destroy you."

I aimed a kick at one of the tables when she didn't move. My heel connected with a smack, tipping the desk over on its side. It started a chain reaction, toppling one after the other, until Mercy's weight shifted, sending her limp body flopping toward the ground. But before she could impact head first, she twisted, eyes snapping back into focus. She took the brunt of the fall on her shoulder and rose to her feet in a display of liquid, inhuman grace. Her features shifted almost imperceptibly, youthful mischief replaced with something older and more cynical. Her voice went down an octave, growing thicker and sweeter. It hit the ear like candy, impossibly seductive.

"Simple solutions for simple people," she said, lip curling. "You've always felt the need to be a hero, Molly, even though you know you aren't suited for it. This time was no different. I overplayed my hand. If I hadn't, you would have summoned me again. You've wanted to for years, and only your own cowardice kept us apart."

I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. "I'm not simple, Lash, you're just dramatic. Did you ever think about asking politely?"

Her borrowed head tilted curiously, like a dog who'd heard an odd sound. Coppery brows scrunched together over her wide blue eyes and her lips pursed as she thought about it.

"Will you accept my coin?" she asked finally.

I wanted to laugh. The look on her face was so...childlike in its confusion. An almighty former angel, bemused by a simple concept like politeness. She'd been so used to getting her way through coercion or brute force that she hadn't even considered offering me the coin plainly. Honestly? If she'd approached me on the street and offered me her help in rescuing Daniel in exchange for taking up her coin, I might have been tempted, even knowing she'd been the one trying to kidnap him in the first place. But she hadn't. She'd chosen this, and that told me all I needed to know about her motives.

"Hard pass. Thanks for the feature-film experience, though. Much better than IMAX. But we're done here. Roll credits."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, eyes burning with hellfire as she stalked toward me. Her gathered will was like gravity, pressing me down as she advanced.

"It's not over until I say it's over."

"Wrong. You're an uninvited guest in my domain. My head, my rules." I gathered what remained of my will and gritted out, "Which means what I say goes. Get the fuck out of my head, NOW."

Lasciel's shriek of outrage whited out my vision. Then the world fell out from under my feet and I was...elsewhere.