“He can teleport?” asked Ronnie. “That’s cool.”
“He’s still here.” I could hear his breathing. The sound was sharp and high-pitched, almost a squeak. I crouched with one hand to the wall for support. With my other, I poked the fallen pile of flannel.
A tiny Temple Finn, six inches tall and naked except for a similarly tiny cap, climbed out of the pajama top.
“I’ve got him.” Ronnie held a circular net the size of a handkerchief, with strands like silver thread and tiny metal weights around the edge. He tossed it frisbee-style.
Temple stopped it the same way he’d stopped my second round of bottle openers. But instead of letting the net drop, he gestured and sent it shooting back at Ronnie. The net wrapped around Ronnie’s hand and clung like a cobweb.
It was enough of a distraction for me to step forward and get the toe of my sneaker onto the edge of Temple’s pajamas. I used my foot to yank the pajamas toward me, fast enough to send Temple tumbling backward in a full three-sixty that would have been hilarious in other circumstances.
I snatched him up with both hands and held him tight so he couldn’t move. He didn’t struggle. He appeared stunned or worse. “Temple? Are you in there?”
“Has he lost his damn mind?” Ronnie was slowly peeling the net from his hand.
I wasnotgoing to answer that question. Instead, I said, “Hall closet. Red first aid kit. Get the smelling salts. They’re in a black bottle with a yellow label.”
This time, he didn’t complain about being my errand boy. He returned with the bottle in one hand and the first aid kit in the other. “In case he needs anything else.”
The first step was to keep Temple from attacking us again. I carried him into the kitchen. Holding him in one hand, I rooted through the drawers. “This should work.”
I tore off a strip of aluminum foil and wrapped it around Temple’s body, leaving his head exposed. After eight more wraps, I added twist ties at the shoulders, waist, and knees.
“This is the weirdest house,” said Ronnie.
“Says the guy who carries around a net for Barbie dolls.”
He bristled. “It’s a fairy net. Edith Kensington invented them in 1901 for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The spellcraft in that net is vintage.”
I set Temple on the counter and unscrewed the cap from the bottle. Ronnie wrinkled his nose.
“Be thankful your senses are only human.” The pungent smell made my eyes water. I held the bottle at arm’s length and brought it toward Temple.
His tiny eyes snapped open. He tried to jerk back but only managed to topple onto his side. “Jenny? Why are you giant? Why am I tied up in foil? Why does everything smell like piss?”
Relief drained the adrenaline from my body. I closed the bottle and set it aside. “That’s the ammonia in the smelling salts.”
“Do you always try to kill people in your sleep?” asked Ronnie.
“Only on special occasions.” Temple cocked his head. “I was dreaming about...Well, never mind that. I remember my wards going off. Oh, hell. Did I try to fireball the two of you?”
“You did,” I said.
“I’m so sorry.” The weariness and regret in his expression made him look older than usual. “I thought you were a shoggoth.”
“Do I look like a fucking shoggoth?” Ronnie blinked. “What’s a shoggoth?”
“On that note, I figured out what’s in those pills that Sage took.” Temple rolled back and forth like a skinny baked potato. “And I’ll be happy to explain as soon as you unwrap me.”
• • •
A few minutes later, Temple was free, back to his normal size, and, most importantly, once again wearing his pajamas.
“Give me a moment.” He looked at the ceiling—or through it—then nodded. “I’ve turned on additional protections in my workshop. Thankfully, everything is as I left it. Given my nightmares, I was worried Slimey had found a way out of his jar.”
“Slimey?” asked Ronnie.
Temple ignored him and grabbed a mug from the cabinet, along with cocoa powder, chocolate chips, and vanilla. “Anyone else want hot chocolate?”
