“Can you see out of it?” asked Temple. “Did you grow an extra optic nerve, or is it a vestigial eyeball?”
“I get flashes of light and dark,” he said. “Mostly it stays closed, like it’s sleeping.”
I forced myself to bend closer so I could better study the eye. It twitched and stared back at me. “You’renotseeing me through your third eye?”
Morgan shook his head.
I moved to the side. The eye followed. “Well, something is.”
“It makes sense.” Temple reached past me and poked the eye. The lid snapped shut, and Morgan flinched. “Shoggoths are covered in eyeballs. Morgan is ingesting shoggoth goo.”
“Can you stop what’s happening to him?” I asked.
Temple scratched his beard. “How long have you been taking the pills, Morgan?”
“Since early February. About three a week.” Morgan sounded uncertain, maybe even scared. But not scared enough.
“What other changes have you noticed?” asked Jenny.
“I’m stronger. I don’t have to sleep as long. And I see magic. The first time I noticed was at the shop. Everything there is brighter, morerealthan anything else. I saw it with you and Uncle Temple, and even with Ava and Dad. It’s like we glow, when everyone else is just dull.”
He sounded blissful.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Morgan yanked down his shirt before his father came into view.
I started toward Blake, but he shook his head and said, “I’m all right. Please...”
There was so much pain and fear and desperation packed into thatplease. I nodded and turned back to Morgan. “I know you trust Mr. Barclay, but can we at least agree Sage shouldn’t be a part of this? Imagine how scared he’s going to be if eyeballs start opening up on his skin.”
“Your sister is worried about him,” Blake added. “His parents have been frantic.”
I gave him a grateful look.
Morgan turned away, his lips pressed tight. “The ritual we do...it creates a connection, like we’re sharing each other’s senses. I could try that and see if I can find Sage. I have the stuff to do it in the garage.”
I heard Blake’s self-control cracking as he asked, “You’ve been doing magic in my garage?”
I jumped in before Morgan could respond. “Right now, the priority is Sage. We can get back to yelling at each other once he’s safe.”
• • •
Jenny sniffed as we entered the one-car garage. “You’ve got mice.”
Between Blake’s car, a wall lined with metal shelving, a small tool-covered workbench in one corner, and the lawnmower and other tools, there was barely room to move around. Morgan squeezed past the workbench and dragged out a five-gallon bucket of de-icing salt. He pulled off the lid, dug through the salt, and retrieved a sealed freezer bag.
Inside the bag were a candle, lighter, a folded piece of paper, and a plastic device shaped like a short, fat ballpoint pen.
Morgan replaced the lid on the bucket, set the candle on top, and lit it. Then he placed the plastic device to the end of his index finger and pressed a button. There was a quietthunk. He squeezed his finger. A drop of blood welled from the tip.
“Next time, swab that with alcohol first,” said Jenny.
“What’s that thing you used to stab yourself?” Blake was trying to stay calm. His voice had only trembled a little.
“It’s what diabetics use to check their blood sugar. I ordered it online.” Morgan held his finger over the candle and squeezed out eight drops of blood. The flame flickered and hissed as each one fell.
“Why eight drops?” asked Temple.
“Because that’s how Mr. Barclay said to do it.” Morgan unfolded the paper and began to read. “Mggoka’ai R’gngyk ngth na’ghtagn. Hotept R’gngyk na’shub.”
