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“The master knows what he is doing,” the black man says. “He would not have let the demon go without good cause.”

“You’ll get used to people dying,” the young blonde woman says. “Beranabus isn’t interested in saving the lives of a few individuals. He doesn’t have time for trivialities.”

“Trivialities?” the Indian woman explodes. “Yo

u call the loss of human life a trivi —”

“No,” the younger woman interrupts. “That’s what Be-ranabus calls it. He says we serve a greater purpose, that our mission is nothing less than the protection of mankind itself. He says we can’t worry about every human killed by demons, or waste time chasing strays. He doesn’t mind you all doing it, but we —”

“I’m trying to work!” the elderly man — Beranabus —barks, turning angrily. “If you’d stop chattering like monkeys, maybe I could . . .” He sees me and stops. “Who the hell is that?”

The others whirl around defensively. They pause when they see me.

“He doesn’t look like a demon,” the black man says.

“Some don’t,” the young woman growls. “A few can take human form. You have to be careful.” She raises her right hand. I sense power in her fingertips. Power directed at me.

“No!” I cry. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not a demon! I’m Kernel Fleck!”

The young woman’s fingers curl inward, holding back the magical power which she was about to unleash. She frowns. “He doesn’t sound like a demon.”

“It is the boy from the village,” the Indian woman says. “He was with the child Cadaver kidnapped.” She smiles at me. “Hello.”

“Hi,” I squeak nervously.

“What’s he doing here?” Beranabus huffs.

“I imagine he came through the window after us,” the In-dian woman says. “In search of his brother, perhaps?” She arches an eyebrow questioningly at me.

“Yes. The monster — demon — stole my brother, Art. I came to get him back.”

“Nonsense,” Beranabus snorts. “It will have slaughtered and devoured him by now.”

“Beranabus!” the Indian woman hisses. “Do not say such a thing!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“You do not know that. And even if it is, you should not say it. Not in front of . . .” She nods at me.

Beranabus laughs. “If the child was bold enough to follow us, he’s bold enough to be told the truth. Isn’t that right, boy? We don’t have to lie. You’d rather we were honest about it, aye?”

“Art isn’t dead,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s alive. I’m going to get him back.”

“Steal him back from Cadaver?” Beranabus laughs again. “You’re brave, but stupid. You couldn’t find him, not if you searched for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t really matter if he’s alive or not, does it?”

“Is that the demon’s name?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Cadaver?”

“Aye. But that’s no use to you. What are you going to do — report him to your police?”

“We have to send this boy back,” the young woman says. “Open another window. Return him.”

“We don’t have time,” Beranabus says. “Cadaver knows we’re after him. He’s on the run. The farther ahead he gets, the harder he’ll be to find.”

“That doesn’t matter. We must —”

“You’re chasing him?” I cut in, excited. “You’re going after the monster who stole my brother?”

“Aye,” Beranabus says, eyes twinkling.