Gram said it was dangerous, and Simon knew she was right. He was just a kid, but he wasn’t stupid. But Gram didn’t know about the book that murdered his Dad.

Simon had finally finished it. Mostly. There were bits he wouldn’t be able to read for years, not until he’d mastered Greek and Sumerian and the lost language of the Aklo-Aklo. But he’d managed enough to read the very last line of the book, scribbled in Latin doggerel.

“Thus endeth Volume One.”

Simon knew there was something in the second volume he needed to know. He didn’t know what, but his third eye, which was maybe three-fourths of the way open now and getting wider every day, saw it—a path between himself and the second tome.

Simon fingered his scarf. It was way too hot to be wearing a scarf, but Gram had made it for him herself. The question marks weren’t quite true to the original—Gram wasn’t a fan. But the scarf was handmade with love, and that gave it power. Simon checked his pockets for Sharpies, and walked up the library steps.