The Final Descent (The Monstrumologist #4)(65)

He nodded. “I do. And he does.”

“Who?” I demanded. “Who does he have? Who does he belong to?”

He looked surprised. “You. He has you.”

The hunter in his blind. The bleating goat tied to the stake. And the amber eye glowing just outside the circle of light.

I began his hunter. I ended up his prey.

He is there; I feel him, one ten-thousandth of an inch outside my range of vision. I stalk him. He stalks me. The man who wrote these books is not the man who lives in them. That man is the form; Will Henry is the shadow. And now that shadow lives in me.

And it lives in you.

Turn around now.

Will Henry has come home.