Free Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) by Geoffrey Huntington

get her confined to one room, playing games with her and bringing her some of her favorite treats, like hot fudge sundaes. But inevitably Crazy Lady disappeared on him again and took to running through the walls of the house, making Mrs. Crandall absolutely wild. Alexander thought it was a hoot, banging on the walls back at her, making a game out of it. Cecily complained that the noise was giving her a migraine, and so she was out of the house as often as she could be, ordering D.J. to drive her to the mall or take her to the movies.
    Devon tried not to process any lingering feelings he might have had for Cecily. It was best to just forget them. Instead, he concentrated on Natalie, with whom he texted until two a.m. every night.
    After about a week, they were all thrilled when Marcus returned to school. But he was reluctant to talk about his illness. He was kind of bruised and he’d lost some weight, but otherwise he seemed okay. Devon noticed he was wearing the pentagram and made his friend promise not to take it off. Marcus agreed, but also insisted that it was over—that whatever had ailed him was done, finished, and they should all stop worrying about him.
    With the arrival of spring came Devon’s birthday. As he fell asleep the night before the big day, he wondered again if he would be sixteen or seventeen when he woke up in the morning. He dreamed of his dad—Ted March—the only father he ever knew. “Dad,” Devon asked him, “will I ever know the truth?”
    “Maybe you already do, my son,” his father told him.
    It became one of those long and meandering dreams, where images flowed together, where one thing led to another without any rhyme or reason. Dad’s image was followed by Cecily, then Natalie, and then the beast, howling at the moon. Its howling became drawn-out, almost musical, until, absurdly, it was as if the beast were singing “Happy Birthday.”
    “Happy birthday, dear Devon …”
    He opened his eyes. Someone was stroking his face.
    A dream, or …?
    It was dawn. Pink light streamed into his room, flickering against his wall.
    Devon looked up.
    Yes, someone really was sitting on the edge of his bed, stroking his face and singing to him.
    It was Crazy Lady!
    “Happy birthday … to yooooooou!”
    And then she threw back her head and laughed. That shrill, maniacal sound.
    Devon sat up in bed.
    That wasn’t the light of dawn flickering on his wall.
    His room was on fire!

Dead Man’s Hand
    Devon leapt out of bed. His dresser, his desk, the curtains at his window were all aflame. The fire crackled, hopping impishly from the curtains to the wall.
    And Crazy Lady, her hair teased out wildly, just stood there and laughed.
    “You’re trying to burn the house down!” Devon screamed. “You’re trying to destroy Ravenscliff!”
    She laughed even more hysterically now.
    Devon spread his arms wide and concentrated. You better not think this is showy , he told whatever Nightwing forces were out there. I’m doing this to prevent this whole place from going up in smoke!
    Instantly, the fire snuffed itself out, leaving only blackened, smoldering debris.
    Crazy Lady covered her mouth and giggled, then turned and slipped through an open panel in Devon’s wall. He started after her, poking his head into the panel that he’d never even known was there, when he heard a scream.
    Cecily.
    He hurried quickly into the hallway. Smoke billowed down the corridor.
    “Fire!” he could hear Cecily shouting. “My room is on fire!”
    Alexander, too, was running into the corridor in his pajamas, his round pudgy face contorted in terror. “There’s fire in my room! The house is burning down!”
    “Oh, no, it’s not,” Devon said, once again stretching out his arms and concentrating—this time on extinguishing every flame in the house.
    He succeeded—only too well. Even the pilot lights in the stove and the hot water tank were snuffed out. Mrs. Crandall was none too pleased at such an ostentatious display of