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About fifty feet away, their little friend was putting on a brave face, but she was obviously scared to death—and utterly unmoved by the Piper’s music.

“She had beeswax in her ears,” said John. “Didn’t she?”

“It’s not the beeswax,” argued Charles. “It’s got to be something else that’s shielding them from the spell.”

Charles was right. The Indian girl Lillith was completely entranced and was circling Aven, feinting and lunging with the precision of a cold machine—but Laura was still crouching at the base of the rocks, a terrified expression on her face.

“None of the children from any of the Dragonships were able to resist the music,” whispered Charles. “And Lillith succumbed again the minute he began to play. So what is it that makes the others immune?”

“I don’t know,” said John. “It must have something to do with Haven, maybe something peculiar to all the children who were there….”

John’s breath suddenly caught in his throat when he realized the words he’d just spoken.

Something unique, that only they possessed.

Something peculiar to the children in Haven, and the other children in the labyrinth who had been deemed “unsuitable” to enlist in the Crusade.

Something that made them immune to the effects of the Piper’s music.

And suddenly John’s heart began to race, and he realized what it was, what it had to be. But how could he use the knowledge to their advantage without getting everyone killed?

His train of thought was broken by a scream. Lillith had at last found an opening in Aven’s defenses and struck a wicked blow to her side. Aven dropped to her knees in pain, her left arm falling useless as her tunic turned crimson with blood.

Lillith quickly moved forward for a killing strike but was halted by a trilling harmony from the Piper.

“No,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. Defeating her is enough. There is no one who might stop us now.”

Aven struggled to her feet as Lillith moved to take her place at the Piper’s side. “No,” Aven said, her voice a rasp of agony. “It’s not over.”

“Oh, but I think it is,” said the Piper. He again put the pipes to his lips and played a discordant tune, and suddenly Stephen strode forward and, with a kick, forced his mother roughly to the ground. He placed a sandaled foot on the back of her neck and pushed her face into the abrasive sand. All the while, his face was empty—only the music, and the illusion it painted in his mind, mattered.

The notes changed, and Stephen lifted his foot and turned to face the Dragonships.

“Shall I tell you about your son?” the Piper said, his voice cruel and mocking. “Shall I tell you of all the atrocities he will commit, and the death he will bring to the world? Do you want to know all the evil he has already done?

“Do you want to know the best part?” the Piper went on, his voice growing softer, but still dripping with wicked glee. “He knows. Deep inside, somewhere within, he is still the child you remember. And as he goes forth at my command, at the head of my army, bringing destruction to the world beyond, he knows what he is being compelled to do—and there is nothing that can prevent it. He is mine, now and forever.”

Aven did not move, but wept into the sand. “My son is truly lost to me,” she murmured dully. “Lost. My lost son.”

Lost son, thought John. Lost Boys. It had to be. Peter had known. He had been the Piper once—so he had to have known too how to defeat the Piper’s spell. And Jamie had to have known as well, or else why send Laura Glue for him to begin with?

“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,’” quoted the Piper. “It was prophesied, inevitable. And now,” he said, raising the pipes to his lips, “we shall have an ending, and go forth to the Great War that we have been building for seven hundred years.”

“Stop!” John called out in what he hoped was a forceful-sounding voice. “Show mercy. At least let her say her last farewell. Let her say good-bye to her child.”

Aven looked up at John. The fatigue and pain masking her face was not