Quentin's bedroom insisted on spinning like a cheap carnival ride. Only the naked bodies of his friends, Margo and Eliot, held him in place, their limbs pretzeled around his. His mouth tasted like wolf dung; the light coming through the shutters was an affront. The spines of his five volumes of Fillory and Further stacked on the nightstand faced away from the spectacle in shame.

Quentin moaned as he willed the room to cease its antics. "Did we ... have sex?"

Margo's eyes flicked open on their shared pillow. "You forgot? Poor Quentin," she purred. "I was the best you'll ever have, and you don't remember."

"I believe I was the best," said Eliot.

"You wish!"

An image of kissing Eliot slashed across Quentin's addled brain. "What was in those drinks?"

Eliot smirked. "Hmmm ... absinthe ... dried unicorn testicles ... maybe a soupçon of minotaur semen. Honestly, can't remember ..."

"What?" Quentin bolted up. The room tilted.

Eliot and Margot laughed.

"What's this?" Eliot picked up a sheaf of papers from the foot of the bed and read "Fillory and Further Book Six, The Magicians."

"Give me that," Quentin said, snatching the manuscript from Eliot. An envelope addressed to Quentin in a sloppy version of Julia's flowery handwriting slipped out. Quentin's heart pounded. "Where was it all this time?"

"Why don't you read the note?" Eliot suggested.

Quentin extracted it and read silently.

Dear Q,

Last night I found Book Six in Penny's room. Sorry, he spilled beer on it when he passed out. Q, it's the key to everything. This isn't the first time we've battled the Beast. We've done it dozens of times. We all die. Repeatedly. Horrible things will happen. Some people die because of me. But now I know how to kill him and prevent it. No matter what, realize I had to do this alone, not to hurt you but because I love you, my friend. Sometimes one's own life is a worthy sacrifice.

Love, Julia

P.S. Don't be jealous of Penny.

What did Julia mean? One's own life is a worthy sacrifice. He flipped through the stale-beer scented pages which were plastered with Post-its covered in Julia's notes.

"Holy crap!"

Eliot sipped on the dregs of last night's idiocy. "What?"

"She's right," said Quentin. "We can kill the Beast. We do kill the Beast. Just not this time. We've battled him dozens of times ... and we always die."

"I solemnly swear never to give you another cocktail," said Eliot.

"Shit." Quentin rolled out of bed, knocking over a martini glass, and threw on a grey waffle Henley and black jeans-yesterday's clothes. "She's planning on doing it herself."

"Doing what?" said Margo.

"Killing the Beast-in the clock tower! The way to kill the Beast is for a powerful magician to turn niffin."

Eliot choked on his drink.

"Oh my god. Please don't let me be too late."

"Hey, we're coming," said Eliot, scrambling out of bed. "Where are my clothes?"

"See you there," Quentin said. Clutching the manuscript, he sprinted from the room.

***

Quentin ascended the final step of the clock tower. He paused to catch his breath, hand gripping the low railing that circumscribed the cramped roof, pushing down nausea as he peered over the edge. Sunlight burst through the back of the clock face. Julia's earthy magic lay heavy on his chest like a lead apron.

She sat cross-legged beneath the broken pendulum, surrounded by a circle of Virgin Mary candles, sulfurous smoke streaming from a brass bowl. Her spellcasting fingers were a blur. Power rippled off her body as she gazed into an ornate mirror, mumbling a complex Renaissance spell, the same one Alice had recited when she killed the beast in Book Six-right before she burned up from an overload of magic.

"Julia, stop!" He slid along the tiled floor, dropping to his knees with Book Six in his lap. "Please."

Julia lowered her hands. The pressure in the belfry eased. He could breathe. Her eyes slowly focused on him as if she was being dragged from another realm. "Quentin," she whispered. "Go."

"Only if you come."

"There's no other way." She laid a hand on the manuscript. "You know what happens next time if we wait for Alice. Not to mention what Reynard does to me." She shivered. "I'm ending it now."

Quentin set down the book and held Julia's shoulders. "By summoning the Beast? Turning niffin? I ... I can't live with that."

The temperature dropped; a sinister fog spread over the mirror, just as it had when the Beast came into charms class and blinded the dean. Quentin had to destroy the mirror before the Beast came through. He looked around wildly for something to use. The brass bowl! He hurled it at the mirror. Glass shattered across the floor.

Margo and Eliot emerged onto the roof, barefoot, each wearing one of Margo's feather-trimmed robes.

"What is this?" said Margo.

"It's like Incanto Oculta," said Eliot. "Only without the sex, drugs, or livestock."

"Could you guys just shut up?" Quentin snapped.

Julia dropped her head in her hands and sobbed. "What have you done? I was so close."

"I couldn't let you sacrifice yourself. We'll figure something out together." Something fluttered across Quentin's peripheral vision.

A moth.

It could be an ordinary moth.

Another moth appeared. Another. In a matter of seconds, moths swarmed around them.

Julia's candles guttered out. The hairs on Quentin's arm stood on end.

"Let's go now," said Quentin, grabbing Julia's hand. She stood, crushing his fist with incomprehensible strength, then yanked her hand away. Her brown eyes flashed an eerie blue. She unleashed a high-pitched, gleeful laugh like some creepy Chucky puppet.

"Stop it, Jules," Quentin pleaded. "I know you're upset, but ..."

"Oh, Quentin. You do amuse me," came a cultured British drawl.

The Beast was inside Julia. "Get out of her body!"

"I rather like it in here." He ran Julia's hands over her breasts, down her waist and thighs.

"Gross," said Margo. "You're already a goddamned murderer. You have to be a perv too?"

Why hadn't the Beast killed them or rendered them motionless? The pressure returned. Julia was fighting him, sapping his power. How long could she hold out?

Frantically manipulating his fingers, Quentin drew upon his deepest magic-wielding his pain to fuel the spell. Wind whipped through the belfry, agitating the bell. It issued a weak, mournful tone. He knew instinctively if he slashed the air, he'd end the Beast.

"Go ahead, Quentin," the Beast taunted. "Kill her. Maybe I'll die too. Perhaps it's worth the gamble."

Quentin lowered his hands. The room stilled. "It's me you want. Release her. I'll give you anything."

"Unfortunately, there's nothing of yours I want."

"You're wrong." Quentin bent down to pick up the manuscript. "Turns out you'll die eventually. It's all written here. And you'll never know how."

"Give me that!" growled the Beast from inside Julia.

"Come and get it," Quentin gathered a ball of blue fire in his palm, and, though it almost killed him to do it, lit the corner of the manuscript.

A cold vapor entered his body as Julia crumpled to the ground-unconscious but breathing. The Beast forced Quentin to open his hand and drop the pages. The blue fire extinguished.

"Get Dean Fogg," Quentin rasped. His jaw didn't respond well to orders from his brain. Not his brain. Their brain. Tendrils of the Beast's essence curled over his consciousness.

"He has me frozen," Margo said through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, Mr. Coldwater," the Beast said using Quentin's mouth. "I'm rather hungry. It seems I've developed a taste for human flesh, and that Margo looks divine. But first, a Julia appetizer." Quentin's tongue licked his lips, and the Beast's cannibalistic raptures curdled his stomach. Bile rose in his throat.

The Beast guided Quentin toward Jules. No! He would not let this happen. He tried to keep the Beast out of his head so he could think. He now understood that he had to be the one to end it. The edge of the tower was so close. Determination blazed through his veins like someone had filled him with lighter fluid and struck a match.

"What are you up to?" said the Beast. "Oh, you're a strong one. Most of my acquisitions give up more quickly."

As the Beast forced Quentin's hand around Julia's throat, lifting her to her feet, he let the Beast think he'd surrendered. Instead he focused every ounce of willpower on inching his feet closer to the tower's edge.

Julia wheezed, her legs kicking out. Her face turned purple. Quentin bit his tongue hard. Blood filled his mouth, but he managed to release Julia as he pushed himself over the edge.

Pain sliced through his skull. Air whooshed past. The cold vanished as the ground loomed.

And then ...

A Chucky laugh echoed from the rooftop where his friends awaited their fate.