Mabel had been in all sorts of scary situations. She'd been trapped by evil clones, chased by a crazy shapeshifter, shoved out of her body by a demon.

But nothing came close to the sheer terror that consumed her now.

I am going to die.

Even with all the dangerous things that had happened this winter, Mabel had never thought of the possibility of death. How could she? It's not like anyone who died in accidents, supernatural or no, was expecting it.

But now she was expecting it. Pacifica had told her what she was going to do to her.

She didn't want to die. She was only thirteen! She had her whole life ahead of her! And she had unfinished business, too. Would Ford continue with trying to reactivate the portal even while mourning her? She could only hope he would. Stanley didn't deserve to be abandoned, not for mourning, not for anything.

Her mind went in circles as Pacifica and her lackeys dragged her through Order headquarters, and her body shivered uncontrollably after that walk through the freezing winter night with no protection on her bare arms save the straps of her backpack. There was a part of her that was hoping, just maybe, Gideon would come and save her. But she couldn't hang everything on that hope. Gideon was the only one of her allies who knew what had happened to her, and she didn't even know if she could officially count him as an ally yet. Besides, he was probably facing Gaston's wrath back at the Northwest Manor. Mabel had seen firsthand how much control that. . . that monster had over his son.

If only Gaston were the one about to die instead of Mabel.

Mabel stopped when she had that thought, causing her to stumble as she fell behind the forced march. Where had that come from? Mabel wasn't one to wish death on anybody, not even that monster.

Must just be her terror taking over her rationality.

A few feet ahead, Pacifica put her hand up to bring the morbid procession to a halt. Mabel stumbled again when her captors stopped sooner than she did.

"Bill?" Pacifica was saying.

Mabel's head snapped up. No. No no no. She was already in a bad enough situation. He could not show up to make this worse.

"Bill, I've got her! I can finally be rid of her!"

Mabel frowned. Pacifica appeared to be talking to thin air. How was she talking to Bill, anyway? Couldn't he only show up in dreams?

"What? What do you mean I can't kill her?!"

Pacifica shot a glare of pure loathing back to Mabel, then turned back to the space where she evidently thought Bill was floating. Mabel watched her body sag, then stiffen, then stiffen some more. "Then what will get rid of it?" she demanded.

The Order members surrounding Mabel did nothing to react to Pacifica's rambling. Apparently this was a common occurrence.

"Oh, sure, like that will work. 'Mabel, darling, could you please stop sending your spirit out to torment me? Much appreciated.'"

What now?

Pacifica flinched from some unheard retort of Bill's. "Sorry, Bill. This just came out of nowhere. I thought killing her was the answer and now you're telling me it's not!"

Mabel's confusion was swept away by a sudden tide of relief. Did that mean. . . did that mean Pacifica wasn't going to kill her? There was a part of Mabel that screamed at her to not get her hopes up, but that part was drowned out by said hopes.

Pacifica spun on her heel to glower at Mabel. Mabel had to fight to resist a relieved smile. "Change of plans," she said nastily. "I'm not killing you."

Mabel's knees went weak, and she sagged against her captors. She would've fallen to the floor if their firm hands weren't holding her up. She felt relieved tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She — she wasn't going to die. She wasn't going to die!

Pacifica frowned at her. "Don't think this means you're safe. Far from it."

Mabel knew that, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wasn't going to die.

"Follow," Pacifica ordered, turning back around and leading the way down the labyrinth of tunnels. The tunnels weren't much to look at: bare stone floor and walls, deep mahogany ceilings, the occasional bracket for a lantern. These appeared to be filled with flame, not electric lights, and so the light they cast was meager and dim. It meant there were constant shadows throughout the entire underground complex.

Eventually they made it to a round dead-end area that had a couple wooden doors set into the unyielding stone. Pacifica went to the center one and threw it open. She then instructed most of the large procession of Order members to go out and start patrolling, leaving four to stay with her and Mabel. Once the six of them were in the room — the Order members pushing Mabel none-too-gently — Pacifica turned to address them. "Welcome to my rooms," she told Mabel.

This was where Pacifica had been? She lived here now? The room wasn't too cramped, but it wasn't huge either. Wouldn't Pacifica have a diva fit over how plain it was?

"You there," Pacifica said to one of Mabel's captors. "Go and get a pair of handcuffs."

Mabel's stomach fell. Now that the relief over still being alive had passed, she had a full view of just how bad her situation was.

"Make that two pairs."

The Order member gave a small bow and swept from the room.

Pacifica smoothed down her skirts and sat on the bed, while the rest of them stayed standing. Since thinking too hard about her situation was dangerous, Mabel instead focused on the different faces of the Order members, trying to figure out if she recognized any of them. There was Bud Pleasure, of course, but other than that she didn't know the identities of anyone. Oh, she'd seen most of them around town, even some in the Mystery Museum, but she'd never learned their names or talked to them or anything. Even though she didn't have connections to any of them, they still made her shiver.

Anyone could be an Order member.

Great. That was just what a girl with paranoid tendencies like Mabel needed.

The Order member returned with two pairs of handcuffs and handed them both to Pacifica. Pacifica stood up and crossed the room to Mabel. The Order members holding Mabel shoved her hands forward so Pacifica could cuff them together. The second pair was used to cuff Mabel to the base of a lantern bracket. The Order member who brought the handcuffs handed Pacifica the key that would unlock them. It was hung on a cord, which Pacifica tied around her neck, dropping the key into her dress and out of sight.

"Leave us," Pacifica ordered.

"Are you sure, Miss Pleasure?" one of the Order members asked.

"I'm sure. Don't leave the building, of course. Go out and patrol with the others. Make sure no one is coming to try to rescue Mabel. If you find anyone, subdue them and bring them to me."

Mabel could see the disgruntled look in their eyes, and she was sure they would start muttering about how demanding Pacifica was as soon as they left the room. But they did as their leader said. One double-checked that Mabel's handcuffs were secure, and then they all gave Pacifica a bow and filed out of the room.

Pacifica sat back down on the bed, out of Mabel's reach. Mabel didn't like being alone in a room with Pacifica one bit, but at least she wasn't restrained by those Order members anymore.

After a long silence, Pacifica finally spoke. "So," she said quietly, looking up at Mabel with a contemplative expression. "How do you do it?"

Mabel braced herself for the confusion that always came when Pacifica started talking about her delusions. "Do what?" she asked wearily.

"Send your spirit out, of course. I didn't know the amulets could do that."

Yep, there it was. "Pacifica. . . let's just pretend I don't know what you're talking about." Because she didn't. "Sending out my spirit?"

Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Sure, I'll play that game with you. Ever since you broke my amulet—"

Actually, Dipper broke your amulet, Mabel thought. But she kept quiet, not wanting to stop the explanation.

"—there's been some kind of ghostly presence haunting me. You. You follow me around during the day, sometimes just standing there glowering, sometimes making all sorts of threatening faces and gestures. Even now, you're sitting on the bed with me, smirking. And at night. . ." Pacifica shuddered. Just a little, like she was trying to repress it, but enough that Mabel saw it. "At night is when you really torture me."

Mabel didn't say anything. How could she?

"Not physically — it's your spirit, so it can't touch anything — but you get into my head, make me think all sorts of terrible things, make me unable to stop thinking. I just. . ." She swallowed, and what she said next — or, rather, how she said it, with her voice trembling — made Mabel really worried. "I just want to be able to sleep."

Mabel stared at her. Was that. . . empathy that just flared up in her chest? For Pacifica?

That was crazy. And yet. . . it was empathy. Mabel knew exactly how that felt. Wanting so badly to sleep, but being kept up by awful memories or woken up by nightmares.

Pacifica suddenly shook her head and recomposed herself. "Is that why you wanted to play pretend?" she demanded. "To make me crack? To gloat over the success of your haunting?"

"N-no, I. . ." But how could she make Pacifica understand? She was so set in her delusions that Mabel didn't think anything could bring her to her senses. If she even had senses to begin with. "Pacifica," Mabel started. Don't seem desperate, she told herself. Just act calm. "Pacifica, I had no idea this was happening to you. I haven't been doing anything to hurt you. Something has been hurting you, I don't deny that — but it hasn't been me. I don't know what's going on, but I do know I want it to stop it too."

There was a silence as Pacifica narrowed her eyes at Mabel, measuring her sincerity. "Well, I thought that killing you would stop it. But Bill appeared to me and told me that killing you would just make it worse, since you can dedicate all your time to haunting me instead of just sending out a portion of yourself to do it. That does make sense, but. . ." She trailed off, her brow furrowed as she thought.

"W-well, I don't think killing me will stop it either," Mabel said quickly. "I don't know what will, though." Mental help, maybe.

Pacifica sat up straighter. "Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out for sure."

The library?

"The library."

Pacifica stood up and strode across the room. Huh. Mabel had never imagined her as someone who would use the library for research. She had this mental image of, well, Pacifica setting a pile of books on fire and laughing as they burned, just for the fun of it. The fact that both girls turned to libraries for answers. . . well, Mabel couldn't help but be horrified. Good guys used libraries. Bad guys didn't. And Pacifica was a bad guy.

The bad guy in question unlocked Mabel's second pair of handcuffs from the wall and used them to chain their wrists together. Then Pacifica yanked her hand away, making Mabel stumble. Great, even more dragging.

"There's no way I'm leaving you alone," Pacifica said. "Try to keep up."

They left her rooms and backtracked through the tunnels a bit before taking a new path and going even deeper into the complex. Mabel didn't know if Pacifica walked so fast because that was just how she walked, or because she wanted to trip Mabel up. Either way, it was hard to keep up with her.

As they walked, another thought captured Mabel's attention. Bill. . . had Bill really saved her life? Why? Why didn't he just let Pacifica kill her? As far as Mabel could tell, it would certainly make his life easier. And yet, his word was the only reason Mabel was still standing.

Well, standing was a stretch, considering how fast Pacifica was going.

Still, the fact that Bill was responsible for her continued life made Mabel uneasy. Bill wasn't merciful, not by any means. So keeping her alive must mean he wanted something else with her.

Mabel had no desire to find out what that was.

Although. . . maybe Bill could've just been another one of Pacifica's delusions. Mabel doubted it, though. Why would Pacifica imagine a conversation where she was denied the one thing she wanted most? No, Mabel had no doubts that Pacifica really could talk to Bill while she was awake.

They descended yet another set of stairs and entered the library. It was small, with some desks interspersed with the bookshelves. The Order had an entire library down here? What kind of books did they have? Mabel's curiosity raged inside her.

But they weren't here for Mabel's curiosity, of course. They were here for Pacifica's.

Pacifica clicked her tongue, looking around at the nearest bookshelf with her hands on her hips. Which meant Mabel's hand that was chained to hers was at quite the awkward angle. Mabel tried to ignore that, though, and instead started to wonder how on earth they were going to find anything on here. The covers of the books were all solid covers, from what she could see, some even without titles. Unless Pacifica knew exactly where to find what she was looking for, they'd be down here for a while.

Pacifica didn't know exactly where to find what she was looking for. Instead, she started reaching up (pulling Mabel's arm up with her) and grabbing random books off the shelves, flipping through them for a minute, and then putting them back. Eventually she found one she liked and put it on a nearby desk. This pattern continued until there was a fairly large stack of books on the desk.

Then Pacifica sat down to read.

Mabel had to sit uncomfortably close to the psychotic girl to keep her arm from being torn from its socket. She settled in the best position possible, then set her eyes to roaming the bookshelves. What was even down here? Were all the books something like How to Worship Your Demon Overlord? Or were there other things? Obviously books about spirits, since Pacifica was down here for that topic, but did they have research on dreams? Magical creatures? Were there books that were collections of supernatural research. . . like. . .

Like the Journal?

Mabel's eyes widened instinctively, and she was grateful that Pacifica was looking at those books and not at her. The Journal. Could. . . could the Journal be down here?

That would make sense! It'd be why no one ever found it, not like she and Gideon found theirs out in the woods. Although Ford didn't know what happened to them. . . anything could have. Anything, including ending up down here in a secret underground library.

And Fiddleford. . . Fiddleford McGucket was the one who stole the Journals. Probably. Ford had told the twins he didn't want to assume, but it made the most sense to Mabel. She'd found the third one in a hidden compartment by the bunker that Fiddleford had kept secret from Ford. It only made sense that he was behind their disappearance, right? Although in order to hide a Journal down here, Fiddleford would've had to have been a member of the Order. . .

Crescent.

The laptop password. Crescent. It had been nonsense to Mabel at the time, but now she knew another name with that word: The Order of the Crescent Eye.

She felt a thrill go through her. Fiddleford had to have been a member of the Order if he made the word "Crescent" his password, right? And what better place to hide one of the Journals than in the headquarters of your cult? It must be down here.

Mabel looked down at the handcuffs chaining her to Pacifica in dismay. She had a plausible theory that the first Journal was down here. But how would she look for it like this?

She thought for a while, then cleared her throat to get Pacifica's attention. "Um. . . I'm feeling restless. Could I stand up for a while and walk around?"

Pacifica looked at her like she was the crazy one. "And pull on my arm?"

"Y-you could uncuff the ones connecting us. I-I mean, I'd still be cuffed." Mabel held up her hands to show the cuffs on her wrists.

"Not a chance. You have to be tethered to something, preferably myself. Now shush up."

Drat. Mabel would just have to wait until the next time Pacifica got up for more books. Who knew if her captor would even do that.

After an agonizing wait in which Mabel fought to stay awake — what time was it, anyway? — Pacifica finally dragged her to her feet and over to the bookshelf. As Pacifica pulled books down from the shelf, Mabel tried as subtly as possible to do her own search. Her eyes scanned the shelves until they landed on a book with a maroon spine that was about the same height as the Journal. Then she would tease it out until she could see the cover. If there was no golden glint of an embossed hand, she'd move on to the next one. She left the books she'd checked sticking out slightly so she wouldn't accidentally check one twice.

Pacifica seemed too absorbed in her own search to notice what Mabel was doing, but Mabel still got discouraged quickly. This was just one bookshelf. This library was small, yes, but the Journal could be on a shelf to which Pacifica never wandered.

"Have they really never catalogued this library?" Pacifica asked in exasperation. "There doesn't even seem to be a system it's organized by."

They must be too busy worshipping that awful demon to do productive things like organizing books, Mabel thought. She wanted to say it out loud, too, but she didn't dare.

Pacifica grabbed a stool from the side of the room, stomped over to another bookshelf, and started looking through that one. Mabel started looking through these books, her hopes rising again, despite the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her this was pointless, that she'd never find it.

She checked one book, then another, making sure Pacifica was preoccupied between each one. After a particularly close call, Mabel paused, waiting a bit before checking the next one.

Pacifica dragged her over to put a book on the table. Then they were back at the bookshelf.

Mabel glanced at her, then slid her hand toward the next book with a maroon spine, careful to not pull the handcuff chains tight and notify Pacifica of what she was doing. She hooked a finger on the top of the spine, easing the book out of the bookshelf. It was on her right; she couldn't see the cover from this side.

Then Pacifica moved over to the right, and Mabel moved with her. The cover came into view.

Mabel stifled a scream.

Yes!

The maroon binding was worn, like it had been well-loved in its time. The golden sheen of the six-fingered hand winked merrily up at Mabel. The black 1 sat solidly in the center, boldly declaring its presence.

Mabel had found the first Journal.