If she'd been back home, Rosie would have scoffed, dismissing the idea before it had time to truly settle. That the devil could be here, that he could be inhabiting her friend, Sabrina's boyfriend--someone they both cared about and who'd seemed to care about them up until a few weeks ago--seemed too absurd to even contemplate. But she was more now, had seen more now, than when all she'd had was her unexciting life back in Oxford: from the glittering whirl of Anterwold to the confusion of Darrow; the magical parties and gatherings, the terrifying oddity of all that had happened back in June.

Rather than scoff, all Rosie does is let out a very soft, nearly involuntary "Oh my god." It's not at all correct, given the circumstances, but she says it anyway.

"Y-you told me about that, back when you got all of those memories," she continues, recalling the tearful, shaken confession Sabrina had made to her in the woods, what felt like ages ago now. "When...when you remembered Nick, remembered what had happened to him. It's all happening again? Here?" Rosie looks at her, concerned and frightened--and, more than that, full of a wave of sympathy so strong it nearly chokes her. "So he's been...ever since that happened, Nick's been..."

If Sabrina can be brave enough to say it, she can too. She ought to be. "He's been the devil. The Dark Lord, whatever you want to call him."