“What kind of stupid name is that?” Henry asks. He's lying on the floor of the living room and flicks another one of his army men into the wall.

“You came up with it,” I say, bringing down my imaginary binoculars from watching the witch's house. A man's dropped off a bag full of something for her, and she looks down the street and stares at me for a second. I don't know if she sees me, but the witch knows we watch her.

But I'm not angry at the witch. I'm angry at Henry. Mr. Mistoffelees is a good, fun name for a partner. “You said you wanted that name because it was funny-sounding.”

“I did?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, it's a stupid name,” he says. “Can I change it?”

“You've always been Mr. Mistoffelees.”

“Well, now it's a stupid name,” he says. Henry looks at me, and something on his neck smokes gray. “I want to be Herman Van Winkle. That's funny name.”

“Isn't that a German name?”

“It's Dutch. If you want me to be a kraut, I'll be Herman Von Himmler.”

“I don't – ”

Henry grabs one of his army men and stares at it like he's waiting for Superman's heat vision to start. “You have committed the sin of treason and insubordination against your commander, your leader, and your country,” he says, but how he says it makes me shiver a little, “and for that, the life of yourself, and of your family for that matter, is now inconsequential to the greater good of the nation.”

I swallow. “What's wrong with Mr. Mistoffelees?”

“It's a stupid name, Charlie,” he says, and his voice falls wrong. It wobbles, but stabs at the same time. “Don't be stupid. It's a bad name.”

“No it isn't,” I say. “Mr. Mistoffelees and Dr. Green work best together.”

Henry stares at me for a long second before grunting. “Mr. Mistoffelees is weak. Too stupid for his own good. He's a sniveling little worm and I hate him.”

I watch him for a second before looking outside.

“If you won't let me change his name, then will you let me give him powers? I want to be super smart and clever, like the Green Hornet, but be able to kick some ass if I need to.” He smiles at that, but it isn't his. It's new and cold, crooked.

I don't like it. “Mr. Mistoffelees isn't the leader.”

“Maybe it's time he should be.”

“Then that means we're all done playing, then, right?” I ask.

“What's all the ruckus?” Gramps asks. He comes in and looks at us. “Henry, you have an army man under your foot.”

“I know,” he says.

“I don't want to play with you now,” I say.

“Charlie, be nice. This is not the kind of stress Henry needs just after getting better. I doubt he needs his best friend pushing him away like that.”

Henry grins at that. He leans forward, like he's shoving the smile into my face.

“I'm not pushing him away, Gramps,” I say. I don't know what I'm doing. All of it – Henry – is like I'm meeting someone new for the first time, and it feels weird. I don't remember Henry using words like that before, climbing trees like that, smiling like that. I nearly say something about it, but I don't.

“To be fair, Mr. Stewart, Charlie doesn't like that I found out that my army man was stealing plans from me. For the enemy.”

I look at him. “That's not – ”

“That's very serious,” Gramps says, kneeling down. “How are you taking care of that?”

“Stepping on him, first.”

Gramps laughs at that. He puts his hand on Henry's shoulder. “Good man. I hope your soldier comes out the other side knowing better.”

“He better, or else he's going in the toilet.”

Gramps laughs at that, too, and prickles my skin. It turns my stomach in the same way I feel when I get in trouble. He's right. Henry made everyone scared for days, and it doesn't feel fair that I'm the one being mean to him. Gramps stands up and says, “Well, play nice, guys. I'll be on the porch.” He leaves.

I look at Henry, clenching my teeth together and really, really looking at him. He looks like Henry, and when he sees me, he smiles. The look tries to be friendly but is colder than ice. It doesn't feel like Henry's smile. It's someone else's. I don't know why. I don't know whose it is. I sit back on the floor. “Take him out from under your foot,” I say. “He doesn't deserve to be stepped on.”

“Oh, no. I'm putting him in the gas chamber,” he says, scooping up almost every single one of his army men.

“What – ?”

“A slow, painful death is what they need.”

“What if – ” I grab his arm. He's going to the fireplace. Gramps lit it before, and left it to burn. “What are we going to use for the bad guys? When Dr. Green and Mr. Mis – your new named guy, are running away?”

He wrinkles his nose, but then he smiles and steps close to me. Close enough to make me step back. “Don't be so silly, Charlie,” he says, the same way adults talk to me when they think I don't know anything. “The world isn't all cowboys and Indians like on the Lone Ranger.” He leans in, staring, and his smile is bigger. The corners of his mouth almost touch the bottoms of his ears. “The world is mucky and dirty and there is no right or wrong. Right and wrong are dead. You'll learn that in time, one way or another.”

It scares me.

Henry turns away and puts three army men right in front of the fireplace screen, right on the bricks on the floor. “For the heinous act of treason,” he says, and Henry's voice drops so low, “is death by fire.” The bruise on his neck, in the fire light, turns black. “Goodbye, Mr. Decourdemanche. Ms. Feldmann. Mr. Haas.”

“Where did you get those names?”

“Why does that matter?” Henry asks. A train runs through Pottersville. “God, that's annoying.”

“You should've known – ” I kick all the army men off the fireplace bricks. Their bodies bend under my foot, and I kneel down to try and bend them back into place. “W-we don't hurt girls, Henry.”

He looks at me. “Who cares? Else Feldmann and Daniel Decourdemanche are already dead.”

“That doesn't – wait, what?”