Tonight, Mickey told her, they’d found a third home in the same condition.
Tink had followed me into the kitchen. She stood clutching her elbows, trembling. “That means…”
“We have another member of the Kin missing,” Mom said. “Kira Wilbanks.”
Between her words, I heard what she really meant.
We had another Kin death.
Late that night, in the darkness of my room, staring up at the shadows that crossed my ceiling, Tink and I played remember when.
“Remember when Gideon got his tongue stuck to the ladder of the monkey bars?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
That had been the winter of fourth grade, during recess. We’d been old enough to know better, but that hadn’t been much of a hindrance. “Because you dared him,” I said. I could picture it: Gideon in his blue winter coat, snow melting in his hair. Tink with her cheeks wind-reddened. Then, instead of waiting for one of the teachers to come and help thaw him, Gideon had ripped himself free. Tink, of course, had shrieked and fled.
“Oh my God,” she said now, with a gasp of laughter. “It was disgusting. He bled everywhere.”
“It ruined his coat. And his favorite shirt.”
“That was the ugliest shirt I had ever seen. Still is.”
For a second, I smiled up into the darkness. But when Tink began recalling the time she’d tripped and spilled all of her Halloween candy into the street and Gideon had offered her his, I made her stop.
“He’s not dead,” I told her. “We need to stop talking like he is.”
“What we need to do is come up with a plan.”
“We will,” I said.
In the morning, I drove Tink back to her apartment. She lingered near my car, holding the door open, chewing her lip.
“You’ll let me know the instant you hear anything, right?”
I nodded. “If you do.”
She nodded back, then turned and jogged up the steps.
Instead of going home, I drove to Leon’s lake.
It wasn’t planned, but once I hit the highway, I sped past my exit and kept going, finding my way by memory. Leon and I had taken his motorcycle there last autumn, and stood near the park, in the dry and dying grass. I didn’t know the route well, but I mapped it in my mind—the bridge across the river, the old back roads thick with gravel.
Part of me hoped I would find him there. I had it all planned out in my head: I’d park in the shade of the evergreens, walk slowly into the grass—green now, bright and growing—and cross the park to the red picnic tables. They would be empty except for a lone figure sitting on one, his back turned. I’d call his name. He’d walk to meet me.
But the other part of me said he hadn’t forgiven me yet. He wouldn’t forgive me. If I found him by the lake, he’d simply leave instead.
He wasn’t there at all, of course. There were a few groups of swimmers down on the beach, but most of the area was deserted. The clouds were dark and low, swirling through the sky and giving it a sickly yellow glow. I made my way to the shore, and then waded out into the water, up to my thighs, not caring when the current lapped at my shorts. I stared down into the little ripples that cut across the surface, the flash of minnows darting underneath.
Leon’s parents had come here, I knew. I tried to picture them, though I had no image in my mind to draw from. They were mere silhouettes I tried to stage in the scene around me. There they reclined in the sand, waiting for the sun to seep through the clouds. There they guided a toddler along the shore, pausing to pick up shells. But the details eluded me. They were mere shadows, faceless specters who had died at Verrick’s hands.
Verrick. I could see him, too. And he wasn’t faceless. He watched me through Gideon’s eyes.
Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be saved, I heard Leon say.
I shook the memory away.
When an abrupt downpour began, I left the water and ran back to the parking lot, my hands covering my head. My sandals slapped wetly against the bottoms of my feet as I ran, and by the time I dove into my car, my clothing was soaked through. A glance in the rearview mirror told me my hair was clumpy and clinging, and it must have dried that way, because when I arrived home and stepped into the house, Mom did a double take when she saw me. I ignored her and darted upstairs to change clothes.
After I’d made myself somewhat presentable, I found her in the kitchen, seated at the table, drinking coffee and picking at a plate of food. Mickey stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders.
“You need to get more sleep,” he chided.
“You tell her,” I said, stepping into the room. “A couple of weeks ago, I found her facedown in a bowl of Cheerios.”
“That’s a complete fabrication,” Mom said.
Mickey gave her a sidelong glance. She cocked an eyebrow at him. To me, he said, “I think I’ll go with her on this one.”
“Probably smart, since she’s the one who can fold you into a football and then play catch.”
Mom snorted. “I’m glad to see you’ve kept your sense of humor, but would you mind directing it elsewhere?”
“But you’re the only ones here.” I frowned. “Wait, was that your way of telling me to get lost?”
She smiled. “That was my way of telling you to put a sock in it.”
I shrugged, crossing the room to pour myself a glass of orange juice, then took a seat across from her. I hesitated a moment, running my finger along the tablecloth. I took a deep breath and asked, “Any news?”
Their silence answered me. Mickey rubbed his jaw with one hand. Mom looked at me a moment, frowning, and finally said: “Two more.”
“Right,” I said. “Who?”
Another slight hesitation. “Claude Camden and Rachel Brice,” she said.
The names were familiar, but I couldn’t attach faces to them. I wasn’t certain if that made it better or worse.
I gripped the edge of the table. “What are we doing to stop this?”
“Everything we can, honey.”
It didn’t seem like much to me. Mom explained that every member of the Kin had the contact information of the Guardians nearest them, and there was a dedicated emergency number to H&H that all the Guardians were connected to. It was a measure Mr. Alvarez had instituted before he’d stormed out the previous night.
“No Gideon?” I asked.
“No. There haven’t been any sightings. We’re not certain where he is.”
That was a relief, at least. As long as he wasn’t attacking, I told myself—as long as he didn’t hurt anyone, there was still a chance. Still a hope.
“You hanging in there, kid?” Mickey asked.
I shrugged again. “My best friend’s a demon and my boyfriend hates me.”
At least that was what I was assuming, since I still hadn’t had any word from Leon. Mom told me he’d been on patrol last night, which didn’t make me feel any better. I finished my orange juice and headed back up to my room.
I was halfway up the stairs when my phone rang.
Elspeth. I waited a moment before answering. I wasn’t certain I wanted to talk. But I hadn’t spoken to her since the morning she’d called to ask about Iris, so on the third ring I picked up.
“Hey, I’m outside,” she said when I answered.
“Outside my house?” I asked, loping back down the stairs to peer out the front door. Past the hedge that blocked most of our yard, I could see the curve of a tire and the metallic shine of blue paint. “What’s going on?”
Her voice was soft but urgent. “I need you to come with me.”
The heavy rain had dwindled into a drizzle, and the road glistened as we drove. Down the block, all of the gutters were flooded. Stray leaves floated on the water, bobbing and spinning as they circled toward the drains. We turned the corner, heading toward the highway. My eyes locked on to Gideon’s house as we passed it. His father was seated on the porch, watching the rain. My throat constricted.