“She’s hurt,” I said. “I don’t see an injury, but help me get her out of this jacket.”

He did, and at first I still saw nothing. Then, when I started turning away, I caught a splash of red on her white T-shirt. I looked back and it vanished.

“Olivia?” Gabriel said.

His expression told me he hadn’t seen what I did. “I’m going to pull up her shirt.”

He turned away. I tugged up her tee, but saw only unblemished skin and a beige bra. Then I caught it again: the blood. I stayed at that angle, looking out of the corner of my eye. The girl’s torso flickered, and stab wounds appeared on her chest, blood everywhere. When I looked back, her glamour rippled, as if she was growing too weak to sustain it, blood and scales glistening on her skin.

“Gabriel?”

“Hmm?”

“Look at her out of the corner of your eye.” When he hesitated, I said, “She’s wearing a bra. Please look.”

He turned, just enough to do as I asked. Then he blinked, and that small reaction told me I wasn’t imagining things.

“She’s been attacked,” I said, dropping to my knees beside the girl. “She’s using a glamour to hide it.” I took the girl’s shoulder and shook harder, trying to rouse her, and then said, “I’ll get a cold cloth.”

When I came back, the girl’s eyelids were quivering, as she looked up at Gabriel, his hand on her forehead. She whispered, “Gwynn,” and he pulled back quickly, but I hurried up beside him, took his hand, and put it back on her forehead, saying, “Please,” and he tensed but nodded and crouched there awkwardly, his hand on her again.

“Gwynn,” she said.

“Y … yes,” he managed.

“And your name?” I asked, moving beside her and hunkering down. I reached for her hand, and she didn’t hesitate to take mine, her skin cool.

“Not—not important,” she managed. “But you’re—you’re Matilda. You glow. So pretty.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “So lucky. So blessed.”

Not sure about that, but I said, “You’ve been stabbed. Tell us what we can do.”

“N-nothing. Dying.”

“No,” I said. “Let me get—”

“A first aid kit?” Her lips twitched. “An ambulance? Not for me. Just … just listen.”

“Anything,” I said.

Her eyes flickered open and shut, as if she’d used all her energy, and then she whispered, “Attacked. Not … not … wasn’t …”

“It wasn’t like the others? Not the same person?”

Her eyes glistened again. “Don’t understand.”

“Okay, sorry. Explain again.”

“Not you. Me.” Each word came slow, labored. “She … she wanted to help. Always wanted to help. Don’t understand.”

“She? Help?” I thought fast. “Aunika? Did Aunika do this to you?”

The lamia mumbled something unintelligible.

Gabriel leaned down over her, his face as close to her as he could get, though he seemed to grit his teeth to do it. “Did Aunika attack you?” he asked.

She opened her eyes, looked at him, smiled, and said, “Gwynn.” Then her eyelids fluttered and she whispered, “Tell Toby …” Her eyes closed, and I gripped her hand tighter, leaning in—

Darkness. Light, darkness, light. Then darkness again. A hiss, not of anger, but of contented sleep. A warm body pressed to mine. Wrapping my arms around it and trying to get closer. A chuckle. A hand on my thigh, wonderfully warm hands. A voice, a young man’s, saying, “Love you, too, Dami,” and another hissing sigh, rippling through me. One eye open. Moonlight through a window. Cheap curtains. A mattress on the floor. A boy curled against me, and I was sighing and thinking, This is the best. I don’t deserve it. But I’ll take it. And I caught a glimpse in a broken mirror, and I saw the lamia, curled up with a young man in his late teens.

This is the best.

The best moment.

The best memory.

The scene flickered, and I was in an alley. I heard a noise and I stiffened and stifled a hiss. My eyes adjusted to the dark. I let them slit to snake form, but as soon as I did, I felt the cold of night. I opened my mouth, tongue darting out, sampling the air, catching a familiar scent before I shifted back to human, warming again.

“Stop hiding in shadow,” I said. “Let’s get this over with. Toby will be home soon.”

“And you want to have dinner for him?” A sneering laugh in a female voice. “Do you like playing house with human boys, Damara?”

“This one? Yes. Very much. Skip the mockery, and tell me what you want. If you’re offering to get me into Cainsville, the answer is no. I’m happy here. I’m safe here.”

“No, actually, you’re not.”

A figure swooped from the darkness and I felt pain, incredible pain. Then I was lying on the pavement, and a voice whispered in my ear, “I’m supposed to do more, but I think that’s enough. Sleep well, little Damara.”

The vision ended, and I snapped back. I was on the floor. Well, mostly—Gabriel was propping me up, his fingers biting into my upper arms, anxious eyes over mine. I braced, expecting to be dropped, but he kept me there, holding me as he said, “I didn’t try to bring you back. I thought whatever you were seeing was important. Or that it would be, to you.”