Julian looked ashen. “We live in a world of demons and monsters, and the thing that scares me the most is the idea that Mark might decide he belongs with the Wild Hunt and leave. Even if we solve the mystery and satisfy the Fair Folk. He might still go. And he’ll smash their hearts to pieces. They’ll never recover.”

Emma moved closer to Julian, laying a hand against his shoulder.

“You can’t protect the kids against everything,” she said. “They have to live in the world and deal with what happens in the world. And that means loss sometimes. If Mark chooses to leave, it’ll be awful. But they’re strong kids. They’ll live through it.”

There was a long silence. Finally Julian spoke. “Sometimes I almost wish Mark hadn’t come back,” he said in a dry, tense voice. “What does that make me?”

H-U-M-A-N, Emma traced on his back, and for a moment he leaned into her, seeming to draw comfort from her, the way parabatai were supposed to. The noises of the desert dimmed around them—it was something parabatai could do, create a quiet space where there was nothing but themselves and the live connection of magic that bound them.

A loud crash broke through the silence. Julian drew away from Emma with a start. There was another crash, clearly coming from inside the Institute. Julian spun around; a moment later he was racing up the back steps of the house.

Emma followed him. There was more noise: She could hear it even on the staircase, the clanging of dishware, the sound of laughing voices. They hurried upstairs, side by side. Emma reached the kitchen first and swung the door open.

She gasped.

It looked as if the kitchen had exploded.

The refrigerator had been emptied out. Ketchup decorated its once-white surface in scarlet swirls. One of the pantry doors was hanging off its hinges. The Costco tub of maple syrup had been dragged out, and syrup covered almost every available surface. A massive bag of powdered sugar had been torn open and Tavvy was sitting inside it, completely covered in white powder. He looked like a tiny abominable snowman.

Mark seemed to have tried cooking, since there were pans on the stove, filled with burned substances that were pouring smoke into the air. The flames were still on. Julian darted to turn them off while Emma stared.

Julian’s kitchen, which he’d stocked with food for five years, kept clean and cooked in, made pancakes in—was destroyed. Bags of candy had been ripped open and littered the floor. Dru was sitting on the counter, poking at a glass of something foul-looking and humming happily to herself. Livvy was curled up on one of the bench seats, giggling, a stick of licorice in her hand. Ty was beside her, licking a speck of sugar from the back of his wrist.

Mark emerged from the pantry wearing a white apron with red hearts on it and carrying two pieces of singed bread. “Toast!” he announced happily, before catching sight of Julian and Emma.

There was a silence. Julian appeared to be struggling for words; Emma found herself backing toward the door. She had suddenly remembered the fights Mark and Julian used to have when they were children. They had been vicious and bloody in scope, and Julian had given as good as he got.

In fact, sometimes he had given before he got.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Toast?”

“That’s my toast,” Ty pointed out.

“Right.” Mark crossed the room, side-eyeing Julian as he went. Julian was still wordless, slumped against the stove. “And what do you want on your toast?”

“Pudding,” Ty said promptly.

“Pudding?” Julian echoed. Emma had to admit that when she’d imagined the first word Julian was going to say out loud in this situation, it hadn’t been “pudding.”

“Why not pudding?” Livvy said equably, locating a container of tapioca pudding and handing it to her twin, who began to spoon it onto the bread in measured doses.

Julian turned to Mark. “I thought you said she was locked in her room.”

“She came out when you guys texted that you found Ty,” said Mark.

“There didn’t seem to be any reason not to,” said Livvy.

“And why is the toaster in the pantry?” Julian said.

“I couldn’t find any other . . .” Mark seemed to be searching for words. “Electrical outlets.”

“And why is Tavvy in a bag of sugar?”

Mark shrugged. “He wanted to be in a bag of sugar.”

“That doesn’t mean you should put him in a bag of sugar.” Julian’s voice rose. “Or practically destroy the stove. Or let Drusilla drink—what is in that glass, Dru?”

“Chocolate milk,” Dru said promptly. “With sour cream and Pepsi.”

Julian sighed. “She shouldn’t be drinking that.”

“Why not?” Mark untied the apron around his waist and flung it aside. “I do not understand the source of your anger, brother. They’re all alive, aren’t they?”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Julian said. “If I’d realized all you thought you had to do was keep them alive—”

“That’s what you said,” Mark said, half angry and half bewildered. “You joked about it, said they could take care of themselves—”

“They can!” Julian had risen to his full height; he seemed suddenly to tower over Mark, bigger and broader and altogether more adult than his brother. “You’re the one causing the chaos! You’re their older brother, do you even know what that means? You’re meant to take better care of them than this!”

“Jules, it’s fine,” Livvy said. “We’re fine.”

“Fine?” Julian echoed. “Ty sneaked out—and I’ll talk to you about that later, Livia—got into Johnny Rook’s house, and held his son at knifepoint; Livvy locked herself in her room, and Tavvy is possibly permanently coated in sugar. As for Dru, we’ve got about five minutes until she throws up.”

“I won’t,” Dru said, scowling.

“I’ll clean it,” Mark said.

“You don’t know how!” Julian was white-faced and furious. Emma had rarely seen him so angry. “You,” he said, still looking at Mark, “you used to look after them, but I guess you’ve forgotten that. I guess you’ve forgotten how to do anything normal.”

Mark flinched. Tiberius stood up; his gray eyes burned in his pale face. His hands were moving at his sides, fluttering. Moth’s wings—wings that could hold a knife, could cut a throat. “Stop,” he said.

Emma didn’t know whether he was talking to Julian, to Mark, or to the room in general, but she saw Julian freeze. She felt her heart contract as he looked around the room at his brothers and sisters. Dru sat unmoving; Tavvy had climbed out of the sugar and was gazing at Julian with wide blue-green eyes.

Mark was unmoving: his face pale, color striping the high cheekbones that marked out his faerie heritage.

There was love in his family’s eyes as they looked at Julian, and worry and fear, but Emma wondered if Jules could see any of it. If all he saw was the children he had given up so much of his life for, happy with someone else. If, like her, he looked at the kitchen and remembered how he had taught himself to clean it when he was twelve years old. Taught himself to cook: simple things at first, spaghetti and butter, toast and cheese. A million cheese sandwiches, a million burns on Julian’s hands and wrists from the stove and the spatter. The way he’d walked down the path to the highway every few days to accept the grocery delivery, before he could drive. The way he’d dragged and carried all their food back up the hill.