“About Lily? I’ve heard. Luna’s no better, Sylvester’s not talking to anyone, and Rayseline . . . ” He hesitated, taking a breath before he continued, saying, “She’s stalking the battlements looking for victims. It’s like the haunted halls of Elsinore around here.”

“Did you just make a Hamlet reference?” The microwave beeped, and I pulled out my mug, moving to get the milk from the refrigerator. The clock on the wall told me it was almost noon. “I guess I really am a bad influence on you.”

“Yeah, I guess you are.”

A brief silence fell while I prepared my coffee, broken only by the sound of our breathing. Finally, quietly, I asked, “Is Raysel a danger? Do we need to start thinking about getting you and Quentin out of there?”

Connor smothered a bitter chuckle. “Has Raysel ever not been a danger? But no, I don’t think she’s more dangerous than usual. She’s focusing on things other than the two of us.”

“Like pinning the attack on Luna on me,” I concluded, before taking a gulp of scalding coffee. “I’m serious. She starts looking like she’s going to hurt one of you, you get the hell out of there.”

“Why, Toby. I didn’t know you cared.”

“I never stopped caring.”

Silence fell between us again, lasting an impossibly long-seeming time before Connor said, “Toby . . . ”

“I know. We need to talk about it. Can it wait until things are a little less hectic, maybe?”

“So, fifty years?” Connor laughed again, this time without the undercurrent of bitterness. “It sounds like a plan. I’ll call again if anything changes.”

“Okay. Stay safe. Please. For me.”

“I will.” There was a pause where it seemed like he was about to say something else. Then he whispered, “Open roads,” and the connection went dead, leaving the dial tone buzzing in my ear.

I sipped my coffee as I walked the phone back to its cradle in the hall. That was an interesting way to start the day. At least everyone at Shadowed Hills was still alive. Lily was gone, but Luna still had a chance.

The phone rang again as soon as I put it down. I snagged it, asking, “What now?”

“It’s good to see you’ve been taking telephone etiquette lessons from the Luidaeg,” said Tybalt. He sounded exhausted. “Have I called at a bad time?”

My stomach twisted into a knot as his tone registered. “I don’t think there are any good times left,” I said, walking back toward the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

“Intrigued as I am by the fact that you apparently think I’d call when everything was ‘okay,’ I’m afraid I have to answer that in the negative. No. Everything is most assuredly not ‘okay.’ How quickly can you come to the park?”

“I can be there in half an hour.” I grabbed a thermos from the dish drainer next to the sink, tipping my coffee hastily into it. “Can you hold out that long?”

Tybalt chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t suppose I have a choice. Hurry, October.” He hesitated before adding, “Please.” The line went dead.

I stared at the phone before dropping the receiver on the counter and bolting for my bedroom. It only took me a few minutes to get ready. I detoured by the kitchen on my way to the door, grabbing my thermos and a box of Pop-Tarts. I wasn’t hungry. That didn’t mean my body didn’t need to eat. At least spending several hours dozing with May had helped my headache—I could think again, even if I wasn’t happy about the things I had to think about.

Spike was still huddled on the couch. I paused to run a hand along its back, hoping it would wake up and come with me. The company would have been nice. It made a faint snuffling noise and didn’t move.

“Okay, buddy” I said, and moved away from my sleeping rose goblin.

There was an empty duffel bag at the bottom of the closet. I shoved the velvet-swaddled cup into it and tucked it under my arm before pulling the baseball bat from the umbrella stand. My knives were belted at my waist, but there’s something to be said for street-legal weapons and blunt trauma.

There was a knock at the door.

I frowned. “Who is it?” Better safe than sorry-you’redead.

“Manuel.”

“Manuel?” I dropped the duffel next to the umbrella stand and switched the bat to my left hand before opening the door. Manuel Lorimer was on the porch with his hands shoved into his pockets and his startlingly golden hair almost hidden under a baseball cap. It looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous. It wasn’t working. “Look, Manny, this isn’t a good time—”

He looked at me challengingly. “Can I come in?”

I blinked. He’d probably been sent on official business. I thought of human process servers tracking people to their homes, but dismissed the idea. I didn’t think they’d send an untitled half-blood to arrest me.

Of course, I’ve been wrong before. “Sure.” I stepped out of the way. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”

Manuel glared as he stepped inside. “Don’t play nice.”

I closed the door. “I didn’t think I was playing anything. What do you need? I was on my way out.” I thought of telling him where I was going, and just as quickly thought better of it.

“The body count isn’t high enough for you?” He looked at me with genuine loathing. “You should’ve stayed in the pond. People die when you’re around.”

“That’s not fair.”

“My sister’s blood is on your hands, and you say I’m the one who’s not fair?”

“How can you say that? Dare died because—” I stopped, forcing myself to take a deep breath before my temper could run away with me. I’ve had the argument with myself a thousand times. I endangered her, I shouldn’t have let her interfere, I should have known better. I always cycle back to Devin. He’d changed while I was away, and I had no way of knowing how deep those changes went until it was too late. “I didn’t kill her. Devin did. He was sick.”

“He was our guardian!” Manuel shouted, the pretense of rationality dissolving in the face of an anger that had been allowed to fester for far too long.

That made it strangely easier to stay calm. I don’t like anger, but I understand it. “He used you the way he used everybody else. Dare got in his way. Now please, can we discuss this like adults? My roommate is asleep, and I’d like her to stay that way.”