It was locked. Naturally. But the faint static that told me I was in the presence of a telepath who knew me was crackling at the back of my mind—Sarah was home. I paused to center myself, trying to clear my head of any useless thoughts. Sarah? Are you there?

Very? Her answer was tinted with a strong feeling of confusion, like she couldn’t figure out where my thoughts were coming from. Understanding—her understanding—washed over me a split second before she added, What are you doing on the roof? How did you even get up there?

I jumped, I replied. Can you come and let me in? The door is locked, and this place is low enough that the only other way for me to get out of here involves rappelling down the side of the hotel. Which wasn’t something I was opposed to under normal circumstances, but it might lead to some awkward questions, especially since I’d be going inside right after I reached the sidewalk.

I’ll be right there, thought Sarah firmly. The feeling of connection died, although the static remained. “Telepath here” is a signal she can’t stop sending, no matter how hard she tries. Much as I love her, I actually find that a little bit reassuring. It proves there’s one thing the cuckoos can’t control, and given how many advantages they have, I appreciate knowing that they’re not perfect.

I’d been waiting on the roof for less than five minutes when the door swung open, revealing Sarah. She was in her usual “I am a normal college student” attire: orange sweater, jeans, and scuffed-up white sneakers. Sarah is a natural Daphne, designed by nature to be boy-bait, but you’d never know it from the way she dresses. I think she’d rather be a Velma. Sadly, nature didn’t give her a vote in the matter.

“You were supposed to call,” Sarah chided me, as she stepped out of the way to let me into the stairwell. “There are these things called doors that normal people use.”

“I’m using a door right now,” I protested, half-laughing.

“Yeah, because I had to let you off the roof,” Sarah shot back.

“And you did a fabulous job of it,” I said, patting her shoulder before I started down the stairs. “I seem to remember a promise of room service.”

“Room service and not freaking out,” Sarah agreed. “Also, Artie may call at some point. He wants to talk to you—and no,” she put her hands up, “I don’t know why, it may be for something totally unrelated.”

“Well, yes. But I think it’s a little more likely that he wants to yell at me, don’t you?”

“Probably,” Sarah agreed.

We were still laughing when I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, stepped out, and found myself nose-to-nose with Margaret Healy. I’d never seen her up close before. I didn’t need to, because there was no one else she could have been. This woman was family.

Her hair was the same shade of chestnut-verging-on-red as my sister Antimony’s. She still had it pulled it into a ponytail, showing the cheekbones we had inherited from our mutual ancestors. Her eyes were a clear shade of hazel—Antimony’s eyes are blue, like mine—but aside from that, Margaret could have been mistaken for my sister.

She blinked at me. I blinked at her. Sarah, still laughing, crowded up behind me. “Why are you just standing he—oh.” Her laughter died like a switch had been flipped, replaced by a look of utter bafflement. “Oh. Hello.” Verity, I didn’t know you had company. Why can’t I see her?

There was no sign in her voice that she recognized Margaret as a Healy. That, sadly, made sense: cuckoos recognize people by thought, not by appearance. To her, all humans look essentially the same. She can tell races, genders, hair colors, and that’s about it.

“Hello,” said Margaret. Her accent was British. She looked past us to the stairs. “Is the roof of this hotel a hopping night spot, then?”

“No, we’re just stargazers,” I said, taking hold of Sarah’s arm and tugging her with me as I stepped out of the stairwell, into the hall. I kept my eyes on Margaret, and kept a smile plastered across my face. If Sarah couldn’t “see” her, she must have been wearing some sort of telepathy blocker. Not a good sign. “I wanted to show Sandy here the Pleiades.”

Sarah looked even more confused but nodded enthusiastically, saying, “They were shiny.”

I shot her a sharp look. I didn’t need to bother. Margaret was nodding in time with Sarah. There was a faintly glazed look in her eyes. Sarah was freaking out in her own quiet way, and that meant that her natural camouflage was kicking in. Anti-telepathy charm or not, it’s hard to counter a cuckoo who’s actively putting the whammy on you, and Sarah’s survival depended on Margaret accepting her as a natural part of the setting.

It seemed to be working, thank God. If Sarah said she’d been looking at stars well, then, she must have been looking at stars. My backpack was large enough to hold a telescope. The story made total sense.

“Is there anyone else up there?” asked Margaret.

“No,” I said.

“Then I think I’ll give these stars a look myself. Thank you for letting me know they were good tonight.” Margaret stepped into the stairwell, closing the door behind her, and Sarah and I were alone.

I made a small squeaking noise in the back of my throat and started towing Sarah down the hall toward her room.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“No talking,” I said. “This is walking time, not talking time.”

Sarah, wisely, shut up until we reached her suite, where she unlocked the door and let us both inside. I followed her inside. Then I shut the door, locked the deadbolt, and resisted the urge—barely—to shove a chair under the knob. Sarah watched this whole process, her bewildered expression deepening.

“Verity, who was that woman? Why couldn’t I see her properly?”

“That was Margaret Healy.” What was she doing at the Port Hope? There are hundreds of hotels in Manhattan, maybe even thousands. So why would the Covenant pick this one? They weren’t going to be interested in the math museum. So why—

Unless someone told them I might be here. Someone like Dominic De Luca, who had been to the Port Hope before, and who had been around Sarah often enough that he might have been able to remember the location, even if he forgot why it was important. I felt myself go cold. Here, then: this was what I’d been waiting for. He’d betrayed us. He was the enemy. I didn’t have to feel conflicted anymore.