He turned to leave and my brain fired on again.

“Wait,” I called out. “Are their homes warded? The seventeen kids?”

His head swiveled. He glanced at me over his shoulder. “No.”

“Send me a list. I’ll start in the morning.”

The magical wards took me almost twelve hours to erect. Though they were temporary, unlike the massive wards that Lon and I had around our homes, at least they offered some protection.

It was just before nightfall when I pulled around the circular driveway in front of Lon’s house to park behind his SUV and beat-up black pickup truck. The warding magick had taken everything out of me. I felt empty and frazzled, and though my stomach was currently attempting to calm, I had vomited several times throughout the day from post-magick nausea.

I unlocked the front door and ditched my coat and purse in the wide foyer before heading into the living room. Jupe’s frizzy curls poked up over the couch when I called out his and Lon’s names.

“How was school?” I asked.

“It blew chunks.”

“Why? What happened?”

He grunted. “Everyone at school was in a shitty mood, including Ms. Forsythe, and she’s never mean. How are we not supposed to be afraid of the stupid Snatcher when all the teachers are being jerks because they can’t admit they’re scared too?”

He didn’t sound afraid. His tone was grumpy, more negative than usual. I leaned over the back of the couch and spotted Mr. Piggy curled up in his lap. “Everyone’s on edge.”

“This is my birthday week and everyone’s ruining it.” He scooped up Mr. Piggy and held him too close to his face, but the pygmy hedgehog didn’t seem to mind. He snuffled around Jupe’s neck, then made his hedgie happy noise, something between a whistle and a purr.

“You only get the one day for your birthday, you know—not a whole week. You aren’t Elvis.”

He grumbled an indiscernible reply while keeping his eyes on the television. His long legs were propped up on the coffee table, socked feet crossed. Beyond the living room, soft golden lights from the patio and deck spilled through glass doors. A row of black-and-white photos in modern metal frames hung above the doorway: Jupe as an infant and toddler—all beautifully composed, taken by Lon.

Jupe shifted his position on the couch, then moved the hedgehog in annoyance and groaned. “Ugh, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Take what anymore?”

He didn’t say anything for several seconds, so I started to stand up and go find Lon. He put his hand on my arm to stop me. “Cady . . . I need to tell you something.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

His dramatic sigh was interrupted by Lon’s muffled voice calling my name from the other end of the house.

“How does he know I’m here?” I whispered conspiratorially, trying to coax a smile.

“He knows everything.”

“Tell me,” I insisted again, leaning down to butt my forehead against his temple. He exhaled through his nose and traced his finger over Mr. Piggy’s feet, stalling.

Lon called for me again, this time sharper.

“Go on.” He picked up the remote and absently flipped through channels. “I’ll tell you later. It’s not important.”

Though I was pretty sure that was accurate, it must’ve been important to him.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” I followed Lon’s voice, Foxglove trailing at my heels, and walked past the scent of dinner wafting from the kitchen. My stomach grumbled indecisively. I was starving and felt shaky, but I wasn’t sure if I could keep anything down just yet.

I continued on to Lon’s library. He opened the door before I could knock. His faded T-shirt was dotted with cooking splatter and his hair had been hastily pulled back into a short ponytail, one wavy lock hanging free by his face. His brow furrowed as he looked me over.

“Jesus. You look like hell,” he said. Scents of the library floated out from behind him—old leather, crumbling paper, parchment. Pleasantly musty.

“I feel like it, too. I never want to do that much magick in one day again. Ever.”

“Maybe you won’t have to. I think I found out why he’s doing it now.”

“Who?”

“Grand Duke Chora.”

“Why?”

“Timing. Remember how the incubus said the words on the cannery mandalas were names of stars?”

“‘Stars that open doors,’ yep.”

“It got me thinking about planetary alignments. Saturn takes thirty years to complete an orbit.”

“Twenty-nine and a half,” I corrected.

His eyes narrowed in frustration. “Did you already think of this?”

“Lon, I just set seventeen wards—my mind is mush and I can’t stop shaking. I’m not thinking of anything right now.”

He kissed the bridge of my nose, then herded me inside the library, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Jupe wasn’t following. Foxglove threaded her way between us and trotted around the rectangular pillar of books in the center of the room, heading to the rug in front of the fireplace. I stepped over her and plopped down into an ochre armchair, kicking off my shoes.

“Look.” He brought the Æthyric silver tube to me, pointing to a diamond shape etched on the opposite side of Grand Duke Chora’s name. The diamond was filled with crisscrossing, seemingly random lines, like a wonky Spirograph. “Do you know what this is?”