“Hey, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Sabine said, plopping next to Nash on the couch.

“You’re all up early today. What’s going on, guys?” My dad held his work gloves and keys in one hand, his mug in the other. He tolerated Sabine in spite of the creepy vibes she leaked when she got angry or upset because he didn’t know what she’d been willing to do to me to get to Nash. And be cause he felt sorry for her, stuck with a foster mother who only wanted to draw a government check. But what he didn’t know was that Sabine relished the freedom apathetic parenting afforded her.

What no one knew—except maybe Nash, and he wasn’t talking—was where she’d gotten her car, with no job and very little spending money.

“We’re working on something for school today,” I said. And technically, that wasn’t a lie. But if I told him the whole truth, he wouldn’t go to work, then he’d lose his job, and after I died he really would have nothing left to live for.

“Okay.” My dad watched me from the entry, one hand on the doorknob. “Now tell me what you’re really up to.”

I should have realized he knew me well enough now to recognize my half-truths. “You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Emancipated minor, remember?” I said, daring a grin he didn’t return. “Besides, how much trouble could I possibly get into in the next two days?” But he didn’t seem very pleased by the reminder.

“If I recall, this emancipation expires in less than forty-eight hours. I expect to hear all about this over breakfast Friday morning.”

“Deal.”

None of us said what we were all thinking—that this time, I wouldn’t be around to ’fess up and get grounded.

Alec knocked on the door minutes after my dad’s car disappeared down the street, just like I’d planned. “Okay, I’m here,” he said, brushing past me into the living room. “What’s with the summons?”

I pushed the door closed behind him. “I talked to one of Beck’s other victims last night at Lakeside, and we were hoping you might have some more answers for us.”

Alec just looked at me. Then he looked at Sabine and Nash. Then back at me. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Fine. But you’re gonna have to feed me. I haven’t even been to bed yet.” He worked third shift at the same factory where my father worked.

“Pancakes?” I offered.

“And lots of coffee.”

Nash made a fresh pot while I nuked an entire box of frozen chocolate chip pancakes, three at a time. “The girl I went to see last night is named Farrah Combs, and she’s very, very pregnant with Beck’s baby. According to Lydia, the nurses say the baby’s aboy. Which means it’s an incubus. Right?”

Alec nodded around his first bite, then licked a smear of chocolate from his lower lip.

“Who’s Lydia?” Nash asked, sliding into the chair between me and Sabine with a plate of his own.

“Farrah’s roommate. I met her when I was at Lakeside.”

“Okay, so Beck’s about to get his baby.” Alec shrugged and picked up his mug. “It sounds like this mess is about to clean itself up. Once he gets what he wants, you’ll be rid of him, at least for the next century.”

“No way.” Sabine shook her head firmly. “He doesn’t get a happy ending. He has to pay for what he’s done.”

I refrained—barely—from pointing out that she hadn’t paid for what she’d done, which added a hollow note to her righteous anger, at least in my ears.

“He’s not getting a happy ending or a son,” I said. “According to Tod, incubi babies are really hard to carry to term. The few that aren’t miscarried either drive the mothers insane—literally—or kill them. Farrah got the worst of both worlds. The only reason she and her baby have both survived this long is because Lydia’s a syphon and she’s been kind of splitting the burden with Farrah. But now that she’s gone, Farrah and the baby are both going to die, and Beck will be back to square one. Which means he’s still dangerous, and we still have to get rid of him.”

“Wait, where did Lydia go?” Nash asked, absently cutting his pancakes into small triangles.

“Um…Tod and I kind of…broke her out.”

“You broke a psych patient out of the hospital?” Alec’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, dripping syrup onto the edge of the table.

Sabine leaned back with her chair balanced on two legs. “Playin’ a little fast and loose with the rules lately, aren’t you?”

“She didn’t belong there any more than I did,” I insisted, and the mara’s brows rose.

“Interesting phrasing, Kay…”

I glared at her, but refused to be distracted. “The point is that Farrah can’t hold on to the baby without Lydia’s help, and as soon as Beck realizes he’s going to lose his son—if he hasn’t already—he’s going to step up his game. I figure if Farrah’s seven months pregnant, assuming she was one of his first tries, he’s already more than halfway through his fertile period with no luck so far. That has to be making him kinda desperate, and possibly careless, and the last thing our school needs is a rash of demonic miscarriages.”

“Though miscarriage seems to be the lesser of several evils, considering how dangerous the pregnancies are,” Sabine said.