I wanted to tell her that she would. That everything would be okay, one way or another. But I couldn’t swear to it, and I wasn’t going to lie to her. And she seemed to respect that.

“Faythe, I need a…um…” Manx paused and closed her eyes, probably searching for the right word in English. “A favor.” She met my eyes again, and the depth of her gaze alone emphasized the importance of whatever she was about to say.

“Yes?” I held my breath, and could hear both our hearts beating. No, all three of our hearts.

“If I die, will you take Desiderio home? To your mother? I have not asked her, but I think she will take him.”

For a moment I was so horrified by the necessity of such a question that I couldn’t answer. I’d known arrangements would have to be made for Des, just in case. But Manx making those arrangements herself, less than twelve hours before the start of her trial?

I could barely even conceive of that kind of courage.

“Please,” Manx whispered, misinterpreting my silence, her eyes deep gray pools of despair.

“Of course I will,” I assured her. Relief washed over Manx, and she slumped against the back of the rocker, as if now that we had that out of the way, she could finally relax.

I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone look quite so pleased when contemplating her own death.

That night after dinner, I tried my hardest to keep Donna Di Carlo from putting me up in Sara’s bedroom. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I stopped arguing when I realized she might take my refusal as an insult.

I didn’t mean it as one. Sara’s pictures still topped the dresser, and her old stuffed animals reclined on the bed. Her room looked like a shrine, and I didn’t want to disturb it. But her mother was tired of seeing it sit empty and clearly wanted me to get some use out of it.

So I lay down in Sara’s bed just after eleven o’clock—and was still awake three hours later. I couldn’t sleep with her staring down at me from the walls, asking me wordlessly why I saved Abby but couldn’t save her.

Her eyes haunted me.

Finally, around two-thirty in the morning, I snuck out of her room and down the hall to Vic’s, where I climbed into bed with him. He barely even noticed. He just scooted over to make room, then went back to snoring softly.

I would never have gotten in bed with Jace, because Marc would never have forgiven either of us. He knew that Jace and I had made a real connection, and that Jace would be happy to revive it. But Vic and Marc had been partners for years, and Marc trusted him completely. Mostly because Vic had never shown any interest in me sexually. He was a friend, and one who would understand why I couldn’t sleep in his dead sister’s bed.

In minutes, I was asleep, but I woke up with the first rays of sun and crept back into Sara’s room to keep from hurting her mother’s feelings.

I dressed and showered early, and after breakfast I said goodbye to Michael, Manx and Brian. Then Vic drove me to the airport in Atlanta. My plane landed in Dallas just before noon, and I made my way to baggage claim, where Jace waited, his blue eyes sparkling in the fluorescent glow from overhead. Kaci stood at his side, chestnut waves in a ponytail behind one ear. She had her hands stuffed into the pockets of a faded pair of jeans, her jacket unzipped over her favorite long-sleeved tee.

She hadn’t seen me yet, and was anxiously scanning the crowd. Then Jace tapped her shoulder and pointed me out.

Kaci’s hazel eyes found mine, and her face lit up with relief and excitement. She took off through the throng, hair trailing behind her, moving at human speed because of her weakened state. And hopefully in consideration of the people around her. Even so, Jace panicked the moment she left his side. I could see it in his eyes. He’d lost sight of her in the crowd, and was seconds from seriously losing his cool.

I caught his eye and shook my head calmly; I could see her.

A second later she collided with my midriff, but lacked the strength to even push me back. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” she mumbled into my jacket, and her arms tightened around my waist.

“What? Why wouldn’t I come back?” I dropped my bag and put both hands on her shoulders, prying her away gently until I could see her face. She was panting from the brief exertion, and her face was flushed with effort beneath the sickly pallor of her skin—a recent development.

But I smiled to reassure her, and she grinned back, evidently convinced I was real.

Kaci stepped back and took my bag in both hands, already turning toward Jace when she spoke. “Greg said you were hurt, and I thought you’d stay in Georgia till you got better.”

I took the bag from her, afraid she’d keel over with the additional weight. “I’m fine, Kaci. See?” I stomped my right foot on the floor, demonstrating my own sturdiness. “Not even a limp. And you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I Shifted.” I switched to a whisper in concession to the presence of so many humans. “Shifting can heal injuries in a fraction of the time it would have taken if I stayed in human form.”

“Well, good for you.” Kaci shrugged and headed for Jace, dismissing my less-than-subtle hint with an easy toss of her hair. “I’m not injured.”

I growled beneath my breath. Two months earlier, I would never have believed a thirteen-year-old could be harder to deal with than an infant. I guess that’s why nature starts most women off with babies and lets them grow into teenagers.

Jace took charge of my bag, and I gave him a quick hug. “How’s the leg?” he asked, eyeing me carefully when I pulled away.