“Marc, it was an accident,” I said, shifting awkwardly on a twisted lump of comforter. “The council won’t condemn me over an accident.”

“You said it yourself, Faythe. They’re going to want your head on a spike in the front yard.”

“That was hyperbole. You guys didn’t seem to think they’d execute the rogue tabby for murder, so why would they execute me for an accidental infection?” I reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away as if I’d scorched him.

My eyes watered, and I stood to turn my back on him as I blinked away the tears, hoping with each passing moment that he would touch me. I wanted a hug, or even just a pat on the back to let me know he regretted pulling away from me. I would have even taken an apology. But he didn’t offer one. Not that I could blame him.

When I turned to face him, still standing in the middle of his room, I avoided his eyes. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking, but even worse, I didn’t want to not know. I desperately didn’t want to see his poker face staring back at me. So I didn’t look.

“They’re not just going to take your word for it, Faythe,” he said.

“They’re going to need proof that this was an accident, and last I heard, you couldn’t give it to them.”

Still avoiding his eyes, I crossed the room and righted his suitcase in one rough, angry motion. “Well, I can sure as hel try.” Kneeling on the floor, I folded one of his shirts in a series of fuming, jerky movements.

Dropping it neatly into the bag, I snatched another shirt from the floor, uncomfortably aware that I was now helping him pack. But I had to do something with my hands. “And even if I can’t do it on command, I’ve already proved it to my father, and he’l speak up for me.” For a single heartbeat, I hesitated, my hands pausing in mid-fold. “You could do the same, if you were so inclined.”

“Oh, come on, Faythe.” On the wall in front of me, Marc’s shadow threw up its arms in exasperation. I turned my attention back to the clothes, vowing not to look at his shadow-self, either, as he gestured at me in frustration. “They’re not going to believe me for the same reason they won’t believe your dad. They’ll think we’re both lying to save you.”

Damn, were he and my father sharing a brain? Or were they just right?

I shook out a pair of jeans, my gaze centered on the worn denim beneath my fingers. If things were normal, I’d have changed out of my soaked clothes and into some of his dry ones, but at the moment, I had serious doubts Marc would want his clothes smelling like me.

“What about Andrew?” I asked, still holding his jeans. “We’ll find him and make him testify. Surely they can’t think he has any reason to want to protect me. If anything, he wants me dead.”

Marc walked around the end of the bed to kneel at my side. “What did he say?”

When I didn’t answer, he snatched the pants from my hands.

Irritated, I met his eyes without thinking and regretted it instantly. I hated that he didn’t trust me, even though I knew he had several good reasons not to.

“He congratulated me on a life well lived,” I said, my voice heavily laced with sarcasm. Marc glared at me, and I shrugged. “Wel , what the hell do you think he said? He’s pissed at me for infecting him, then abandoning him. He said he has something to take care of tomorrow, then he’s coming here for a reunion.”

“It’s amazing that he survived your bite, you know. Lots of strays die within a couple of days of being infected. I don’t think I could have made it through my own transition without your parents taking care of me. I don’t even remember being scratched,” he added, and I could almost feel my ears perk up, in spite of my self-centered fear. He’d never spoken to me about his attack, guarding his memories like a leprechaun guards his gold. “I just remember seeing my moth—”

He stopped abruptly and stared out the window behind my head, his mouth firmly closed.

“What’s the first thing you remember after being scratched?” I breathed, hoping that if I whispered softly enough he might mistake my question for a thought from his own head. No such luck.

Marc turned from the window to look at me, a ghost of a smile haunting the corners of his mouth. “The first thing I remember is you.”

“Me?” I frowned, sure I’d heard wrong.

“Yeah. I woke up and saw you standing in the doorway, staring at me with these huge green eyes. You had a headless dol under one arm, and dirt smeared across your forehead. And all I could think about was what a beautiful child you were.”

Lightning flashed outside and Marc blinked from the bright light. And just like that, the spell was broken. “Then I passed out again, and when I woke up, your mom was there with soup.” He shrugged, and I knew he was finished talking. At least about the past.

“Marc, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” As the last raindrops pattered against the window, I closed my eyes, trying to decide how best to express my own regret. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I real y, truly didn’t. But I can’t change anything now, and I understand if you still want to leave—”

He shook his head slowly, as if in defeat. “I’m not going anywhere.

Greg wouldn’t let me leave in the middle of an investigation, anyway.”

“Really?” I fiddled with the still-damp, frayed hem of my shorts, unable to look at Marc as I offered him a way out. He deserved at least that much from me. “Because Daddy would probably let you go if you push the issue. He always sides with you over me, anyway.”