* * *

“Where . . . did my house go?”

As Bitty asked the question from the back of the GTO, Mary leaned forward in her seat—not that the shift of position did anything to change the vacant lot she was staring at.

“Are we in the right place?”Mary got out of the car and held her seat forward so Bitty could join her. “Is there any chance . . .”

Rhage shook his head as he looked across the roof. “GPS says this is the right address.”

Shoot, Mary thought.

“There’s the ivy bed.” The girl burrowed into her coat. “That mahmen planted. And the apple tree. And . . .”

The house must have been condemned and torn down at some point, Mary decided, because there was nothing left over, no piles of splintered wood, no chimney’s cinder blocks, just saplings and weeds growing in its place. The outline of the driveway, such as it was, had survived, but it would not for much longer with the encroaching vegetation.

As she and Bitty walked forward, Rhage stayed a couple of paces behind them, his looming presence a source of comfort, at least for Mary.

And then she stopped and let Bitty keep going on her own.

Under the moonlight, the girl picked her way around the lot, pausing every couple of minutes to regard the barren landscape.

Rhage’s big hand came to rest on Mary’s shoulder and she leaned into his body, feeling the warmth of him. It was hard not to measure the vacant, uninhabited property as evidence of the girl’s losses.

“I remember the house,” Rhage said softly. “Bad condition. Junk in the yard with a broken-down car.”

“What did you guys do with the father’s body?” Mary blurted. “It’s never occurred to me to ask.”

“He wasn’t, shall we say, in good condition when we left.”

“The sun?”

“Yeah. We just left him. The priority was getting Bitty and her mom out. When we came back the following night, there was a scorch mark on the grass. That was it.” Rhage cursed under his breath. “I’m telling you, that male was a madman. He was ready to kill anything, anybody who got in his way.”

“Her X-rays prove it.” As Rhage glanced over, Mary shook her head. “A lot of broken bones—not that she went to Havers when they occurred. Havers said that because she was a pretrans, the healing places still show up until she reaches her maturity. He said . . . they’re everywhere.”

A subtle growling made her look up. Rhage’s upper lip had peeled off his fangs, and his expression was all about protective aggression.

“I want to kill that motherfucker all over again.”

Mary gave Bitty as much time as she needed, staying a distance away with Rhage until the girl wandered over.

“I guess my things are gone.” Bitty shrugged in that big old parka. “I didn’t have a lot of them.”

“I’m really sorry, Bitty.”

“I was hoping . . .” The girl glanced back at where the house had been. “I was hoping that I could bring some of my old clothes and books to my uncle’s. I don’t want to be a burden on him. I don’t want to get sent away.”

Rhage made a small coughing sound. “So I’ll go out and buy you what you want. Anything you need to take with you, I got it.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“It’s okay,” Bitty cut in. “Maybe I can get a job. You know, when I go to live with him.”

You’re nine, Mary thought. Damn it.

“How about we head back?” Mary offered. “It’s cold.”

“You sure you’re ready to go?” Rhage asked. “We can stay if you like.”

“No.” Bitty shrugged again. “There’s nothing for me here.”

They returned to the GTO, resettling into their various seats, the warmth in the car a balm to cold cheeks and noses.

As Rhage turned them around, the headlights swept over the lot, and Mary thought to herself . . . at some point, this kid was going to get good news. The Scribe Virgin talked about balance all the time, right? So statistically, Bitty was really, totally frickin’ overdue.

“I just have to wait until my uncle comes,” the girl said as they drove off. “He’s going to give me a home.”

Mary closed her eyes. And kind of felt like banging her head into Rhage’s dashboard.

And as if he were reading her mind, Rhage reached across and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. Mary squeezed back.

“So lemme ask you something there, Bitty girl,” he said. “Do you like ice cream?”

“I guess I do. I’ve had some before.”

“Tomorrow night, you got any plans? We could go out after First Meal, before the human shops close up?”

On impulse, because she was desperate to keep any line of communication open, Mary twisted around. “Would you like to do that, Bitty? It could be fun.”

When there was a long pause, Mary eased back in her seat and tried to think of another option.

In the quiet, Rhage filled in, “Safe Place has my Mary’s cell phone number. If your uncle comes while we’re out, they can call her right away and get you. And we can pick a place that’s close, like, no more than five minutes’ drive.” Rhage glanced in the mirror. “I mean, you take baths, right?”

“I’m sorry?” the girl said.

“Like, if you were in the bath and he happened to come, someone would knock on your door, and you’d have to get dry and get dressed and all that jazz. And that would take five minutes, right? So it’s just the same. Well, except in one case you need soap and a bath mat, and in the other you get sprinkles and a boatload of hot fudge. If you go that way. Personally, I like to mix and match—I prefer to get a couple of milk shakes, a banana split . . . a sundae or two. Then I top it off with a mocha chip in a cone. I don’t know why. I guess that’s like the dinner mint at the end of a meal to me. Know what I mean?”