When the service ended, Benicio leaned over and whispered an invitation to lunch, before we left for Portland. We agreed, and he slipped away to offer final condolences to Randy MacArthur.

The others had all gone their separate ways. The werewolves left Miami the morning after the showdown with Edward. Cassandra and Aaron had followed later that day, after they’d met with Benicio and the other CEOs to discuss possible fallout between the Cabals and the vampire community. Jaime had done her Halloween show in Memphis the night before, then zipped back to attend Dana’s morning memorial service before returning to Tennessee for her next show.

As the mourners drifted away from the grave site, I glanced back one last time. Lucas took my hand and squeezed it.

“She’ll be okay,” he said.

I managed a smile. “I know she will.”

“Mr. Cortez? Ms. Winterbourne?”

We turned to see Randy MacArthur behind us, looking uncomfortable in a too-tight black suit. His hand rested on the shoulder of an equally uncomfortable-looking young girl with Dana’s long blond hair.

“I—we wanted to thank you,” he said. “For stopping him. This—it should never—I don’t know how it happened. I had no idea how bad things were—”

“It’s okay, Dad,” the girl murmured, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on the ground. “It was Mom’s fault. Her and that guy. He didn’t want kids, and she let him chase Dana off.”

“This is Gillian,” Randy said. “Dana’s sister. I’m going to be looking after her now. Mr. Cortez isgiving me a job in town here, so I can stay with her.”

“That’s great,” I said. I tried to catch Gillian’s eye and smiled. “You must be what, thirteen? Fourteen? Just starting your second-level spells, I bet.”

Gillian looked up at me and for a moment, her eyes were blank, then she realized what I meant. “Spells, no, we don’t do that. My mom, I mean. She never…well, not much.”

“That was, uh, one reason I wanted to speak to you before you left,” Randy said. “I know Miss Nast here is about Gillian’s age…”

It took a moment for me to realize he meant Savannah.

Randy continued. “I know that you’re teaching her, and that you used to be with the Coven and you did some teaching there, so I thought maybe you could help Gillian. Long-distance, of course. By phone or e-mail or whatever, maybe visit when you’re in town, or we could visit up there. I’ll pay you, of course. I hate to impose, but I don’t know any other witches. My ex-wife didn’t keep in contact with her sister, and I wouldn’t even know where to find her, but I really want Gillian to know more, to be able to cast spells, so she can protect herself”—a quick glance at his daughter’s grave—“against everything.”

“And so she should,” I said. “I would love to help her, in any way I can.”

“Are you sure?” Randy asked.

I met Gillian’s shy gaze with a wide smile. “I’m positive.”