“Over there.” He pointed. “I got into the house with an Open rune. I broke the lock on the basement door. He’s fixing it.”

Emma glanced over toward Johnny Rook’s and saw Jules’s lean, long figure outlined by the stuccoed wall. She opened the trunk of the car, unbuckling her weapons belt. “How did you get here, anyway?”

“I hid in the backseat. Under that blanket.” Ty pointed. Emma could see the edge of a pair of headphones peeking out from under the quilt’s fuzzy edge. “You think Julian’s mad at me?” With the knife put away, he looked very young, his gray eyes clear and open, fixed on the clouds overhead.

“Ty.” Emma sighed. “He’s going to murderate you.”

Julian was heading back toward them. Ty said, “That’s a neologism.”

Emma blinked. “It’s a what?”

“A word you made up. Shakespeare made up words all the time.”

Emma smiled at him, oddly touched. “Well, ‘murderate’ isn’t exactly Shakespeare.”

Ty braced himself as Julian walked directly up to him, not breaking stride, his jaw set, his blue-green eyes as dark as the deep part of the ocean.

He reached Ty and caught hold of him, pulling him into a fierce hug. He pressed his face down into his little brother’s black hair as Ty stood, frozen and astonished at Julian’s lack of anger.

“Jules?” he said. “Are you all right?”

Julian’s shoulders shook. He held his little brother tighter, as if he could crush Ty into himself, into a place where he’d always be safe. He put his cheek against Ty’s curls, squeezing his eyes shut, his voice muffled. “I thought something happened to you,” he said. “I thought Johnny Rook might—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Ty put his arms carefully around Julian. He patted his back, gently, with his slender hands. It was the first time Emma had seen Ty comfort his older brother—almost the first time she’d ever actually seen Julian let someone else take care of him.

They were silent on the long highway drive back to the Institute; silent as the clouds cleared away, blown inland by the ocean air. The sun was low on the water as they drove up the Pacific Coast Highway. They were silent as they got out of the car and Julian finally really spoke.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, looking at Tiberius. He’d stopped shaking—thankfully, since he’d been driving—and his voice was steady and soft. “It was too dangerous for you to come with us.”

Ty put his hands in his pockets. “I know what you think. But this is my investigation too.”

“Mark texted me to tell me you were missing,” Julian said, and Emma started; she should have guessed that was what all the business with Jules’s phone had been about. “I almost walked right out of Rook’s house. I don’t think he would have let us back in.”

“I’m sorry you were worried,” said Ty. “That’s why I hugged you outside Rook’s house, because I was sorry you were worried. But I’m not Tavvy. I’m not a child. I don’t need to always be there so that you or Mark can find me.”

“You shouldn’t have come into Rook’s house either.” Julian’s voice rose. “It wasn’t safe.”

“I wasn’t planning to come inside. Just to look at the house. Observe it.” Ty’s soft mouth hardened. “Then I saw you go in, and I saw someone moving around downstairs. I thought they might come up and attack you when you didn’t expect it. I knew you didn’t realize anyone was down there.”

“Jules,” Emma said. “You would have done the same thing.”

Jules shot her an exasperated look. “Ty’s only fifteen.”

“Don’t say it’s dangerous because I’m fifteen,” Ty said. “You did things just as dangerous when you were fifteen. And Rook wouldn’t have told you Sterling’s address if I hadn’t been holding a knife on his son.”

“That’s true,” said Emma. “He got into that protection circle too fast.”

“You couldn’t have known he had a son hidden down there,” Julian said. “You couldn’t have predicted what would happen, Ty. It was luck.”

“Prediction is magic,” Ty said. “It wasn’t that, and it wasn’t luck, either. I’ve heard Emma talk about Rook. Diana too. He sounded like someone who would hide things. Who you couldn’t trust. And I was right.” He looked hard at Jules; he wasn’t looking him in the eye, but his gaze was direct. “You always want to protect me,” he said. “But you won’t ever tell me when I’m right. If you let me make decisions on my own, maybe you’d worry about me less.”

Julian looked stunned.

“It could help that we know Rook has a son,” said Ty. He spoke with a clear confidence. “You can’t be sure it won’t. And I got you Sterling’s address. I helped, even if you didn’t want me there.”

In the dim light spilling down from the Institute, Julian looked as vulnerable as Emma had ever seen him. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost formally. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you didn’t help.”

“I know the Law,” said Ty. “I know fifteen isn’t grown up. I know we need Uncle Arthur, and we need you.” He frowned. “I mean, I can’t cook at all, and neither can Livvy. And I wouldn’t know how to put Tavvy to bed. I’m not saying you need to put me in charge or let me do whatever I want. I know there are rules. But some things—maybe Mark could do them?”

“But Mark—” Julian began, and Emma knew his fear. Mark might not stay. He might not want to.

“Mark’s just getting to know you all again and know what it’s like being here,” Julian said. “I don’t know if we could ask him to do too much.”

“He wouldn’t mind,” said Ty. “He likes me. He likes us.”

“He loves you,” said Julian. “And I love you too. But Ty, Mark might not— If we don’t find the killer, Mark might not be able to stay here.”

“That’s why I want to help solve the mystery,” said Ty. “So Mark can stay. He could take care of us, and you could rest.” He pulled his jacket closed, shivering; the wind off the ocean was intensely cool. “I’m going to go inside and find Livvy. Mark too. He was probably worried.”

Julian stared after Ty as he went into the house. The look on his face—it was as if Emma were looking at one of his paintings, but crumpled and torn, the colors and lines jumbled. “They all think that, don’t they?” he said slowly. “They all think Mark is going to stay.”

Emma hesitated. A few days before, she would have told Julian not to be ridiculous. That Mark would stay with his family, no matter what. But she had seen the night sky in Mark’s eyes when he talked of the Hunt, heard the cold freedom in his voice. There were two Marks, she thought sometimes: the human and the faerie. Human Mark would stay. Faerie Mark could not be predicted.

“How could they not?” Emma said. “If I got one of my parents back somehow—and then thought they were going to leave again, voluntarily—”