He knew they weren’t helpless. He’d known that for a long time.

But if he didn’t have to watch out for his brothers, what else did he have?

Marshal Faulkner put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll be okay. Aren’t you appearing in front of a judge in a few days anyway?”

Michael looked at his brothers. They looked so defiant—but strong and capable, too. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not safe,” he started.

“It’s never safe,” said Nick. “Never. And what are you going to do? Load us into the truck and take off?”

“The truck is totaled,” Michael said. But yes, he’d been planning something exactly like that.

His brothers looked stunned. “The truck—is totaled?” said Gabriel.

“Yeah. From the restaurant bombing.” Michael leaned against the edge of the ambulance. He rubbed at his eyes. The fire marshal was right. Nothing had changed. He had nowhere to take his brothers. No vehicle to take them in.

The night had been terrifying, and he’d been so relieved to have his brothers back that he hadn’t considered practicalities.

This sucked.

“What do we need to do?” said Chris.

Michael looked up and sighed—but Chris wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to the fire marshal.

Marshal Faulkner glanced between Michael and his brothers. “Same as before.” He hesitated. “You’ll stay with someone approved for emergency custody for a few days.”

“Fine,” said Nick.

“Fine,” agreed Gabriel. “Let’s go.”

“Not fine,” said Michael. He couldn’t let this happen again. He couldn’t go another night without knowing where his brothers were. Not now, not this soon. “I told you—”

“Wait.” Marshal Faulkner held up a hand. “Would you feel better if you knew where they were?” He looked at each of them again. “If you all agree to behave until your brother has a court date, I can pull some strings.”

Michael hesitated.

“We agree,” said Chris.

“We agree,” said Nick. He punched Gabriel in the arm and got the same response.

“Besides,” said Gabriel. “You can’t be a pain in the ass from jail, so you’d better do this the legal way.”

“I didn’t agree yet,” said Michael. “I want to know where you plan to take them, first.”

“That’s easy,” said Marshal Faulkner. “I plan to take them to my house.”

CHAPTER 32

Hannah arrived home to find her mother carrying a stack of pillows and blankets into the basement.

She stopped short in the foyer. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Shh.” Her mother tilted her head at the kitchen. “Talk to your father.”

Like that’s what she wanted to do after the night she’d had. Hannah considered springing up the steps and locking herself in her bedroom, but she kept hearing Irish’s words. You are an adult. It’s okay to act like it.

Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway before she could decide what to do. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window was still weak, so she couldn’t make out his expression, but it sure didn’t feature a big ol’ jolly smile.

“Where’ve you been?” he said.

She wanted to snap at him, because it wasn’t any of his business, but maybe she could start working on that whole communication thing.

“Went for coffee with Irish.” She hesitated, thinking of all she’d learned, about Elementals and Guides and all the reasons Michael had hidden the truth from her. “I needed to unwind.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “Do you want to come sit in the kitchen so we can talk?”

She opened her mouth to say not really, but now her father’s words were an echo in her head.

You’re impossible to talk to.

I’m not the only one.

She shut her mouth and headed for the kitchen. Instead of sitting, she leaned against the cooking island. “Don’t tell me. Mom found out about the shooting and you have to sleep in the basement.”

“No.” His eyebrows went up. “You haven’t talked to Michael?”

“No.” She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Tonight . . . he kept a lot of secrets, Dad. I don’t . . . I don’t even understand all of it.”

But she understood some of it. Thanks to Irish.

She had no idea what to do. At least she’d been able to make a coherent statement to the cops.

She had no idea where things stood with Michael—or where she wanted them to stand. He had a second life. A secret life, full of magic and danger and mystery. In a movie or a book it would have made him sexy and desirable.

To a real live woman with a young child to raise, it made him terrifying.

Her father gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand much either.” He paused. “That’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Fine.” She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. “What, then?”

“I don’t hate that you’re a firefighter. And I don’t hate that you got pregnant.” A moment passed. “And I didn’t mean for you to think I was trying to pin anything on your mother.”