“Stay awake,” I croaked. Hot tears welled and spilled down my cheeks. I dipped my head to his and pressed a shaky kiss to his brow. “I need you, Lon,” I whispered. “You’re the only family I have. Don’t leave me.”

His lips moved. He looked up me, dazed, and blinked.

“Police will be here soon,” Dare said. “I’ll handle them.”

Another car drove up. I heard talking outside the fence, commotion. I could spy a little of it through the open gate. A lone figure was arguing with Dare’s people, who were managing a growing crowd of neighbors on the sidewalk. Someone raced through the gate.

“Cady!”

“Bob?”

“Lon called me,” he yelled. The phone call before he surrendered, I remembered. Not Dare, but Bob? The Earthbound dashed out of the shadows, chest heaving, face red. “Oh, no,” he lamented when he spotted Lon.

“You’re a healer,” Jupe said.

“Yes, but not a good one,” Bob said. “I can’t . . . this is . . . it’s too big.”

“Yes, you can,” I pleaded. “You can help. Please, Bob.”

“Cady”—he shook his head—“I really can’t. I’m not my father. Small wounds, Cady. Not this.”

“Jupe, Bob is a good healer. He just doesn’t believe he is. Can you please persuade him?”

Jupe wiped away tears. “What?”

“Tell him how good he is, Jupe. You dad needs someone now. Dr. Mick is too far away.”

Realization cracked Jupe’s miserable expression. He swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut, and shouted, “You’re a good healer, Bob. Good enough to help my dad. Please fix him!”

Bob swayed on his knees.

Lon’s green-and-gold halo was shrinking. His eyes fluttered closed.

Jupe choked on a sob and tried to persuade Bob again. His body shook as he balled up his hands into fists. “Heal him!” he cried out. “Stop the bleeding!”

“I trust you, Bob,” I said, smiling and crying at the same time. “Please.”

He stared at Lon for a moment, then nodded once and took a deep breath.

Bob’s fingers touched mine and prodded. I didn’t want to let go. He prodded me a second time. I sobbed and jerked my hands away. I trust you, I trust you, I trust you. . . .

Bob removed the soaked compress from Lon’s neck and slid his fingers over the wound. He mumbled something to himself and closed his eyes.

I waited, talking to Lon in a whisper and gripping his limp hand. Jupe’s squatted next to me, his shoulder pressed against my arm as he nervously rocked on his heels.

I waited longer, barely breathing, as Dare’s people worked in the distance, rescuing the kids from the house.

Then Bob gasped.

His shoulders strained.

My heart pounded.

And as Bob let out a long, labored breath, Lon’s halo pulsed brighter. An ambulance wailed in the distance, and Lon’s fingers, slick with blood, flexed around mine.

His eyes opened.

Mr. and Mrs. Holiday walked into Lon’s house hauling a homemade cake scattered with multicolored birthday candles. It was a week late, but when the actual birthday sucked as much as Jupe’s did, it was only fair to get a do-over. Banana-and-chocolate layer cake with peanut butter frosting was definitely not my first choice, or second. But it was Jupe’s favorite, and they’d gone to so much work. When I tasted it, though, I was pleasantly surprised. “Mmm,” I said, smiling.

“Told you. It’s good, right?” Jupe shoveled an enormous bite into his mouth.

“Slow down,” Lon said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“It takes three pieces to make me throw up,” he argued, then waggled his eyebrows in my direction. “I put that to the test last year.”

“I remember,” Mr. Holiday said sourly.

“You’re a disgusting little animal,” Mrs. Holiday echoed.

He grinned and licked crumbs off his fork.

As Lon grumbled, Jupe plucked out a chunk of banana from his slice and fed it to Mr. Piggy under the dining room table while he recounted stories from past birthdays, enlightening me as to why both saltwater aquariums and slumber parties were forever banned at the Butler house. Good to know.

Though he’d already unwrapped several gifts, Jupe’s big birthday present came while we were clearing away the remains of the cake. I agreed to distract Jupe while Lon went outside and took care of the delivery.

“I’m sorry your real birthday stunk,” I said as we waited.

“You and me both. I always thought flying would be cool, but I was this close to pissing my pants,” he admitted with a weak smile.

“That’s a habit of yours, isn’t it?” I teased.

He snickered, then we both fell silent.

“Do you think Ms. Forsythe will ever teach again?” he asked after a time.

“I don’t know.”

She was currently healing in the hospital after reconstructive surgery on her knees. Unlike Lon’s neck wound, her shattered bone and cartilage couldn’t be mended by a healer, not even one as skilled as Mr. Mick. At Lon’s insistence, Dare was making arrangements for Ms. Forsythe to be checked into some place up the coast, the Golden Path Center, a “voluntary” mental health retreat for Earthbounds. I hoped she found a way to deal with her very involuntary role in all this, but I wasn’t sure if that was possible.

“Hey, Cady,” Jupe said in a low voice, “how long have you known about my dad?”