As he met Mary’s eyes, he put himself in Qhuinn’s position—times one billion. Then he shook himself back into focus.

“I will.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Drive safely?”

“Always.”

With a nod, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath—and then he was out of there, traveling in a rush of molecules over the human neighborhoods . . . and then across the farmland . . . and going farther, to the foothills that turned into the mountains.

He re-formed at the front entrance of the mansion, shoving his way into the vestibule, putting his face into the security camera.

As he waited for someone to open up, his heart was pounding for all kinds of reasons. But mostly because of the way Bitty had stared at him.

Funny how you could be transformed by someone.

The door broke open and Fritz was on the other side, looking worried. “Sire, how good to see you. All are going down to the training center. We are in the midst of preparing victuals in the event any can eat.”

Rhage had a strange impulse to hug the doggen—and he might have followed up on it except Fritz would have passed out from the breach of protocol.

“Thank you. You’re so on it. That means everything.”

Rhage strode fast and hard over the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in bloom—and he was almost to the hidden door under the grand staircase when he stopped and looked back.

“Fritz?”

The butler skidded to a halt in the archway of the dining room. “Yes, sire?”

“I know this is god-awful timing. But I need you to buy something for me. Right away.”

The ancient butler bowed so low his jowls nearly hit the polished floor. “It would be a relief to do something for anybody. One feels so helpless.”

* * *

Behind the wheel of the GTO, Mary felt like time had run backward—that somehow she and Bitty had gotten stuck in a warp where they were back nights ago, heading for the clinic across the river.

And it was not just because of Layla and what was happening at home. In the rear seat, the girl had retreated into herself, her eyes fixed on the window beside her, her face a mask of composure that was all the more alarming because Mary had learned exactly how engaged and cheerful she could be.

“Bitty?”

“Mmm?” came the response.

“Talk to me. I know there’s something going on—and yes, I could beat around the bush or pretend I haven’t noticed, but I think we’re beyond that. I hope we’re beyond that.”

It was a long while before the girl answered.

“When we left the restaurant,” Bitty said. “Did you see the human mahmen and daughter?”

“Yes.” Mary took a deep breath. “I saw them.”

As the silence resumed, Mary glanced into the rearview. “Did that make you think of your mahmen?”

All the girl did was nod.

Mary waited. And waited. “Do you miss her?”

That was what did it. All at once, Bitty began to cry, great sobs racking her little body. And Mary pulled over. She had to.

Thank God they were in a good part of town, and in a section where there were lots of bakeries and stationery stores and locally owned pet shops. Which meant plenty of parallel-parking spots right on the road that were empty.

Putting the GTO in neutral and pulling the hand brake, Mary twisted all the way around until her knees were tucked into her chest.

Reaching out a hand, she tried to touch Bitty, but the girl shrank away.

“Oh, sweetheart—I know you miss her—”

The girl wheeled back, tears streaming down her face. “But I don’t! I don’t miss her at all! How can I not miss her!”

As Bitty covered her eyes with her palms and sobbed, Mary let her be even though it killed her. And sure enough, after an agonizing wait, the girl started talking.

“I didn’t get that! What that human and her mahmen had! I didn’t get . . . bets and laughing. . . . I didn’t get going out to dinner or a friendly pick-up in a car by my father!” When she sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her fists, Mary fished in her bag and took out a pack of Kleenex. Bitty took the package and then seemed to forget she had it. “My mother was scared—and hurt and running for cover! And then she was pregnant and then she got sick and—she died! And I don’t miss her!”

Mary turned off the engine, opened her door and got into the back. She was careful to lock them both in the dark car, and as she settled beside the girl, the ambient light helped her see the anguish and the horror on Bitty’s face.

“How can I not miss her?” The girl was shaking. “I loved her—and I should miss her. . . .”

Mary reached out, and it was relief to pull Bitty over and hug her close. Stroking her hair, she murmured soft words as Bitty wept.

It was impossible not to tear up herself.

And it was hard not to whisper platitudes like, “It’s going to be all right,” or, “You’re okay,” because she wanted to do something, anything to ease the girl. But the truth was, what Bitty had been exposed to growing up was not all right, and kids and people from those environments were not okay for a very, very long time, if ever at all.

“I’ve got you,” was all she could say. Over and over again.

It seemed like years until Bitty took a shuddering breath and sat back. And when she fumbled with the tissue packet, Mary took the thing from her and broke the seal, teasing out a Kleenex. And another.