Miles whistles low. “That’s a long ways away.”

“Probably a whole day of hiking,” I say, and scribble some numbers in the dirt. “Yesterday the sun rose around six and set at eight. That’s a fourteen-hour day.” I hold the pen against the map’s scale and then up to measure the length of the rectangle. “If we left at dawn we might be there by nightfall.”

I look up to see Miles’s face. He looks like he’s thinking about it. “Or,” he says, running his finger along the bottom of the line, “we can drive there using a round-about route so we’re not spotted, get there a lot faster, and have the truck for whatever escape plan you’re cooking up.”

“Good point,” I say, pointing the pen at Miles. “I’m not used to counting motor vehicles as part of my assets. As for escape plans . . . I haven’t even thought about that. In my mind, we need to locate Avery, my clan, and wherever the guards are staying before we do anything else.”

Miles nods. “Well, since we decided on Plan A—the stealth strategy—that will probably involve stealing several cars and driving them out. As you said, we will have to know where the guards are located, as well as their vehicles, and any entrances or exits to the perimeter fence.”

I can’t help but smiling. Miles is actually allowing himself to show what he’s got—his ability to strategize. He trusts me enough to lower his guard. Finally.

“What?” he asks, seeing my expression.

“Nothing. Go on,” I urge.

“Of course, if we went with Plan B—the strength strategy—and fought them head-on, then if we win”—Miles pauses for emphasis—“we would seize their vehicles and drive on out of there. Which is pretty hard to imagine, seeing what we have to work with.”

“Which is . . . ,” I prod.

“Assuming that your clan has no weapons, since they’re being kept captive, we can count on two crossbows, a bowie knife, and a pickup truck.”

I laugh. “It’s a good thing we chose Plan A, then. But if it comes to fighting, we can count on the strength of my entire clan,” I say. “Oh, and hopefully some help from Tallie.”

“Tallie?” Miles asks, looking completely thrown.

“Yes, the mountain woman Poe is playing house-raven with,” I remind him.

“But . . . how is she going to help us from Utah?”

“Well, hopefully she’s not in Utah anymore. I called her from Arizona and asked her to come to New Mexico.”

“Wait. How?” Miles stammers. “I thought she didn’t have a phone or electricity.”

“She doesn’t,” I respond. “Before I left, she gave me the phone number of the general store that she hikes to every few days. I gave them a message for her, asking her to go to Roswell and wait for word. Hopefully she’s gotten it by now, was able to borrow a truck, and is on her way. Which means one more person on the outside, plus another vehicle.”

Miles just gapes at me. “And you’ll be communicating with her . . . how?”

“While I was down near the fence, I used the Yara to try to contact Poe. The way Whit called him when he freaked out in the back of your car. If it works—hopefully—he’ll come.”

“Wow,” Miles says. “Okay, then. I’ll add Tallie and the bird to our list of potential assets.” He looks back down at my map. “So should we leave tonight? Drive to the other end of the reserve, hide the truck, and scout? We could split up and run along the fence—I could go north while you go south until we hit the corners, and then both follow the fence west. If we split up we could cover more distance, and do it under cover of night.”

I shake my head. “We have to stick together.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Let’s say there are guards patrolling the perimeter, as we suspect. If they make their rounds at night, all they’ll need is a pair of headlights scanning that wide-open desert land, and they’ll find us in minutes.”

“And what would that change if we stuck together?” Miles asks.

“I can hide myself with Conjuring. I could even hide both of us, like I did from your dad and his men while you were in the death-sleep. But if you’re on the other side of the ranch, I won’t be able to protect you.”

Miles pauses. “It’s too bad I can’t camouflage myself,” he says, and looks strangely uncomfortable.

“That’s Conjuring,” I say softly. “You don’t even know how to Read. Like I said, it’s not like it comes automatically once you’ve gone through the Rite. It’s a part of a way of thinking. Of living.”

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I just thought I felt something while you were gone. It probably wasn’t anything.”

My silence speaks my opinion on that. Miles shrugs and tries to look nonchalant. “Okay,” he says, and thrusting his fists into his pockets, walks away toward the ridge. I follow him to the top of the ridge, where he stops and looks out over the desert. I put an arm around his back and lean my head lightly against his arm.

“You’re bothered about the is-Yara-religion-or-is-it-magic issue, aren’t you? About how it’s going to affect you.”

Miles doesn’t answer.

“Do you wish I hadn’t given you the Rite?” I ask.

He looks up and watches a hawk fly in slow, looping circles as it searches the ground for prey. “I’m glad I’m not dead,” he answers.