was inside; otherwise, anyone who’d made it past the fence could just stroll on in. Aunt Evie liked to explain it as a way to disorient people who expected military-grade security at all times, but honestly, I thought she just liked being able to run around without carrying her keys. Aunt Evie could be that sort of mixture of canny and careless, probably because she’d grown up in a household where her human privilege had been so completely world-changing.
It also helps that the house has a really weird layout. The front door—so called because it’s big and has a porch and a doorbell and some decorative trellises with honeysuckle growing on them—leads, not to the foyer or the living room, but to a mudroom. The kitchen is on the other side, and the so-called “front room” is on the other side of that. It’s a mirror of what people generally expect to find in a house like ours.
(Coming in through the back door gives a more normal experience, except for the part where getting there requires climbing the carefully rickety deck stairs and crossing an expanse of weather-treated wood decorated with a portable barbeque and a bunch of lawn chairs. It all works. It’s all livable. But big chunks of it are intended to throw people who don’t understand us off-balance, because someone who doesn’t know whether they’re coming or going is way less likely to unload a pistol into your head.)
The mudroom was empty. The kitchen was empty except for a small cluster of Aeslin mice bravely delving for crumbs in the toaster, which was still plugged in. Aeslin teens, then. The younger members of the colony were big on pushing boundaries and testing their faith, at least until they settled down and became respectable members of the clergy. A few of them tossed a muted cheer in my direction, but mostly they ignored me. It was late. Even the mice were tired.
I crossed the kitchen, intending to head for the stairs, and stopped dead at the threshold to the front room. There was Sarah, curled up on the big couch with one of the decorative throw pillows clutched against her chest, her knees drawn almost to her chest, so that her entire body formed a perfect letter “C.”
She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on for the flight from Ohio, black leggings and a heavy sweater and sensible shoes. Her hair was an inky sweep across the pillows, her bangs almost hiding the cut on her forehead, and she had never looked so beautiful, or so breakable. What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with her? She was family. I mean, sure, we weren’t related, and we’d only semi-grown up together—no one would be able to call this full creepy—but she was supposed to be off-limits. I was supposed to take care of her and protect her and make sure she was happy and not afraid. I wasn’t supposed to make things worse.
But the way she’d kissed me, the way she’d talked about the idea of kissing me . . . maybe it was holding back that had been making things worse? Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself that something I really, really wanted to be true was true, and this was all a bad idea.
I drifted toward her, frowning a little. Something was still wrong. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet; whatever it was, it was subtle. She was breathing slow and steady, clearly asleep.
I’d been on the verge of a coma earlier, according to her. I sped up, pausing when I reached the couch. Sarah didn’t move, didn’t react to my presence.
Sarah? I thought, as loudly as I could. She still didn’t move.
I took a deep breath before leaning over to brush the hair away from her face. My fingertips barely brushed the curve of her cheek. She made a small, sleepy noise, lifting one hand and wiping the memory of my touch away, all without opening her eyes. I pulled my hand away and stepped carefully backward, first one step, then another, and another, until I was in the kitchen doorway.
The mice clustered around the toaster raised their heads and paid me exactly the amount of attention required to avoid being rude to one of their personal gods. It was a calculated snub, impressive for how well-practiced it was. I held a finger to my lips, gesturing for silence as I approached them, and crouched down by