But she only forced a smile. “I should get to sleep, Jules.”

She couldn’t see his expression as he turned to leave the room. “Good night, Emma.”

Emma woke late the next day: sometime overnight, the storm had washed the sky clean of clouds, and the afternoon sun was bright. Her head aching, she clambered out of bed, showered and changed, and nearly collided with Cristina outside her bedroom door.

“You slept so long, I was worried,” Cristina scolded. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once I have breakfast. Maybe something chocolate.”

“It’s much too late for breakfast. It’s past lunchtime. Julian sent me up to get you—he says he has drinks and sandwiches in the car but you have to get going now.”

“Do you think they’re chocolate sandwiches?” Emma inquired, falling into step beside Cristina as they both headed for the stairs.

“What’s a chocolate sandwich?”

“You know: bread, chocolate bar, butter.”

“That is disgusting.” Cristina shook her head; the pearls in her earlobes gleamed.

“Not as disgusting as coffee. You off to Malcolm’s?”

Cristina flashed a smile. “I shall ask a million questions of your purply-eyed warlock so that Diana doesn’t think about you and Julian or whether you might be at Mr. Rook’s.”

“I’m not sure he’s a mister,” Emma said, stifling a yawn. “I’ve never heard anyone call him anything but ‘hey, Rook’ or sometimes ‘that bastard.’”

“That is very rude,” said Cristina. There was something playful in her dark eyes. “I think Mark is nervous about being alone with the younger ones. This should be very amusing.” She tugged one of Emma’s damp braids. “Julian is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Good luck distracting Malcolm,” Emma called as Cristina strode off down the hallway toward the kitchen where Diana was, presumably, waiting.

Cristina winked. “Good luck getting information, cuata.”

Shaking her head, Emma headed down to the parking lot, where she found Julian standing beside the Toyota, examining the contents of the trunk. Beside him was Mark.

“I thought Cristina was going to be here,” Mark was saying as Emma approached. “I did not realize she was going to Malcolm’s. I did not think that I would be left alone with the children.”

“They’re not children,” Julian said, nodding a greeting at Emma. “Ty and Livvy are fifteen; they’ve looked after the others before.”

“Tiberius is angry that you are not allowing him to come with you to Rook’s,” said Mark. “He said he was going to lock himself in his room.”

“Terrific,” said Julian. His voice was rough; he looked as if he hadn’t slept. Emma wondered what could have kept him up. Research? “I guess you’ll know where he is. Look, the only one who needs looking after is Tavvy.”

Mark looked ill with horror. “I know.”

“He’s a kid, not a bomb,” said Emma, buckling on a weapons belt. There were several seraph blades and a stele thrust through it. She wasn’t in gear, just jeans and a jacket that would hide the sword on her back. Not that she expected trouble, but she hated going out without Cortana, currently napping in the trunk. “It’ll be okay. Dru and Livvy can help.”

“Maybe this mission of yours is too dangerous,” Mark said, as Julian slammed the trunk shut. “A faerie would tell you that a rook is a black crow—a bird of ill omen.”

“I know,” Julian said, sliding a final, thin dagger into the holder strapped around his wrist. “It also means to cheat or to swindle. It was my word of the day last year from Diana.”

“Johnny Rook is a swindler, all right,” Emma agreed. “He swindles mundanes. We’ll be fine.”

“The children could set themselves on fire,” Mark said. He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Ty and Livvy are fifteen,” said Emma. “They’re nearly the same age you were when you joined the Hunt. And you were—”

“What?” Mark turned his odd eyes on her. “I was fine?”

Emma felt herself flush. “An afternoon in their own home is not exactly the same as being kidnapped by cannibalistic faerie predators.”

“We didn’t eat people,” Mark said indignantly. “At least not to my knowledge.”

Julian unlocked the driver’s side door and slid inside. Emma climbed into the passenger seat as he leaned out the window and looked sympathetically at his brother. “Mark, we have to go. If anything happens, have Livvy text us, but right now Rook is the best chance we have. Okay?”

Mark straightened up as if readying for battle. “Okay.”

“And if they do manage to set themselves on fire?”

“Yes?” Mark said.

“You’d better find a way to put them out.”

Johnny Rook lived in Victor Heights, in a small craftsman bungalow with dusty windows sandwiched between two ranch houses. It had a disused air that Emma assumed was carefully cultivated. It looked like the sort of place neighborhood children would skip over when searching for candy on Halloween.

Otherwise it was a nice street. There were kids playing hopscotch a few houses down, and an old man reading a newspaper in his gazebo, surrounded by lawn gnomes. When Julian pictured mundane life, it looked a lot like this. Sometimes he thought it wouldn’t be so bad.