“You weren’t angry,” I said, though I knew better.

Weren’t angry? He was still angry.

I reached over and pulled the tie from his hair, letting the rest of the mess fall free, and put the holder in my coat pocket. “Not at Promise, who brought up feelings about your past and about who you are. Who was saying you’re a burden to me.” Which I did not expect to hear repeated—would not tolerate being repeated. Not about my brother. “But more importantly, not at Promise, who has hurt me.” I rested a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. “There are so many layers within us, Cal. Stairs, really. Standing at the top, you were fine. Truth is truth, uncomfortable or not. But go down those stairs and on every one something is waiting. Me, Promise, you yourself—with two monsters as parents. Go down far enough and anyone who’s lived your life will find anger. You said something unkind; Promise said the same back. And then, to make matters worse . . .” I moved the hand from his neck to briskly swat his head. “You want to protect me. Ass. Rest assured, whatever happens with Promise, I can protect myself fine.”

He rubbed the back of his head, but not with much spirit. “The human half of me might know that, but the Auphe part didn’t get the e-mail. I don’t remember doing it. Swear to God, Nik. I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t. You didn’t do it purposefully.” I sat for a moment, trying for just the right analogy . . . one that could make him understand. “Do you see that squirrel?”

He looked up and saw it scampering in long dead leaves across the way. “Yeah. Fluffy. Cute. Whatever.”

“Watch.” I took his ponytail holder and tossed it at the rodent. It ran immediately, scuttled up the tree, and cursed me fiercely. Dye it black, and it would be a good imitation of Cal and his morning bitching. “It ran. Did you see?” Before he could respond, I asked, “What do you think a cat would’ve done? Would it have run?”

He shrugged, the wind whipping his hair. “Nah, he would pounce on it. It’s a cat thing.”

“It’s an instinct thing,” I corrected. “Humans and Auphe have instincts too. Humans get angry and they snap, turn red, maybe yell, maybe even hit . . . maybe on a very rare occasion, kill. An Auphe gets angry . . .” I inclined my head toward him.

“It always kills,” he finished slowly. “It gets angry and it always kills.”

“You can’t erase evolution.” I went after the tie and brought it back to him. “You have some Auphe instincts; there is no way to avoid that. You’re like the cat, only you didn’t pounce. You started to, a half-grown instinct drove you to, but you didn’t. And you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” He took the tie and shoved it in his own pocket.

“I do know that,” I countered without a shred of doubt. “You could’ve kept silent and she would’ve stepped backward through the gate, but you took her hand. You closed the gate and you kept her safe. You were sleepy, annoyed, about two hours away from real consciousness, and you still ignored instinct and kept her safe. You have an unbreakable will, Cal.”

It was true. The Auphe had once broken his mind, but they had never broken his will.

He shook his head, not completely convinced. “You always think the best of me. When it comes to the Auphe part anyway. One day you’re going to be wrong, Cyrano.”

“I’m never wrong.” Completely untrue, but he needed to hear it anyway. Because he was right. I’d been wrong in the past, I’d be wrong in the future. But I would not be wrong about this. “And trust me, the last time I thought the best of you was before you spoke your first word.”

He gave a half grin. “I come by that naturally. Good old Sophia probably knew words I still don’t.”

“At least ‘mother’ was part of it. Couldn’t leave the other half off, could you?”

Not true, of course. His first word had been much shorter. He still said it every day. Like this moment.

“Nik, do we . . .” The words trailed off as he settled back against the bench, the anger visibly reduced. Still there, but faded. He exhaled, “Stupid. There’s no ‘do we,’ is there? We have to tell everybody. Hate for someone to have to die for taking the last piece of pizza.” It was a joke, yet it wasn’t, and it deserved only one thing.

“Idiot.” I swatted again. “(A) You are not going to kill anyone over artery-clogging food. (B) We tell them only if you want to.” I said it and I meant it. Without reservation.

“After what Promise did, keeping an entire family secret? You think that’s okay now? Not telling them something that important?” he asked with a skeptical curiosity. “Me being the last . . . you know.” He grimaced, but went on, “That won’t make a difference to their survival, one way or the other, but this might. And you don’t think we should tell them?”

There it was, wasn’t it?

“Just because I’m your teacher doesn’t mean I still don’t have a thing or two to learn,” I answered ruefully. “I haven’t lied to Promise about you since the entire mess first came out with Darkling, but . . . I would.” How odd I hadn’t known that about myself. I’d assumed a situation wouldn’t come along where I, the so highly principled Niko, would stoop from my pedestal of unyielding truth and honor to actually lie to someone I cared for.

I would.

Cal was my brother, but I had also raised him. My brother, my family, the one I’d protected from the moment he took his very first breath. I would tell any lie to anyone to keep him safe. Make any omission. Promise had told her lies for a different reason . . . to keep herself safe from the heartache of her failure and the blood-soaked memories of her past family. But all the lies originated in the same place. To protect. I wasn’t in a position to be her judge.

“So good enough can be good enough?” he asked.

“That makes absolutely no sense, and, yes, maybe it can.” For Promise and me—if she understood what Cal was to me and it wasn’t a burden, maybe it could be enough. I spotted a hot dog vendor setting up down the block. “Hungry yet? You can eat all the mystery meat you want, and this once I won’t say a word.”

“Really? Mustard, chili, onions, the whole nine yards? And no bitching?” He stood and dug for a few dollars in his jeans. The crumpled paper appeared and he folded the bills back and forth as he hesitated. “Nik? You’re not afraid, then? Of me?”

“Afraid of you?” I leaned back to drape an arm along the back of the bench and cross booted ankles. “I’m still waiting for your testicles to drop so we can buy you a cup for sparring. Now go eat your hot dog,” I commanded.

The glower, snarky grin, and annoyed mask he wore as armor against the world—I’d seen the making of those over the years, and I’d seen through them just as long. This time I didn’t have to. There was nothing to hide the emotion: relief, pure and strong. It was in the loosened set of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the lightening of his eyes. Then he shifted his gaze away for a second before looking back again with the armor once more firmly in place. “Just for that, you bastard, extra onions,” he promised vengefully. “Until it comes out my pores.”

“And that would be different from a normal day how?” I snorted. “Bring me back some bottled juice. And remember, just because it’s orange does not necessarily make it juice. Look at the label. Try a little of that reading thing you hear so much about.”

He was thinking of flipping me off, I knew it. But I also knew he was thinking of what had happened the last time he had. Ah, the interesting process of making a brace for a sprained finger using a Popsicle stick. Education at its finest. Grumbling under his breath, he turned and crossed the grass to the sidewalk. I put on my sunglasses against the just-risen sun and watched him go. Jeans, old cracked and worn combat boots, and a beat-up black leather jacket. Wind-tangled mop of hair and a scowl only a native New Yorker could’ve equaled. Despite what he thought, he was so human, in all the very best and worst ways there were to be human. Grit, loyalty, determination. Anger, vulnerability, fear.