“Iris. I saw Iris.”

“I wouldn’t fret overmuch. The wolf has lost its teeth. I expect she’s little threat without Patrick Tigue, and your mum was kind enough to see an end to him.” When I didn’t answer, he raised his eyebrows. “But I gather that’s not the source of your distress. What is it, then? You worry what frightful secret she might let slip? How is our demon-in-disguise these days?”

“He’s fine,” I said quickly.

Shane smiled again. “Naturally he is. You would hardly tell me otherwise, would you? That’s a perilous path you tread, angel. Have a care where you step.”

“I’m not here to talk about Gideon.”

“Verrick,” Shane said, stretching the syllables. The word was loud in the quiet around us. “Speak his name. Give voice to what he is.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t your business.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t, particularly. The choice is yours, if you wish to plummet off this cliff. I’m merely pointing out the edge.” He moved away from me, standing in front of his mural. He glanced up at it a moment before continuing. “It’s near time I quit this Circle. I should hate to overstay my welcome. And a man who doesn’t age can only linger in one locale for so long.”

That surprised me. “You’re leaving?”

“Sooner rather than later, I think. On the chance that we don’t meet again, let me give you a bit of parting advice.” He paused again. He stepped up to the wall, raising his hands and pressing his fingers against the mural, tracing the grooves of the paint. “You have a good heart, angel. Try not to lose that.”

I watched him dubiously. “What, that’s it? No cryptic warnings or dire predictions?”

“You wouldn’t like the only warning I have to give. I told you once before, and you preferred not to heed it. But since it bears repeating, I’ll say it again.” He turned toward me. His voice went soft, almost gentle. For once there was not a hint of humor in it. “Audrey, that boy is not your friend.”

I swallowed. I didn’t answer, and Shane didn’t seem to expect it. He returned his attention to the painting. But this time when he pressed his hands against it, his fingers had shifted into talons. With slow, deliberate slashes, he raked his claws down the mural, leaving wide gouges in the paint. Once, twice. Again. Again—until a series of scratches cut across the cityscape. Red and gray flaked out in long curls all around him. The sound of the scraping sent a shiver down me. He clawed across one of the buildings, then another. The stars fell to the floor to rest near his bare feet.

“Take care, angel,” he called to me.

Unnerved, I turned and left.

Wednesday morning was hot and bright, the sun already boiling by eleven a.m., when Tink and I made our way to the bleachers to watch Gideon’s baseball game. I was Tink’s ride, since she’d almost hit a turkey on her way home from the mall on Monday and was now refusing to drive. She said it was the least I could do to make up for all the times she’d played chauffeur for me—which was, at my count, twice. Not to mention the fact that I refused to lend her Leon.

“He’s my boyfriend, not a taxi,” I told her as we left the parking lot and headed toward the stands. Tink’s mother had loaded us up with water bottles and a cooler full of chicken salad sandwiches, all of which Tink was making me carry. The grass was damp from the sprinkler system, stray bits of green sticking between my toes.

Tink sighed. “If I had to be given powers, why couldn’t I have gotten something useful?”

I wouldn’t have called the enhanced strength, speed, and healing that came along with being a Guardian useless, but I didn’t argue.

We found a spot on the bleachers that Tink claimed guaranteed us the best view of the players, but unfortunately didn’t offer much in the way of shade. I’d forgotten sunscreen, and the sun was busy adding a new batch of freckles to my nose. And since my shoulders were already slightly red from an afternoon I’d spent swimming last week, I figured I’d be lucky if I didn’t turn tomato. Tink, however, wouldn’t hear of relocating.

“You must suffer for the greater good,” she decreed.

The greater good being the opportunity to ogle boys from the optimal angle, I assumed. “I’m taken, remember?” I said.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate.”

“I appreciate Leon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.”

“I thought you’d sworn off boys for the summer, anyway,” I reminded her.

“Touching, not looking.”

Which was her final word on the subject. She stretched her feet out in front of her, removing her flip-flops and plucking at the blades of grass her toes had collected. Tink herself had managed to tan without burning, and the sun had bleached her blond hair even lighter. She’d foregone glitter today, but her toenails had been painted to match her bright red sundress. She appeared to have fully recovered from the fight with the Harrowers. Since she normally avoided any mention of Guardians or the Kin—and for once I was inclined to agree with that practice—I wasn’t planning to question her about it. But, to my surprise, she brought up the topic on her own.

“Warning,” she said, muttering under her breath so that I had to lean close in order to hear her. “Ryan might be giving you a call to ask about Saturday night.”

“Why? What more does he want to know? Harrowers showed up, we killed them. Isn’t that the whole purpose of patrols?”

“Leon killed them,” Tink said. She gave a quick glance around us, but though the bleachers were about half full, the only person close enough to overhear us was a harried-looking woman yelling into her phone. “And he only killed one of them. The other just sort of…died.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I guess Ryan wants to know if there’s some detail we missed. There haven’t been any Harrower attacks at the other Circles for months. Just here. Just us, actually. He thinks there must be something going on.”

“Wait, he’s worried because Harrowers aren’t attacking us? Are you sure he’s not just bored because school is out and he doesn’t have any students to torment?”

“Do not ask me to explain that man’s logic. It is far beyond my ability.”

Any further discussion of the Kin was put on hold by the start of the game.

I knew a few of the other members of Gideon’s team. Stanley, their starting pitcher, went to school with us, and the left-fielder, José, had been friends with Gideon since we were kids. Tink singled out the first baseman—neither of us knew his name—as her eye candy for the afternoon, and she spent most of her time giving him very obvious looks. I focused on cheering for Gideon, who was playing shortstop.

We sat through two innings before Gideon came up to bat, at which point Tink immediately started hooting and hollering so loudly that the woman next to us, who was somehow still on the phone, shot her several disapproving looks—which Tink of course ignored. If anything, she increased her volume.

“You weren’t kidding about that ‘scream ourselves dizzy’ thing, huh?” I said.

She paused in order to shrug and say, “I’m just being supportive.” And then she went back to shouting encouragement. I laughed.

The first two pitches went wide, and Gideon didn’t swing.

I didn’t see the third throw.

Sudden Knowing shot through me, so intense it was almost blinding—too insistent for me to shut out. I bent double, fighting nausea and gasping in air. Distantly, I heard Tink’s voice, but her words didn’t connect. My senses were in chaos. There was no coherent scene or impression to this. It wasn’t a flicker of thought or memory, and no images flashed. It was raw awareness, sharp and painful, a perception that went beyond Knowing. Panic seized me, but the panic wasn’t mine. It came from somewhere else—from someone else. And it wasn’t alone. With it came an overwhelming sense of wrath. Something vengeful and angry sparked in the air, and was gone just as fast.