Release(46)

Angela’s face softened, she pushed out her lower lip, letting it quiver, and said, gently, “Do I fucking look like the kind of girl who wants flowers?” He laughed as she put it on the back seat. “You’re that kind of girl, though,” she said.

“You shouldn’t use ‘girl’ as an insult.”

“I’m reappropriating it.”

“I see.”

They drove in silence for a moment, then Angela said, “You won’t vanish, will you?”

“What?”

“When I’m in Rotterdam. People always say they’ll keep in touch, but then they find other friends and the times get less and less–”

“Skype every Wednesday and Saturday.”

She nodded, solemnly. “If your parents let you have any sort of connection with the wider world.”

“I’ll go to your house and ask your mom.”

She nodded again.

“We won’t lose touch, Ange.”

“It’s college after,” she said. “We might have lost touch anyway.”

“We can deal with after, after. Let’s get through the next thing first.”

“That’s a very mature attitude, Mr Thorn.”

“One of us has to be, Ms Darlington.” Adam glanced into his rear-view mirror, hearing sirens. He pulled over to let seven police cars speed by, going well over a hundred miles an hour, by the look of it. “Whoa. What’s going on there?”

The cars all turned at the main intersection, towards the prison but away from the lake, so Adam figured he’d probably never know what it was about. Frome had already reached its annual quota of big news stories with the murder of Katherine van Leuwen.

Adam turned his car in the other direction, towards the paths where he ran lakeside, towards the nice cabin the Garcias had rented for their son’s get-together.

“My stomach is actually starting to hurt,” Adam said.

Angela sighed. “I’m so glad he’s moving to Atlanta.”

“I can’t help how I feel. I can’t help missing him.”

“You know, everyone says that, but I wonder if it’s actually true. If you tried hard enough.”

“I can’t help missing you.”

“That’s different. I’m supernatural.”

Adam pulled his car up to the cabin. They weren’t the first. At least half a dozen other cars were there, including– “There’s Linus,” Angela said, nodding at him. He was already holding a cup of beer and seeing Adam pull in. Adam parked, and he and Angela got out, ready to go.

But then a voice said, “Pizza’s here!” and Adam saw Enzo approaching with a smile and his heart broke, it broke, it broke.





They are indoors, in a room, a corridor, with no windows of any kind, yet the faun knows how close they’re getting to sunset. Time is running out. And then all of time will run out. He has known it as a thought since this morning, since following the Queen out of the lake, but it is only now, this close, that he begins to feel real fear.

They will not make it.





She nears the man, looking him up and down. She reaches out to touch him, but before her fingers land, he flinches away, hitting his head hard on the metal wall. She can sense the bruise forming below the skin, the smaller bruise forming on his brain, and with a wave of her fingers, she heals it, almost without a thought.

“Am I dead?” the man asks.



“You should be so lucky,” the Queen says, and the colloquialism of it tells the faun the other spirit is in charge here. The one who cannot hear him. The one completely unaware of the danger.

She touches the man on his elbow, the nearest bit of flesh to her. It burns so fast, the faun can smell it cook. The ancient urge is awakened, the forbidden one: the faun grows hungry.

The man calls out and falls to the floor in the corner of his cell. The Queen stands over him.

And the faun can feel her indecision.





“Why are you so afraid?” she says to the man, feeling real bafflement. This is Tony. Tony who knew her. Tony who killed her. Tony should be frightened, yes, but this cowering, this abjectness…

“You’ve come to kill me,” Tony weeps.

“How can I kill you if you think you’re already dead?” she answers. “Were you always this foolish?”

“Yes,” Tony answers, almost immediately.

And there. The power of a word. The power of one word. That’s where it all changes.





“Hey, Adam,” Enzo said, hugging him. For that instant and that instant alone, Adam was holding him again, inhaling the smell of Enzo’s hair, dark and wavy and so thick it almost seemed alien compared to Adam’s destined-to-thin blondness.

Then Enzo was pulling away. Maybe for the last time ever. And if Adam had mostly made his peace with this, “mostly” was as close to “not at all” as any hand grenade.

“Glad you came,” Enzo said. “Hey, Angela!”

“Whatever,” Angela said, unloading the pizzas.

Enzo smiled to himself. “I suppose it’s too late to ever heal that friendship.” He looked up in Adam’s eyes. “But I’m glad you’re here.”