“Like hell you don’t,” Jenks said. “You want this life? That’s your choice. I’ll teach you what I know, but you’re going to earn it!”

I sat at the head of the bed, where I could see them while flipping through the thin pages. It was last year’s book, but nothing changed fast in small towns. I slowed when I found a large number of charm shops. I knew there must be a resident population of witches taking advantage of the heavy-duty ley lines in the area.

Jenks’s anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and more softly he said, “Jax, if you could read, you could have told us were you were. You could have hitched onto the first bus to Cincy and been home by sunset. You want to know how to pick the locks? Loop the cameras? Bypass security? Show me how bad you want it by learning what will help you the most first.”

Jax scowled, slowly descending until his feet settled in a glowing puddle of pixy dust.

“Here.” Jenks took the pencil I had left behind and leaned over the map. “This is how you write your name.” A few more silent moments. “And that is the alphabet.” I frowned at the sharp snap of the pencil being broken, and Jenks held the broken nub of graphite out to Jax. “Remember the song?” he prompted. “Sing it while you practice the letters. And L-M-N-O-P is not one letter, but five. It took me forever to figure that out.”

“Dad…” Jax whined.

Jenks stood, tilting the lamp shade to better light the map. “There are fifteen makers of locks in the U.S. You want to know which one you’re picking before you blow yourself and your runner into the ever-after?”

Making a sharp noise with his wings, Jax started writing.

“Make the letters as big as your feet,” Jenks said as he came to see how I was progressing with the phone book. “No one can read your writing unless you do, and that’s the entire point.”

Guilt in his eyes, Jenks sat beside me, and I shifted so I wouldn’t slip into him. From the table by the door came the alphabet song, sounding like a death dirge. “Don’t worry about it, Jenks,” I said, watching Rex follow him up onto the bed to make tiny jumps over the bedspread to him. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know he will,” he said, the worry settling into his eyes. Rex plopped herself into his lap, and he dropped his gaze. “It’s not him I’m worried about,” he said softly. “It’s you.”

“Me?” I looked up from the turning pages.

Jenks wouldn’t bring his gaze from the kitten, a puddle of orange in his lap. “I have only a year to get him up to snuff so you’ll have backup when I’m gone.”

Oh God. “Jenks, you aren’t a carton of milk with an expiration date. You look great—”

“Don’t,” he said softly, eyes on his smooth fingers among Rex’s fur. “I’ve got maybe one more tolerable year. When it goes, it goes fast. It’s all right. I want to make sure you’re okay, and if he’s working for you, he won’t be tempted to do anything stupid with Nick again.”