“That’s the eight-million-dollar question, kid. I’m hoping these three can tell us,” I indicated the cots, including Colin in the gesture, “because I’m not sure who else can.”

“Oh,” he said again, and looked away.

I watched him for a moment. “Beyond the obvious, what’s wrong?” He mumbled something I didn’t quite hear, and I frowned. “Try that again?”

“I said, I want to stay.” He turned to face me again. “Please?”

“Really.” I raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think . . . ?”

“That’s always what happens. Something happens, and all the kids get sent away.” A sour look crossed his face. “I’ve been here before. I want to stay.”

He was a foster, after all. Maybe there’d been a reason for his posting at Shadowed Hills. I tilted my head, considering him. “Why should I let you?”

“Because Sylvester sent me to learn. How am I supposed to do that if you send me away when things get dangerous?” He shook his head. “I’ve never even tried blood magic before—not when it mattered. You have to let me stay. I need to know these things.”

“You’re just a kid; you don’t have to . . .”

“If I don’t do it now, I’m going to grow up to be one of those useless courtiers you’re always complaining about,” he countered. “At least this way, you can keep an eye on me.”

He had a point. “All right. You can stay until it gets too dangerous. But then you go.”

“Understood.” He grinned, looking very young, and heartbreakingly joyful.

That sort of look has never led to anything good. I raised a hand, cautioning, “You’re going to do what I tell you to do. No heroics. No investigating strange noises because you think they’ll lead you to something interesting. Got it?”

“Yes, Toby.”

“Screw around on me and I’ll send you back to Shadowed Hills so fast you won’t have time to blink.”

“I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Damn straight, you will. Now shut up and let me think.” I leaned against the wall, standing quietly as we waited for Jan to return. Quentin did the same, imitating my posture either unconsciously or by design. We’d just had time for me to start becoming really uncomfortable about the bodies when the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Alex stepped uneasily inside.

“Jan said you wanted these?”

He was balancing four paper cups on a small tray. He looked understandably unhappy about being there; the basement had become the company morgue, and these had been his friends. His expression of unhappiness deepened when he saw my scowl.

“Where’s Jan?” I asked.

“April called her to help Elliot with something. She said I could . . . look, what do you want me to do with these? I can go. I just . . .” He sighed. “I wanted to help.”