But this was kind of an important detail. "When you were on the phone with Cyrus, did he happen to give you directions?"

"Hmm?" Nathan looked up from the volume in his lap. "To do what?"

"Directions to his house." I rolled my eyes. "How am I supposed to get there if I don't know where it is?"

"You could call him. I'm sure he's awake." Nathan turned back to his book with a derisive sniff. "He is human now. He's probably eating dinner."

I looked at the clock. It was nine. Dahlia had probably been and gone by now. I dialed Cyrus's number.

When he answered, he sounded distracted and slightly out of breath. I didn't let myself dwell on the possible reasons why. "How do I find you?"

"Very well, thanks." He paused. "You mean, how do you find where I live?"

I groaned an affirmative.

With a sigh, he said, "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. Listen, I live very close to you. Why don't I meet you on the corner in front of the Brandy wine?"

I frowned. Aggressive raindrops battered the window-panes, and I'd heard a rumble of thunder not long before. Why was he being so difficult? "How about you just tell me where you live?"

"Fine." He gave another heavy sigh. "I live, you will be pleased to know, just down the street from you, in the big gray house with the rainbow-striped American flag out front."

In the spirit of friendship—no matter how weird and disordered—I held off a foghorn laugh and just snorted.

"Oh, it's terribly funny. It will please you more to hear that my apartment is in the basement. You have to go around the back and down the stairs." The bitterness in his voice tugged a little pity from me. "I assume it used to be a servants entrance, before the place was divided up."

"It can't be all bad," I began, but he cut me off.

"I have to go. I'll see you tonight." He hung up without saying goodbye.

At nine-thirty I kissed Nathan on the cheek to draw his attention out of his book.

"Leaving already?" He captured my hand and gave it a squeeze. Though he tried to block it from the blood tie, I felt his desperation.

Stop worrying. It's you I'm coming home to.

He smiled up at me. "I know, sweetheart."

"Then let me go, and don't worry about me." I didn't think he would follow my instructions, but it was worth a shot.

At least he pretended to be okay until I left. That was a huge step for him, and I was proud he could manage it. Besides, I couldn't feel guilty. This was what we'd come back for.