Excellent question, but I let it go. “Take a deep breath and explain what’s going on. You’re not making any sense.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Miranda shot back, and sighed. “Claire’s at the Glass House. And she shouldn’t be there. I told her that before she went to see Myrnin.”

I looked over at Shane. “Did she say anything about—”

“The last thing I knew, she was going to meet Myrnin, but I don’t know where.” He was staring at Miranda with a fiercely still expression, as if he was throttling the impulse to shake something out of her. “He must have taken her home is all I can figure. But why would he do that?”

“Murky,” Miranda said. “I can’t see what’s going on. It’s scary, Eve. I don’t like it. But I know we have to help her. We have to.” Her hand was shaking, and her small fingers wrapped tight around mine. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Except if we do, we won’t all make it.”

I swallowed hard and suppressed the Shane-like impulse to shake her. She was making as much sense as she could, I knew that. The kid was half-autistic, half-psychic; it was a miracle she got out as much as she did. And it always made sense, later. “Who won’t make it?”

“Unclear,” she said, as if she was one of those Magic 8 Balls I liked so much.

“Screw this,” Shane said. “I’m going to get Claire.”

“We,” Michael said. “We’re going to get her.”

Miranda nodded. “But there’s someone else we need.” She pulled free of my grip and darted away, running surprisingly fast; I ran after her, and heard the boys pounding in my wake. The girl ran like she had an absolutely accurate map of where she wanted to go, and I quickly lost count of the turns and blurred doorways until she skidded to a stop in front of one that looked identical to all the others. “It’s locked,” she said, and looked at Michael. “Break it.”

He shrugged and took hold of the knob. It was vampire-reinforced, but he was determined, and a few sharp sideways tugs snapped it off in his hand. He reached into the hole and pulled the metal tongue back, then swung the door open.

Inside, my brother, Jason, was sitting cross-legged on a rumpled bunk in a bright orange prison-style jumpsuit with numbers over where a breast pocket would have been. He looked up, tossed lank hair back from his face, and stared at Michael, then past him at me. “Family reunion,” he said. “Cool.” He raised one hand, and I saw he was handcuffed to a length of chain that was fastened to the wall—enough slack for him to get to the bathroom, but not much more. “No need to be afraid. I’m safe.”

Shane cast a sidelong look at Miranda, and said, “Seriously?”

She nodded. “We need him.”

“Okay, then,” Michael said. “Just so we’re clear, Jason: I love your sister, but that doesn’t extend to you. You step out of line, you do anything that isn’t in your sister’s best interests, and I’ll carry out your sentence. We clear?”