We stare at each other for a moment. I don’t fool myself into thinking she’ll apologize. I wouldn’t. She was doing what she thought she had to do to protect her family. That, I can understand.

She clears her throat. “None of us can stay here,” she says, nodding around the garden. Some magicians happily embrace people covered with blood and leaves, but others watch us with hard, hating eyes. If our little group hadn’t just taken down the ruling magician, they’d probably have us by the throats already.

I nod.

She looks away and then back. Aristelle never hesitates, so part of me is afraid of what’s coming next.

“Our troupe has lots of hideaways,” she says. “And when I say ‘our,’ I mean you, too. You should come with us.”

“Please come,” Reina chirps beside me like a little bird perched on my shoulder. I didn’t even hear her come up.

I don’t know how to feel. I’m still hurt, but underneath the wounds, I feel a little bit fuller. They really do want me. I might not want them right at this moment, but something tells me I’ll always be able to run to them and fit right in in a way that can only be described as family. Family can hurt you, but they’ll also show up when you need to topple an evil dictator.

I give them both a smile. It’s the best I can do. It feels like a lot. “I actually want to go back home.”

“We can help with that,” Willow says behind me. I turn around, and she grins. “Girls’ road trip, anyone?”

I sigh. Only she can pretend everything’s fine two seconds after waking up in a garden of the living dead. “I’m going to take a rain check on that. I need to do something myself first.”

CHAPTER 38

Everything is dead here without the magic. Some things were real, like the water surrounding the garden of death. The hedges were real, but without the magic they’re a mass of dead sticks. There’s a mansion, but it’s an old, crumbling thing with rotting vines climbing the walls and shutters hanging by a single nail. The door creaks when I open it. Everything inside is gray and dingy—peeling wallpaper, stairs that creak when I take them, a rusted banister I don’t dare touch.