“I know. This is coming from him.”

It was Bishop’s turn to frown. “From him?”

“Yeah. I think . . . he doesn’t know how to use the energy. He’s trying to use his abilities but the energy’s blocking him. Echoing back to him.”

Finn whispered, “That’s gotta hurt.”

“It does. He’s in a lot of pain.”

Hollis said, “Then we’d better not waste any time getting to him. Only two rooms upstairs, both bedrooms, and there’s not much space. I think he’s in the eastern bedroom, on the far side, near the window. No place for us to hide.”

“Aylia?”

“On the bed, tied up. He doesn’t believe he has to hold her. He’s . . . wary. She’s talking to him, holding his attention.” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze directed toward that distant bedroom, her eyes going even brighter than usual. “I can’t really reach him, but . . . Aylia. I think I can reach her. Yeah.”

“Careful,” Bishop said softly.

“Right. She’s trying to . . . reach him. She just needs to know . . . exactly what to say to him.”

Bishop looked at her for a moment, then at Nellie. “We need Tia,” he whispered. “And a few others. More than one crow needs to fly past that window, close, making plenty of noise. On my mark.”

Without even thinking about it, Nellie nodded and reached out mentally for Tia, vaguely surprised when she was instantly aware of a strong channel of communication. Telling Tia what they needed was simple, and her acknowledgment and agreement just as swift and easy.

Nellie looked at Bishop, realizing only then that she had briefly closed her eyes. “They’ll be ready,” she whispered. “Just tell me when.”

It was an old staircase but, remarkably, no creaking tread betrayed them as they went very slowly up. And they had caught two breaks: The very short upstairs hallway was dim, and the bedroom door was only half-open.

It was just enough to allow them to creep close. Without really thinking about it, Nellie refocused her attention in order to listen.

“. . . wasn’t your fault,” Aylia was saying quietly, an oddly soothing note in her low voice. “How could you have known?”

“I don’t believe you.” His voice was deep but with a strained note, something in it with sharp edges. “She would have told me.”

“Did you give her a chance, Danny?”

“It’s your fault. You told her to leave me.”

“No, Danny. She told me she was leaving Salem. She asked my advice. She was— She needed to start fresh somewhere else after what happened with Paul. But she didn’t tell me about you.”

“I— She said she was leaving. The night before, when I wanted to talk to her, she told me she was thinking about it. That she’d talked to you. I was afraid she’d already made up her mind. So I went to her house that morning. And she was all packed. Sneaking out. She was leaving. She was leaving and she was never coming back. She said she—she—”