“Sam and I hung out together some, back when we were younger,” Zack went on as he hollowed out the pumpkin. “We’ve lost touch. But I remember that when Sam and Mia were seeing each other, Lulu watched him like a hawk.”

He grinned, remembering it, then pulled the knife out of the heart of the pumpkin.

Nell saw it gleam in the overhead light, she saw it drip. She saw, as a rushing wind filled her head, the blood that stained his shirt, his hands, and pooled like a red river on the floor at his feet.

She made no sound at all as she slid bonelessly from the chair.

“Hey, hey, hey. Come on, Nell, come on back now.”

His voice was dim, as if they were both underwater. Something cool slid over her face. She seemed to rise from fathoms deep, slowly toward the surface. As her eyes opened, she saw a white mist that rolled away, layer by gauzy layer, until she saw his face.

“Zack!” In terror, she grabbed at him, yanking his shirt to check for wounds. Her fingers felt fat and fumbling.

“Hold on.” He might have laughed at the way she pulled at his buttons if her face hadn’t been deathly white. “Lie back down, get your breath.”

“Blood. So much blood.”

“Ssh.” His first reaction when she’d fainted had been panic, and he’d dealt with it as he always did. By doing what came next. He’d picked her up, carried her to the couch, and revived her. Now the penetrating fear she exuded tied knots in his belly.

“I bet you haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive today, have you? Somebody who cooks as much as you do should learn how to eat regular meals. I’m going to get you a glass of water, something to eat. If you’re not feeling steady then, I’m calling the doctor.”

“I’m not sick. I’m not hurt. You were bleeding.” Her hands shook as they ran over him. “There was blood all over your shirt, your hands, the floor. The knife. I saw . . .”

“I’m not bleeding, honey. Not so much as a nick.” He lifted his hands, turning them to prove it. “Just a trick of the light, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t.” She locked her arms around him, held on ferociously. “I saw it. Don’t touch the knife anymore. Don’t touch it.”

“Okay.” He kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair. “I won’t. Everything’s all right, Nell.”

She closed her hand around her locket, ran a charm for protection through her head. “I want you to wear this.” Steadier now, she eased back and slipped the chain over her head. “All the time. Don’t take it off.”