Damn Graeson for his scheming. As furious as I was on Harlow’s behalf, I couldn’t walk away now. I was in too deep. There was a sliver of a chance Roni might still be alive. That was enough to keep me in line, and Graeson knew it. But that didn’t mean I was going to let him sacrifice us all in the name of revenge. As much as my palms itched to strangle him, one day his grief would rebound, and that was punishment enough as far as I was concerned.

Harlow arrived ten minutes after I retreated up the rickety stairs to my temporary quarters. Dell sat on the cot while I paced the room from end to end, which is to say I took five steps before I had to turn in order to take five more. The familiar ping of gravel bouncing off undercarriage drew me to the window.

The younger witchy brother opened the rear passenger door of the SUV and offered Harlow his hand with a flourish of harmless gallantry that tempted my eyes toward the ceiling. She blushed prettily and allowed him to help her hop onto the ground.

Tonight she wore her candy-bright hair in a French braid that complemented her Creamsicle orange tank top and tie-dyed postage-stamp-sized shorts. Even the straps on her wedge sandals matched. Factor in the serviceable brown leather bag she wore like a backpack, and the bright colors made her appear even younger, more innocent. The ball of anxiety in my gut tightened when she spotted me and waved with so much enthusiasm she wobbled in the gravel. The witch had to steady her by wrapping his arm around her waist.

“They’re here,” I said more for myself than for Dell. With her hearing, she had probably tracked their impending arrival for several minutes. I blew out a breath and took the stairs at a clip. Two wargs were out on patrol. Two more stood on the porch. Another pair flanked Graeson, who occupied the center of the room with a clear view of the vehicle through the window. Miguel waited at the register with a bland expression, as if only his brother knew the secret to drawing out his fiery temper.

The witch led Harlow up the steps and held the door for her. She spotted me, scuffed her shoe on the planks once then shuffled up to me. She slid her arms around my waist in a fragile hug I didn’t expect. I went tense, and she felt ready to break apart in my arms. The shock faded when her shoulders hitched in what I feared was a quiet sob, and I squeezed her back with everything I had.

She didn’t thank me this time. The watery film covering her eyes when she looked at me did it for her.