“Also being past twenty,” she continued, “and still not feeling authentic. Not feeling comfortable in my skin. Not feeling . . . like me.”

“You’re not alone there, either.” But I didn’t make my confession to her.

“Then let’s figure out who we are,” she said, and put her head on my shoulder. “So we can be us.”

“In the meantime,” I said, “I’ll take anything you can give me about Rosantine.”

“Working on it,” she said with a yawn. “And what we have to do when we nail her. Let’s make a pact not to be so weird in the future. To, maybe, admit who and what we are and deal with it. We’ve both been pretending for so long. Do you wonder what it’ll be like to just be ourselves? To peel back the layers?”

The fact that I was still hiding something from her made my heart clench. “Is this a naked thing?”

She smiled, bumped my shoulder with hers. And for the first time in a long time, that smile looked real and unburdened. “I think we’ve spent enough time worrying about other people and hiding who we really are. Maybe we deserve to be ourselves.”

She fell asleep with her head on my shoulder and my arms still wrapped around her as if I might protect her from herself, from her fears, from the magic that permeated our world and was looking for an opportunity to sink its claws into her.

And from those who’d try to use her—and her magic—against the rest of us.

EIGHTEEN

I found myself in an Auto after dusk, headed south. I needed to go to the office, but instead I was headed for Hyde Park. Headed for Cadogan House—or where Cadogan House had been.

I was tense when the Auto turned the last corner, gripping the edge of my seat as if I could will Cadogan House back to its location. I also hoped against hope that Rose would be there waiting, maybe searching for a Cornerstone, and my sword would be enough to bring her down, and this part of the nightmare would be over.

But there was nothing. Just . . . nothing. No scent of demon. No House.

I climbed out of the vehicle, walked down the sidewalk. There were no guards at the gate tonight, because what would have been the point?

I walked through the gate, stared at the empty spot, and felt nothing different than I had before. I closed my eyes and reached out, felt that faint pulse of magic again. But if my mother or Aunt Mallory had worked out how to return the House, they hadn’t achieved it yet.

I wasn’t the only one disappointed. I could feel monster straining toward the House, reaching out to it—to the sword—and feeling panicked by its absence. That didn’t make me feel any better, especially since we were running out of time. I felt helpless. Useless. And pitiful for feeling those things when I was still here, still safe. I was entitled to my feelings, I knew. And maybe they were even understandable. But I didn’t especially want them.