Many things became clear to Mary on the trek to Corpus Christi. Her new illumination began when she finally admitted to herself that her own success was entirely dependent on the cooperation of her skinjackers and their commitment to her cause. Which also meant that everything now depended on Milos. In spite of his previous failures, he was now her greatest asset. While Jill was capricious, Jix enigmatic, and Moose, damaged by the loss of Squirrel, Milos was the one she could trust. His devotion was almost embarrassing. He would wait on her hand and foot if she allowed it, but she knew it was best for all involved if he maintained some dignity.

“There are difficult decisions to be made,” Mary told Milos, as they reluctantly rested on the second night of their march. It was an overcast night. Rain pelted the living world tickling their insides, and the Greensouls claimed to be exhausted, refusing to believe they didn’t really need sleep. Their combined afterglow made them a target if the scar wraith was in pursuit, so Mary posted lookouts in all directions, and wandered through the resting horde, giving comfort and courage to those in need. Through all of it, Milos kept her company.

“What are your thoughts on the City of Souls, and this so-called king?” she asked Milos, as they did their rounds.

“I think the ruler of an ancient kingdom will treat you as a piece of furniture,” he answered, clearly having given it plenty of thought himself. “Bringing you there will serve only one person’s interests, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Mary, knowing exactly to whom Milos was referring. “And Jix is hardly a ‘person,’ is he?”

She looked around to make sure Jix was not in earshot. He often turned up when one least expected him to, dimming his afterglow to make himself even more stealthy. “Jix already has the loyalty of those belligerent ‘Neon Nightmares.’ He may betray us if he’s given the chance.”

“He may,” Milos quietly responded. “But I have every faith in your ability to turn even betrayal to your advantage.”

Milos’s undying faith in her through these dark moments of doubt was just what Mary needed—and so she had no qualms about giving Milos what he needed as well, which was her affection. When he put his arms around her, she allowed it, and when he kissed her, she kissed him back with just the right amount of intensity she imagined a boy such as he would want.

“If only you could skinjack,” he would tell her. “In living flesh we could feel deeper, truer passion than this.”

But Mary was quick to respond. “There is no truer passion than passion of the soul.” Each time they were together, his afterglow would turn the lavender blush of love, but Mary’s would not.

“Someday Milos,” she told him. “Things are so complicated for me now, but someday . . .”