Kristof threw up his hands and disappeared into the wall. I plunked down onto the step. Savannah and I had a special bond he couldn’t possibly understand…I only wish that were true. Kris had single-parented both his sons after his wife had left them while his youngest was still in diapers. Soon after we’d met, his secretary had paged him because Sean had been hit in the head during a baseball game. For barely more than a bump, he’d blown off an important dinner meeting to catch the next plane home. And that’s when my opinion of him had begun the slow but steady shift that led to Savannah.

It had ended there, though. Once I’d realized I was a black witch carrying the bastard child of a Cabal sorcerer heir, I hadn’t been dumb enough to stick around and see what his family thought. As for what Kristof thought of me taking our daughter away…well, I’d spent twelve years trying not to think about that. I knew I’d made a mistake, an error in judgment overshadowed only by that final error in judgment I’d made in the compound.

Yet for twelve years I’d been able to coast on my guilt trip, telling myself maybe Kristof hadn’t really cared that I’d taken Savannah. Bullshit, of course. But not having him there to say otherwise had made it easier…until six months after my death, when I’d seen him fight for custody of her, and die trying to protect her.

Upstairs, the music ended. Savannah popped in another CD…or switched MP3s…or whatever music came on these days. The next song began, something slow, and definitely soft enough for me to hear giggles and murmurs.

Damn it, Kris was right. Following my daughter to the mall was one thing. Listening to her make out with a boy was wrong. And creepy. But now I was stuck here. If Kristof found out I’d left right after him, he’d know I’d seen his point, and I wasn’t ready to admit that. Maybe—

A sharp oath burst from the living room. I took a cautious step toward the corner. In life, I would have strode over there, defensive spell at the ready. But here? Well, here things were different.

Kristof stepped from behind the sofa, picking what looked like cobwebs from his rumpled shirt. The back of his hair stuck straight up, as if someone had run a static-charged hand through it. His tie was shredded.

He gave a fierce wet-dog shake. When he finished, he was immaculate again…except for his tie, which was tucked into his shirt. I plucked it out and straightened it.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Wrong turn…again?”

He gave a helpless shrug. “You know how I am with spells.”

“Uh-huh.”

I glanced back at the stairs. A sigh floated down.