Cyrus had gone to Miracle Manor with Nephy to look for his birth mother. He had gone with Nephy, not Izzy, to find his mother. Because it would freak you out, Nephy had said. The woman at the desk at Miracle Manor kept insisting he was with Izzy, and she’d thought the woman was referring to when Cyrus brought Izzy there in the past, but maybe the woman at Miracle Manor had confused Izzy with Nephy? Because Cyrus had fucked Nephy and gotten her pregnant. Maybe he’d been fucking her for a while. Years, maybe. It was all so extreme that in some ways Izzy couldn’t feel any of it. Except. The other truth remained. Someone had killed Cyrus, cut him into pieces. And now there was a greater reason to believe that Cyrus was linked to Sky and the House of Hearts. Izzy knew she’d have to focus on this, only on this, if she were ever to learn what had happened to him.

She wanted to call Ever, but she could not call Ever—trying to call him felt impossible, like asking someone to return from the dead. And she was too damaged anyway. Walking damage and she had always been; she knew that now. She had been drawn to Cyrus because of that damage, and she had refused to see who he really was for the same reason. She could not rely on anyone else. Izzy had to go alone.

Petals

Petals

Izzy had lain awake all night, thinking about telling the police that Sky visited Cyrus as a kid, that Cyrus went looking for her, that she had shown up in the video, but Izzy decided against it. If the cops hadn’t responded urgently to a severed hand bearing Cyrus’s ring, why would they care about this tenuous lead? Izzy had lain awake telling herself to get up and go to see Sky right then, but she couldn’t bring Dog, and it was too late to text Ted and ask if he could watch the animals. More, Izzy couldn’t bear to leave the comfort of Dog’s warmth in the bed and face the night. But morning wasn’t much better.

◆◆◆

Still wrapped in a towel from the shower, water slithering coldly down her neck, she filled a backpack with her phone and charger, her canteen, a flashlight. She would, at least, be clean, organized, and prepared.

Izzy dressed—black underpants, black jeans, black tank top, Converse, a black knit cap, and her sunglasses. At the last minute, she removed the knife from the mannequin’s hand, pocketed it, and snugged Larry’s gun into the pack. And checked that the lipstick she’d stolen from Ever was still there, like a talisman. In the past, all her talismans—her ring, her crystals, even the herbs she grew and the candles she made—had been associated with Cyrus. She wanted none of them.