She didn’t really want to go home, so she called Nephy and left a message saying she was out of town, asking her to check in on Yard. They hadn’t talked in a few days, ever since Miracle Manor. Izzy didn’t want to talk about what she’d discovered in Cyrus’s jacket. She wanted only to forget.

◆◆◆

Monsta: Word (guitar), Quinn (bass), and Robert (drums). Three tall men who resembled angels more than monsters. They all seemed a little surprised when they saw Izzy, but they didn’t say much.

While the band rehearsed in the studio, she and Dog went out through the screen door. Under a honey mesquite tree, lounge chairs surrounded a hot tub with a fire pit nearby. Izzy looked past a low brick wall to the monument and listened to the music floating out of the house. She remembered what Ever had said to her about souls. Music as proof that the soul existed.

◆◆◆

She fell asleep and woke later. Ever stood over her. The sun was setting behind him, limning his body, making him glow.

“You hungry?”

She blinked up at him. Something flashed between them like a mirror in the sun.

“We’re going to make dinner,” he said.

She smelled chlorine, the ghost of smoldering coals, the citronella of insect repellent. Ever took a lighter from his pocket and crouched down on his heels over the fire pit. He flicked the lighter, holding the flame to the kindling until it ignited. He, Izzy, and the band wrapped corncobs, veggie burgers, and buns in foil and laid everything on the grill. No one said much, and Izzy was grateful for that. She ate a plate full of food and drank a beer. After dinner, they roasted marshmallows. Ever pulled one off the stake and let it cool before he handed it to her. The sweet goo melted into her mouth, but the char of burnt sugar grazed her tongue almost painfully.

“You two met online?” Word asked. He was leaning over the fire with the marshmallow on a stake. He had a perfect Afro, and both his ears were pierced.

“What?” Ever asked.

Quinn picked up an acoustic guitar and began to strum it. Robert reached for a hand drum and rubbed the skin lightly—a sibilant, hushing sound. His braids hung down over his face. Both men seemed to be trying to put an end to the conversation.

“Well, the resemblance is kind of uncanny,” Word said.

Ever’s body tensed.

Word went on: “I figured you had to try hard to find someone who looks that much like her, am I right?”

“Just kind of happened,” Ever said.

“Have you seen Emma?” Word asked Izzy, not looking at her still.

“Hey, man.”

“Relax, Everado. I just think she should know.”

“She knows.”