damaged room. “I’d run for awhile. Get it worked off.”

“So, outside?”

“He was heading that way. For the east exit.”

“Okay.” I gathered myself up. “Let’s go.”

The east exit wasn’t locked. The door had been thrown open so hard it had dented the concrete wall

outside, and the thingie on the top that kept it from slamming shut or opening too quick was busted.

I didn’t have any difficulty imagining Graves stamping through and breaking it. The gym would

have been deserted, too, thanks to Anna. Nobody to see him but Shanks, no reason for him to slow

down.

A cool late-afternoon breeze touched my cheeks as I pushed it open. Shanks whistled a little. “Boy

don’t know his own strength.”

“Does anyone, really?” Christophe reached over my shoulder, bracing the door. “But yes, quite impressive. Still don’t feel like talking, Dru?”

“It’s none of your business, Christophe.” God, he could irritate me even when I was happy he was

here.

“It could be my business. So many things happened yesterday, you see. Only a fool wouldn’t believe them connected—”

“Djamphir don’t take no for an answer,” Shanks muttered. He slid past us and stepped out into the

westering sunlight. It gilded his dark hair and touched his hollow, shaven cheeks while he grabbed

the door and pulled it wide, out of Christophe’s grasp.

A concrete path dipped away, down toward a copse of ornamental trees, bisecting strips of manicured lawns. Another path peeled off toward a baseball diamond that looked major-league ready, its

chalked lines startlingly white and the dugouts freshly painted. The bleachers even looked clean.

Christophe stiffened, but he shut up. I stepped out onto the path and realized it had been far too long

since I’d gone outside. The last time I’d felt the wind all over me was weeks ago, hurried little gulps

of air while Benjamin had taken us out clothes shopping.

After a long thirty seconds or so, Christophe spoke up again. “Dru. It’s near dusk.”

I closed my eyes. A pendulum would only tell me what I wanted to hear, so it was useless. Tarot

cards might’ve been a bit better, but still . . . they wouldn’t say anything useful. I was too shook up

and wanted too much, too badly.

But there were other ways of finding out what you needed to know. If I could just clear my head a

little bit.

“Dru—” Christophe again.

“Be quiet.” I heard my own voice, a queer faraway murmur. “It’s not dusk yet.” The whisper of

feathered wings filled my ears, brushed my face. It was like a big fluffy powder brush, just touching

the skin.

I went to a makeup counter in a high-end department store in Boca Raton once, while Dad was doing an ammo run six blocks away. The lady there had brushed some expensive powder all over my