“Don’t call…him!” She couldn’t say his name, even in an emergency like this. “Maybe we do need the fire engine!” She ran to the front of the building, tracking Karl’s progress down the sidewalk toward his store, which was on the other side of Main Street. “Mr. Andersen! You really don’t need to bother the police. I’ll figure something out!” She would rappel down this building with a rope fashioned from her own clothing if she had to.

“Back in a jiff!” Karl called as he disappeared into his store.

Alone again, she surveyed the town she used to love. The inn was four blocks up from the water, but she was high enough that she could see both town beaches, the closer of the two with its pier and red-and-white lighthouse.

She and He Who Shall Not Be Named used to sneak into the decommissioned lighthouse and climb to the top at sunset. They would watch the sun set from the pier first, then make a game of scrambling up the old, rickety stairs. If they were fast enough, they could see a slice of a “second” sunset. They usually didn’t make it when they had his sister, Clara, with them—which they often did. Clara’s little legs had been too short. But it was always fun to try, and the three of them would arrive at the top laughing and panting.

She had forgotten about that.

It should have been a good memory, but thanks to him it was tainted. She’d lost the lighthouse when she lost him. She’d had to lock it in the vault with the mermaids.

A frisson of anger made her shiver, even in the oppressive heat.

Interesting. Her usual method for dealing with thoughts of He Who Shall Not Be Named was to…not think them. Shove them away. She didn’t even allow herself to think his name, for God’s sake.

But where had that gotten her? Standing on a roof, literally shaking she was so afraid to see him.

But why? He was the villain in this story.

And to her great surprise, now that she was here, she was spectacularly angry at him.

She smiled. Anger was unfamiliar, but she could work with it. If she was stuck in this town for a little bit, anger was better than fear. Anger was armor.

So she looked down again at the town she used to love and waited for the boy she used to love to come and rescue her. And when he did, she would call him by his name.

Sawyer Collins.

When Sawyer got the call that someone was stuck on a roof on Main Street, he tried to send his deputy chief to deal with it, but Karl Andersen wasn’t having it.

“Son, this is a job for the chief.”