He was talking to Rastin, who now sat at the far end of our usual gaming couch in my basement, an ice pack pressed to his head, the bloodstained blazer in question draped over the arm of the couch.

“You know,” Wes prattled on, “the one where Jordan and Graham got chased by that shadow figure and you helped that old guy cross over? Can I try it on?”

“Absolutely not,” Rastin snapped even as Wes rose from my computer chair to go for the blazer. Plucking the garment up, he looped his too-long arms through the coat and settled it onto his shoulders. Grinning, he put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Oh, yes. Wessed to impress.”

Shortly after we’d made our escape from Moldavia, Rastin told us that, in spite of appearances, he would be okay and that taking him to the hospital would only delay our reaching Stephanie. So, I’d told Wes to drive him back to my house.

And now . . . here we all were. Sitting in my basement with the world-famous Rastin Shirazi, who was now dressed in one of my ’50s-style button-downs.

Luckily, Mom was at an event and Dad was upstairs absorbed in football and grousing at the TV.

After Wes had parked the Beamer on the street, I’d hurried ahead into the house. I’d said my usual “What’s up?” to Dad before rushing down the stairs to let Wes and Rastin in through the basement door. Patrick and Charlotte followed shortly after.

“Dude,” said Patrick. “Does your dad know he’s here?”

“No,” I said. “And can we keep it down, please? I’d like it to stay that way.”

“I thought I was going crazy when I saw him on the trail cam,” Patrick said. “And now he’s in your flipping basement. I can’t even handle this right now.”

Rastin pinched the bridge of his nose and peeked at Patrick with one eye.

“One might also point out how his presence here erases all lingering doubts about his being the real deal,” said Wes.

“Hey,” said Patrick, pointing at Wes. “Didn’t we have a bet about that?”

“That’s what I was leading up to. You owe me a Frappuccino.”

“Are you sure you don’t owe me one?”

“Would I have brought it up if I did?”

“You are all really very annoying,” grumbled Rastin as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Wes. “Pardon us. We’ll try to save your life a little less annoyingly next time.”

“What are you even doing here?” asked Charlotte.

“At last,” muttered Rastin, “someone speaks to me as though I am present.”

I glowered at him. “Excuse me if I didn’t know how to be more direct than emailing you.”

Everyone turned to look at me now.

And wow. Yeah. I guess I kind of did just say that out loud.

Rastin alone dropped his gaze. He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I take it your being here means you got my message,” I said.