Cyrus shook his head. “No, but perhaps you’d go a little mad if you spent most of your time trying to block it out. I know my father. He used to torment me day and night with visions of—”

No. He wouldn’t share those horrors with these strangers. “With visions of unpleasant things. He’d do that until I gave him what he wanted.”

“Whatever he’s doing, it’s a lot worse than a scary picture show.” Max shook his head. “If we could just figure it out…”

“We will keep looking,” Bella said, lifting another book. “Nathan has an impressive collection. We will find something.”

As the hours ticked by, Max on the couch glancing furtively at the werewolf while she pretended not to notice, Cyrus feigning interest in the dusty text cradled on his lap, he felt a bizarre peace. Though his companions didn’t accept him, he felt involved in their single-minded task and the hope that fueled them. He might not die this week, or the next. He might live a whole year, maybe even two. As long as he had this optimism afforded only to the good guys.

I’m a good guy now, Mouse, he thought, believing with all his heart she could hear him. I think I might stay this way.

Chapter 21
The Dark Night of the Soul

I woke before sundown. Drugged into oblivion by whatever potion he’d been given, Nathan didn’t stir when I eased from his side. It hadn’t been a restful day. Every time I’d dozed off, I’d come dangerously close to falling off the bed. I’d jerk awake, disturbing Nathan in the process, and have to assure him I was not leaving him. I made a mental note to ask Bella to double his dose tomorrow, so I could get some sleep.

In the living room, Max lay sprawled on the couch, an old-looking book over his face. I sincerely hoped the thing didn’t have paper lice. Bella lay in a pile of blankets on the floor, whimpering like a dog having a nightmare. There was no sign of Cyrus, but my bedroom door was open a crack.

I leaned against the frame and gently eased the door open, hoping to avoid the creak of the sticky hinge. Inside, everything was as I had left it, with one notable exception.

Cyrus lay curled in the fetal position on my bed, the blankets twisted artistically across his nude body.

He was too bizarre, too out of place there. My stomach pitched as though I’d just gone over a particularly nasty hill on a roller coaster. I grabbed the doorjamb for balance.