A piercing whistle cuts through the room. Everyone goes quiet, the adults and other guests all turning toward us with looks of surprise. Anna lowers her fingers from her mouth, and Elaine purses her lips. “I told Roy not to teach you how to do that,” she says.

Anna ignores her. “Does someone want to tell us what’s going on?”

Elaine looks away, suddenly very interested in a skull tattoo on her forearm.

After taking a deep breath to calm herself, Nora waves to the guests. “Nothing to worry about!” she tells them, before turning to me. “How exactly did you end up here?”

“My parents always told me to come here if we ever got separated,” I reply. “My brother went after the men who killed them. He’s supposed to meet me here.”

Nora frowns slightly at that, before nodding. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Your room is yours for as long as you need it in the meantime.”

“I don’t have the cash—” I start, but she lifts a hand.

“You don’t have to pay us. Your parents were very good friends of ours.” She lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

I start to say something else but stop as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion pours over me. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that, even if the rest of their words have left my head spinning. What do they mean my parents wanted to step back from the magical life? And what did Liam’s birth have to do with any of it?

Elaine stands. “I know just what you need.”

I watch her disappear into the crowd, wishing I could be as confident about that. My parents rarely talked about their past, though Liam mentioned that they used to live in Oregon. Before we started moving, I went to school, ran track, hung out with my friends—normal things. If they were involved with anything magical, they hid it well.

Somehow, I’m not surprised to find another family secret. My life seems to be made of them.

“How did she know who I was?” I ask Anna, seeking an answer to cling to.

“Elaine can read auras and talk to spirits,” she replies. “People in families have similar energy signatures, so she probably just recognized yours.”

A pint glass of soda drops onto the table before me.

“Drink up!” Elaine claps me on the shoulder and retakes her seat, a mug of her own in hand. I study the drink, trying to decide if it’s root beer or apple juice.

Anna leans over. “It’s Wish Cider. It tastes like whatever you wish it would. We only give it to guests who know about magic. What flavor do you want?”