“Are you okay?” I asked, sliding out of my chair and onto my knees. The thick carpet scraped my skin as I edged forward.

“No,” he replied. “I feel like my head is about to explode.”

I moved a little closer to him. He looked so pale and wretched that I was tempted to smooth his hair back the way Saylor had. Instead, I fisted my hands in my skirt. “I know that was intense, but hey—your aunt knows what’s going on. That’s awesome, right? We can get some answers.”

David raised his head. His pupils were so huge his eyes looked almost black. “Actually, Pres,” he rasped out, “my aunt being in on this makes it a hell of a lot weirder.”

Saylor came back in, holding a small glass full of a dark amber liquid. She sat down at the table, threw back the drink, and then looked at the two of us again.

Then she got up and made another drink.

Once that one was down, she finally said, “I’m not really your aunt, David. If that makes things easier for you.”

David went very still, and for a moment, everything was so quiet, I could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Then she turned to me. “I thought it might be you. I knew that Christopher was gone, I . . . I felt him go. And then you and David both looked so shaken up yesterday that I wondered if maybe . . .” Sighing, she set her glass down. I stared at the perfectly set table, the silverware still in neat rows, napkins folded, and fought the urge to burst into hysterical giggles. Or tears.

Shutting my eyes, I tried to focus. “Christopher?”

David murmured, “Mr. Hall. That was his first name.” When I opened my eyes, David was still looking at the ground, arms encircling his knees.

Saylor tipped her head back. The light from the chandelier caught her earrings, sending scattered rainbows across the shiny surface of the dining room table. “What happened?”

I told her about the night of the Homecoming Dance as briefly as I could. When I was done, a single tear trickled out from under Saylor’s closed eyes. “It’s my fault,” she murmured. “I knew the wards needed to be stronger the closer we got, but I couldn’t think of a way to do it. And I hoped . . .” She opened her eyes then, focusing on David. “I hoped,” she said again, and then she was standing up.

I half expected her to go make another drink. Instead, she wandered to the window, hands braced on her lower back. “I’m guessing you two will want the whole story, then.”

David was still grayish, but when he rose to his feet, there was steel in his voice. “You think? If you’re not my aunt, then who the hell are you? Why do I live with you?”