“I’m going for the guy with the gun,” I said, looking down at my tablet. “Jake Sutherland. Twenty-five. He hasn’t killed anyone yet, so we can still make a deal. Cal, you could take either Mark Vernon—the kids’ father—or Veronica Sutherland, Jake’s mom. Preference?” Cal looked toward the three-family home, outside of which Mark paced, his movements quick and fierce. I could taste it in my throat—terror, and terror’s favorite companion. Rage.

It made me hungry.

“I want the dad,” Cal said, smiling the kind of smile of those who throw themselves out of airplanes for fun.

“Boss?”

“I can take Jake’s mom,” KQ said as she pushed herself up, but I could feel how badly she didn’t want to. I could feel both of them, their itching anticipation, their collective high on the sweet atmosphere. They could feel me too.

“All right, team,” she said. “Don’t forget—we need to get the same deal at the same time. If the dad wants Jake dead and Jake wants to headline Warped Tour, we’ve got nothing. Needs to be exactly the same. Pey, you’re taking the lead on this. What’s our deal?”

Cal looked at me with something like deference and maybe, if I were arrogant enough to believe it, admiration.

“Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “Parents on both sides are certainly going to wish this never happened, and I bet I can get Jake to agree. How about a Rewind?”

“Okay. Hop to it! If we pull this off, we can get a beer before we have to go back.” KQ clapped once and disappeared. Cal gave me a thumbs-up and took off toward the house. I rolled my shoulders and closed my eyes.

I could hear him, Mr. Jake Sutherland. Not out loud, of course. I could hear him on the inside, asking for me.

Asking for someone, at least.

When I opened my eyes, I was in the hallway.

I don’t remember much about my life on Earth. But every once in a while the ancient part of my brain still sticky with human sap will catch a scent and send me flying backward. This was one of those moments. The hallway was long and cool and dark, especially compared with the bright sunshine outside, and it smelled of darkness. The stale air was circulated over wood floors and faded wallpaper only by the whir of fans, turned up all the way at night. It was a disappointing smell, but a safe one. The smell of coming inside to do chores instead of playing with friends. Hints of dinnertime and sunscreen and Lemon Pledge, the things well-loved kids complain about.

Up ahead there was a bang, the butt of a gun against wood. Jake was pounding on the bathroom door.

“Rebecca, just talk to me!”