“We do not interfere with them, and they do not interfere with us. We deal with them if they step over the line here in this world,” Auntie Jane continued, her words etched into the silence, “and that is all.”

“That’s clearly not all,” Auntie Gwen muttered. The entire family held its breath. “Joe . . .”

“Was brought into the family by Alysha,” Auntie Bea replied. It seemed that in this, at least, she supported Auntie Jane.

“Jack . . .”

“The events leading up to his conception and subsequent acceptance into this side of his birthright, were entirely unique.”

Charlie saw Auntie Gwen’s lip curl and braced for impact. Auntie Bea was significantly older, but that didn’t necessarily mean more powerful. Only in her twenties, Allie was more powerful than any second circle Gale in memory—and that was the sort of thing the aunties never forgot.

“Gwendolyn Victoria Gale,” Auntie Jane cracked the name like a whip, a third circle naming, not a first.

And all the fight went out of Auntie Gwen.

Fine. Charlie had fight to spare. “In case you’ve forgotten a point I made earlier,” she snapped, “an asteroid is about to have a go at wiping out all life on the planet. If that’s not unique enough for you to find a little . . .”

“Wildness, Charlotte?” You are treading on very thin ice.

“Flexibility, Auntie Jane.” I can swim.

“And should we invite the rest of the world into our councils?”

Charlie jerked her arm free of a cautioning touch—probably Auntie Gwen’s, she was the only woman close enough—and glared at the monitor. “That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“Yes, I do. As I know we do not deal with the Fey.”

“Some of them are already leaving.”

“Good. We deal with this situation as we have with others, within the family.”

“Situation? Seriously? That’s what you’re calling this? You know what? Fine. The family deals with it. When you’ve figured out just how the family is going to keep from dying in less than twenty-two months, you let me know.”

Allie moved toward her, but Charlie shook her head and sidestepped, slipping out the patio door as Auntie Carmen said, “I don’t trust the Fey, present company excepted for the most part.”

There was a single lounge chair left out by pool, the old-fashioned construction of aluminum and nylon tape that had never taken a charm well, next to it a small, round plastic table that had been white before Lyla went at it with her paints. Charlie kicked the table into the pool, gave some serious consideration to sending the chair after it, and sat down instead.

“Stubborn old women . . .”