“Witches before bitches,” Lelia announces, her voice taking over the empty parking lot.

“I hate that word,” June says.

Lelia ruffles the long side of June’s hair. “Please let me reclaim it. I’m a bitch. I’m proud to be a bitch. Besides, you say cunt every day.”

“And twice on Tuesdays,” June informs Danny with a smile.

Danny looks grateful for the distraction of Lelia and June — which is exactly what they were going for.

Rush edges forward, holding out the hazelnut latte she bought for Danny when she thought this was going to be a standard morning. It seems like a meager offering all of a sudden. “We want to take you to Imogen’s house.”

Danny takes a few desperate sips as the Grays break away from the parking lot, away from the stores, toward the residential parts of town. They stagger down a little gully and over the spittle of a stream.

June gasps at how much her leg hurts — a nine on the scale, maybe a nine and a half. It never healed after she went climbing with Imogen, or the original break healed but her nerves didn’t really get the message. There’s no painkiller that can dull what she’s feeling. Any worse and she’ll have to sit down right where she is. Her ankle turns in the mud, and she has to bite her arm to keep from crying out.

Danny lags, forcing them to a stop. They’re safely off the school grounds now, and no one will come after them. Not that getting detention is their main concern right now. “Tell me what we’re going to Imogen’s house for. I . . . I don’t want to get hurt.”

“That’s why we’re going,” June says.

“We’re going to Imogen’s house because she has spell makings there. You’ll be able to find them. We’ll show you how to use them.”

“We’ll all use them,” June adds.

Danny looks around at the Grays, slow and suspicious. “What kind of spells?”

“Wards,” Rush says.

Danny infuses her hazel-brown stare with a question. She is part of this now, the way they get their points across without speaking. She has been pulled into everything about them. Folded into their lives. The light and the dark. The gray swirl of storm winds that has been growing ever since Imogen disappeared.

“It’s protection magic,” Hawthorn says.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” Danny asks, grabbing Hawthorn’s hand. Now the Grays are the ones running to keep up.

Danny: Now

As it turns out, the reason I couldn’t picture Imogen’s house is that it’s so intent on being nondescript. It comes into view at the end of a shaded cul-de-sac, small and green and sunk into the woods. The house is split-level, not big or small. No path of stones leads to the front door.