“I’m sick,” she says, and I take in her intense pallor, the scrapes of darkness beneath her brown eyes. In a quick swerve, she turns to the Grays and adds, “Mom and Dad don’t like it when you’re here.” She looks at me for a wavering second, like she’s not sure if I’m included in this statement.

“Yeah,” Lelia says. “But are you Mom and Dad?”

“Leave her alone,” I say. She doesn’t have her own set of Grays at her back. She doesn’t even have her sister.

Haven looks at me differently now that I’ve stuck up for her. “You can come in,” she says, pointing at me, one pale finger hovering. “And Rachel. Since it’s her homework. The rest of you have to wait outside.”

Lelia groans. Hawthorn looks between me and Rush like we’re the last two people she would have sent in.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Dowser? Remember?”

“Yeah, and Rush knows Imogen’s bedroom better than anyone else,” Lelia says.

Rush turns an ungodly shade of red. June smacks Lelia in the chest with the back of her hand. Everything is clawing its way back toward normal, and then I remember why we’re here. Wards. Protection.

Rush must be able to see how close I am to falling into a panicky abyss, because when Haven turns to lead us in, Rush grabs my hand. “We’ll find it,” she says, her thumb circling my palm. Heat fills a hundred unexpected places in my body.

Is this another thing the Grays do for each other? A scrap of magic? Or is this something Rush came up with just for me?

She pulls me into the house, and when Haven turns the corner toward the kitchen, she reveals a figure with the same red hair standing in the arch of the living room, watching Rush work circles into my hand.

Imogen.

Haven and Imogen: Four Years Ago

They went to the Eel River every summer when the water was high and the temperature broke ninety, because otherwise it was basically an icy wading pool with a current that stung their ankles like a billion hornets.

Imogen took Haven to the same swimming hole every year. That was what sisters did. They broke up the world and picked which pieces belonged to whom. They looked around and pointed and said Yours. Mine. Ours.

This trip was a secret one, because Haven’s parents didn’t want her to go out too often, especially in the summer. They said she was too pale. They hated dealing with it when she got overheated, as if it reflected poorly on their parenting skills. Haven’s mom and dad treated her like she might break if she got breathed on the wrong way.

Pretty much every way was the wrong way.