“I would love to see that,” Oberon agreed, gravely. “I’ve only seen it in movies. I understand that it’s customary for the children to threaten me with property damage unless I provide them with candy?”

“That’s right,” said Ángel. “Do we get a lot of trick-or-treaters up here, Lily?”

“Not so many.”

“Of course we don’t,” said Oberon, not picking up on the joke. “We are miles from anywhere. And my security team has always kept children away from me, unfortunately. I think children are very interesting.”

Something clicked. “Wait, today is Halloween?”

“October thirty-first,” she said.

“Oh.” Ángel’s mood fell straight down into sadness.

He hadn’t gotten any email in several days.

Lily didn’t seem to notice. She was saying to Oberon, “There’s no special dinner, like other holidays—no Halloween foods, except candy. You give out candy all evening, and then you eat what’s left over until you feel sick.”

And then you dress up and go out with Marissa and Jason and Trina and Tonio and Lindsey. And you drink weird Halloween-themed shots, and check out the hotties but you don’t ditch your friends for them, and you dance and dance and dance.

“Do you like Halloween, Ángel?” asked Oberon.

“I do,” Ángel said. “It’s my favorite.”

Ángel couldn’t sleep that night. The clock said 11:15, and he was as awake as if it were noon.

His brothers and their families were probably in bed, since it was a weeknight.

His friends were probably out celebrating. Because it was Halloween, not because it was Ángel’s birthday. Which they’d all forgotten.

Stupid that it bothered him so much. Oberon had gone without news from his home for three years—hadn’t been in the presence of another member of his own people for over eight years, and his people communicated by touch. How painful would that be? Ángel had only been away from home for two months, and was so lonely and so angry about it he wanted to punch a wall.

Hell with this. He put on a pair of shorts, tied his hair back in an elastic, and headed down to the gym. Starting his “Dancy Dance” playlist, he turned up the volume, dimmed the lights, and began to run on the treadmill.

The gym, with its mirrored walls and ceilings, had the worst acoustics in the house, a loud cube of contentious echoes. It reminded him nicely of some of the dance clubs he’d been to.

He ran hard on the treadmill through the first few songs on the playlist—Duran Duran, Shakira, the Black Eyed Peas. After a minute and a half of Elvis Crespo’s “Suavamente” he rolled off the back of the treadmill and started dancing.