“I’m not responsible for what you do,” she said. “I never have been. Only you are. We all make our own karma.”

“Your friend’s going to be real happy to hear you say that.”

“I doubt anybody could be happy around you.”

“You’ve got that much right, little sister. We may be in your head, but I’m the one in charge here. I’ve always been the one in charge.”

Jilly shook her head again.

“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Del laughed. “Jesus Christ, you just never learn, do you? I guess I’ll just have to—”

He broke off when the sound of a breaking glass came from downstairs.

Del stalked back to the window and looked out. That flicker of fear was back in his eyes when he turned away, gaze on the doorway. A shotgun appeared in his hands.

“That dog’s not going to help you,” he told Jilly.

“What dog?”

“Yeah, right.”

With the shotgun at the ready, he stepped out into the hall. I gave Jilly a last look, then let myself drift down through the floor to see what was going on downstairs.

Honey

The cuts she’d sustained going through the window stung, but they were only superficial. Though they bled, the glass hadn’t severed any major artery. All they did was help her focus her rage on the man tormenting her sister.

Some might question that designation. There was no bond of blood between them. But they were both Children of the Secret, hurr and abused, betrayed by those who should have been protecting them, and that kinship made a bond stronger than the ties of blood. Del was only another version of the Man who’d beat her as a pup. Who’d let her family die in the ring.

Stay behind me, she told Lizzie as the child clambered in through the window.

Then she padded towards the stairs.

She heard his step on the landing, the creak of the wood under his weight. She was halfway up when he appeared at the head of the stairs, the shotgun in his hand.

The weapon gave her only a moment’s pause.

This world appeared solid and real. It had substance and dimension, smells and weight. It might be inside Jilly’s head, but to all intents and purposes, it was genuine. By that argument, the weapon in his hands was probably real as well. It could fire, the shot coming out of its barrels could tear her apart.

But it didn’t matter.