Lightning cracked nearby again, the light blinding, reflecting bright off the pale painted walls. My skin glowed in the new odd patterns as the Gray Between opened. Outside of time, the wreath sparked. A bright white flash, brighter than the lightning, with the incised symbols darker, a purple color, like amethyst. In the silver energies of the Gray Between, with time stopped and bubbled, the wreath writhed like a brilliant snake, or like a vine caught in a thrashing wind, pulling in power from the air as if eating it.

It was absorbing power from the lightning.

An internal shudder raced along my spine at the sight of le breloque kindled by lightning. Sparking with power, power that was unclaimed. Unclaimed. It was in my possession, but its magic was still unclaimed. I knew, without knowing how, that the unclaimed part was important. In the moment outside of time, the lightning began to dim. Time resumed with a crash of the downpour, leaving the world storm-dark and the scent of ozone in the air.

Eli, Ed, and Gee had been with me when I acquired the wreath, and I was pretty sure that Edmund knew what le breloque was, but he had never admitted to it. We had first seen it in the dark of night in a rainstorm. Like this one, though not so electric. And now the wreath was acting up. And so was my own magic. “Crap,” I whispered to Brute, who was standing beside my leg. “There’re connected somehow.” He didn’t respond except to flop to the floor with a thud.

I closed the closet door and settled to my bed, pulling the covers over me, and Bruiser’s boxing gloves close for the comfort. I breathed in his scent, the scent he’d worn before he was Onorio.

Lightning hit close by and the wreath sparked again, a light in the night, growing brighter with each strike, easy to see now, outlining the cracks around the closet door, far brighter than the silvers of my own power. But at least this time my own magic didn’t alter time. I was sick to my stomach, nausea churning.

Lightning flickered again and boomed as it hit, closer now, and all the magic sparked, but the closet didn’t catch fire and neither did the sheets, so I pulled them around me in a cocoon, staying put and warm. And worried. I had been right about one of my postulations for the purpose of the crown-amulet. It sucked in power from storms.

Eventually the storm settled, quieted, as if it lost power with the dull gray skies. The wreath calmed too. It was too large to put in a bank vault. But I had a feeling that if the storm didn’t abate for good, le breloque would continue to absorb power until it did . . . something. Exploded, maybe. I couldn’t keep it here; I couldn’t store it elsewhere. I wondered if Gee would kill me to get le breloque back, which would suck, as I would then die for possessing something I didn’t want.

• • •

The world was dark and wet and dripping, a soppy, foggy morning, after a night that lasted far, far too long. The air was blustery and chill, the rainwater running in the streets incongruously colder, like the chill of melted sleet. Sabina hadn’t called. Eli hadn’t woken. Brute snored at the front door. And still I sat.

In front of the house, a car pulled up and stopped, engine running, lights brightening the windows. I heard a car door open and slam, the splash of running feet, followed by Alex coming in the door, moving fast, tripping over Brute, who didn’t move. Alex reeked of garlic, pizza, and energy drinks, his eyes manic, his curly hair standing out in moisture-tight ringlets. His dark skin glistened with rain. He could be a heartbreaker if he ever decided to.

“How’s my bro?” he asked, putting down his electronic gobag on the foyer floor and picking up the sponges there, squeezing them out in the ornamental bucket in the corner.

I thought, So that’s what the bucket’s for. It had appeared there a month ago and I hadn’t known why. Hadn’t asked. Hadn’t cared. I wasn’t much for decorating. But placing the bucket near the doorway to wring out the sponges that absorbed rainwater that seeped or blew in was perfect and made sense, in a totally nondecorating, totally practical way. “Still sleeping.”

There must have been something in my tone because the usually oblivious teenager tried the lights, which were still off, before coming into the room. “You look like shiii—crap.”

“I feel like crap.”

Alex made a quick circuit of the kitchen and living area, wringing out sponges, redepositing them to catch the next band of sideways rain. When he was back in the foyer he asked, “Why’s the wolf in the hallway?”

“I think he’s worried about me.” I managed a partial smile. “Or your sheets were too wet to be comfy.”

“Holy crap!” Alex said, using my swear words and dropping the bucket with a clatter. “You let him on my bed?”

“You try stopping a three-hundred-plus-pound werewolf.”

Alex stomped up the stairs and yelled, “You damn wolf. I hate you!” A moment later he shouted, “My sheets smell like dog. Arrrrr. There’s brown stuff on it. Holy crap, it’s shit. He scuffed his butt on my sheets. I’m gonna kill you, Brute!”

I snickered softly. Brute snorted. Alex thundered down the stairs, pale sheets flapping in the almost-morning light, to the laundry on the back of the house. The storage room/gear-cleaning room/laundry room/mudroom had once been a canning room for fruit and veggies. I didn’t know what Alex was going to do back there without power. And when he cursed again, most imaginatively, I figured he had forgotten that small fact. I didn’t say anything about the cussing or the smell that emanated from his clothing and pores. He had a teenager’s temper and lack of control. I’d wait until he wasn’t so riled.

Brute and I were still sharing a laugh when Alex rounded into the foyer again. “Why doesn’t he ever get in your bed? Or Eli’s? Why always mine?”

“Maybe he’s our Goldilocks, and it has to be just right. Which makes you the baby bear.”

“Not funny.” He stood in the doorway and glowered down at the snorting wolf. “Not funny! And why’s Eli still asleep? And why are you still sitting in bed?” he shouted.

I let the last of my amusement flow away and said, “I’m getting Brute a very expensive bed. I think he’ll stay out of your bed now. Yes, Brute?”

The werewolf breathed out what might have been a promise. Or not.

“And Eli’s still asleep because he’s blood-drunk on vamp blood and because Gee DiMercy put a sleepy-time spell on the house. And I’m still sitting here because I hurt too bad to get up.”

In an eye blink, the Kid morphed into Alex, or the Alex he had the potential of being when he finished growing up. He made another fast tour of the house, checking the windows and doors and tapping on walls, which was strange. When he came back, he was wearing Eli’s shoulder harness and two of Eli’s guns. For the last few weeks Alex had been to the gun range almost every single day. We had discovered that he had a gift for shooting. Scary good. With a lot of practice, he might be better than Eli, who was an expert military marksman with a variety of weapons.

“House is secure,” he said. “I tapped on the shelf to Edmund’s room and he cursed me, I think, in some foreign language. Sorry I lost my temper, sorry I cussed, sorry I went out last night, and I’ll get a shower as soon as we’re secure.”

Tears burned my eyelids and my shoulders slumped. “If you had been here you would be asleep like your brother. Thank you. I think my magic needs Aggie. Will you call her and make sure we can come to water today? Sabina sent a message via Gee, telling us to purify ourselves. I have a feeling that we shouldn’t wait.”

Alex picked up my cell and punched in my code. Which I didn’t know he knew. He pulled up Aggie’s number and I heard it ring. “Who’s us?” Alex asked oh-so-cautiously as it rang.

“Eli. Me. And you. That is, if you haven’t eaten anything this morning. You have to be fasting.”

He turned away slightly so I couldn’t see his face. “Good morning, Aggie One Feather,” Alex said, speaking like an adult. Totally adulting. More tears gathered in my eyes and a single one slid down my face. “Egini Agayvlge i,” he added, using her Cherokee name. “This is Alex Younger calling on Jane Yellowrock’s cell. The outclan priestess of the suck—vampires said we all needed to come to water. Something big’s about to happen.” He listened a while and then said, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.” He put a hand over my phone and said, “She said we have to come before the storm gets worse again. She said she won’t take men, but she knows an old Choctaw man who will take Eli and me. That the ceremony isn’t as good as the Cherokee one, but that it will do.”