I heard a thump under the table, Eli kicking his brother. I stuffed a slice of bacon into my mouth and chewed, lips closed. Trying to hide my laughter.

“And void my bowels. That’s how Mr. America here phrased it.” He thumbed at Eli. “I had to smoke some tobacco that made me cough my lungs out, drink this gross drink that tasted like pond water, puke, and void my bowels, and then sit in the freezing rain, naked,” Alex’s voice rose, “and listen to this saggy old dude—and lemme tell you he was saggy in folds you could hide this in.” He held up a serving spoon and I still managed to keep my laughter off my face. “And listen to him sing, which he could not do, at all, in a language I did not understand. And then I had to get into the muddy water and dunk myself. Seven freaking times.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, finishing off the bacon and digging into the eggs, which had been cooked with onion and little bits of pepper and cheese. It was heavenly.

“I swear that I could feel an alligator swimming around my legs.”

“He squeaked,” Eli said. “Like a four-year-old girl.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

I lifted my mug and said through a mouthful of food, “So you enjoyed it?”

“Totally,” Eli said. “Ready to do it again. Anytime.”

“You people are crazy. My family is insane. Bonkers.”

“But family,” I said. Just to clarify.

“Family,” he agreed. “But you all should be chained in an insane asylum. I’m getting pizza for supper tonight. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“We can do pizza,” Eli agreed.

Alex glared at him as if expecting Eli to change his mind or say, “Psych,” but he didn’t. I got up and poured them more coffee and me more tea. Family breakfast—the way it was supposed to be. If it weren’t so cutesy, I’d get matching mugs that said that.

I said, “What do you think about restoring the house?” Eli looked interested. He was handy with hammer and nails and power tools and other home remodeling equipment. He had replaced the windows along the side of the house with extra-tall, narrow French doors and working shutters. I looked out into the living room. “I was thinking you could find and replace the fireplaces with gas ones.”

“No. Wood,” Alex said. “That way, when the zombie apocalypse comes we can have wood fire for heating and cooking.”

“When the apocalypse comes,” Eli corrected, “we’ll grab gobags and head for the hills. Some little holler Janie tells us about.”

“Until then, we need a bigger house,” Alex said.

“No,” Eli and I said simultaneously. Eli added, “We just need a better use of space. I’ve ordered a Pendleton King Revolving Gun Safe. That’ll give Ed more room in the gun room.”

I remembered something I’d seen when Eli and I were sparring not so long ago, and I had ended up, breath knocked out, hurt, on my back, staring up at the ceiling. “There’s a small attic door in the corner of the upstairs hallway.” Both boys looked at me. “I’ve never been up there or even looked up there.”

“If there’s space, I’m calling dibs,” Alex said. “Man cave. Game room.”

“If there’s space,” Eli said, “and windows that can be lightproofed, it should be for the fanghead. I’ll check it out over the weekend.”

“Spoilsport. Your turn to wash dishes, bro,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I’m gonna be busy monitoring HQ’s security measures. You need me, poke me. I’ll have music on.”

“I’ll put in a load of laundry,” I said. Both men raised eyebrows at me. “What? I can do laundry.” I hoped. I made a trip through the house, gathering wet clothes. In the laundry room, which did not originally contain a washer and dryer, I studied the units, trying to remember which was which. I vaguely remembered the one that opened on top was the washer. Directions were printed on the inside of the top. “Easy peasy,” I said, loading the clothes according to the instructions and adding liquid detergent. I hit the start button and was rewarded with the sound of water jetting into the tub.

“Hey!” Alex shouted. “Get in here!” I darted back into the living space.

Eli was gripping a nine-millimeter in each hand. I found that I was holding a coat hanger. Because of the lightning, I had left the bedroom unarmed, which now felt all wrong, and I put the coat hanger down before they noticed that I had planned on defending myself and them with a thin strip of metal.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“There’s a second riot near the corner of Jackson Avenue and South Robertson Street. It started with a lightning strike.” Alex popped open an energy drink and downed it. Lightning slammed down all around the house, the glare blinding, the noise like thunder. Thunder on steroids and meth. Sleet made sizzling and popping sounds against the windows. Sleet. In New Orleans. Eli holstered his weapons in a double rig of his own devising, both weapons at his waist, but well hidden beneath his tee.

“The storm’s getting worse again,” Alex said, concentrating on the tablets on his desk, tapping and swiping. “The forecast is all over the place. The temps have dropped by ten degrees in the last four hours.”

Eli said, “It’s early for an ice storm but not impossibly early. With the storm on the Gulf moving north and the Arctic edge moving south along the Mississippi, bad storms should be expected.”

“But one front is supposed to give way to the other. These are heading right for each other and now the National Weather Service thinks they’ll meet right here. Like a storm apocalypse.”

Lightning hammered the earth again. Lights went out. Le breloque glowed in the darkness from my bedroom door. I shimmered into the Gray Between and back out, my silver magics passing through me in a Vitruvian Man pattern, a witch pattern, a pentagram. I didn’t like this. At all. But at least time didn’t bubble.

“Don’t believe in coincidence,” Eli said.

“Nope,” Alex said.

“So it’s witch shi—crap, or vamp crap, or Gee DiMercy, the storm god, crap.” Alex shoved his moisture-kinked hair up high, where it stayed in place.

“How about we gear up and check out HQ?” Eli asked me. “The ballroom upgrades should be nearly done by now.”

I nodded and went to my room to change. Again. Outside, the storm blasted the earth.

• • •

We played rock-paper-scissors and Eli lost. He donned a military poncho when he went to bring the SUV around. In appreciation, I made a double espresso for him and a chai for me while I waited, and poured them into insulated travel mugs. Win-win as far as I was concerned.

On the way to the Mithran Council Chambers, better known at Yellowrock Securities as Fanghead HQ, among other less-than-respectful names, he gave me a litany of the security upgrades and I listened with half an ear. The European vampires were coming sometime, whenever they finished yanking Leo’s chain and got around to the actual visit, and Leo was planning to hold the initial reception in the ballroom.

We were turning the corner to the drive when the power to the streetlights—which had come on because of the darkness of the storm—blinked off and on and off as the power fluttered. The entire city went dark. Eli’s cell rang, the call coming over the car’s electronic system. “Derek,” Eli said, seeing the name on the car’s synced coms system. “Go ahead.”

“There’s a security problem at HQ from lightning strikes. I’ve got men checking it out.”

“Copy. We’re on the way to inspect the back entrance and the ballroom,” Eli said. “We’ll be on coms if needed.”

“Copy.”

The connection ended and I decided I needed to confess the problems with my magic. “So, there’s this little problem,” I started.

Eli didn’t say anything. He didn’t react at all. At the words little problem, he had entered the Jedi voodoo stillness he achieved when he was shooting. “The storm?” I continued. “The one that’s making le breloque spark? It’s making my skinwalker magics spark too. I’m doing the whole time-travel thing almost every time the lightning strikes. I thought it would be better after going to water, but it did it again in the shower.”