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Dominic glowered. “When Arthur proves me right, you’re all going to feel pretty stupid for mocking me.”

“Alright, joke’s over,” Max said around a grin. His cheeks were aching. “We’re just teasing, man.” But Arthur was trying not to laugh too, and seeing the usually serious man struggling to contain his amusement nearly had Max in stitches again. He had to look up at the cobwebs hanging from the vaulted ceiling to find his next words. “Got any books in here that might help us?”

Arthur managed to regain composure. “I think if there’s anywhere in this city that has books about Ilevyn, it’ll be on these shelves.” He rose to his feet and padded to the back of the long room. “Come with me. This might take a while, and we really should settle this argument once and for all: macaw or parakeet?”

“I hate all of you,” Dominic grumbled. But he took off after Arthur, Blue right on his heels.

—

“Why’d you ask to come with if you’re just going to be texting the whole time?” Max asked Dallas.

He knew he was being a grouch, but he couldn’t help it; he was due for some shuteye. Ever since Kalendae, he’d had trouble sleeping, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. But while each of his family members had struggles that came and went, Darien’s were persistent enough that Max often debated suggesting he seek help. He was up all hours of the night, every night; he had it worse than any of them.

The others were seated at a table, studying the handful of books Arthur had plucked off the dirty shelves. They’d gotten nowhere so far, but none of them had expected this to be easy.

Dallas gasped, but she didn’t look up from her screen. “Are you jealous, Reacher?”

“No.” But she hadn’t stopped grinning at her phone, hadn’t stopped clicking buttons. He never thought he’d be the jealous type, but his feelings for the witch were starting to get out of control, his imagination with them. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just a friend,” Dallas said in a singsong voice as she slid her phone into her bag. Finally.

“If you’re done, get over here and be helpful.” He inclined his head toward the table.

“Excuse me?” Uh-oh. Dal’s voice echoed sharply, earning a collective shush from the others and a curious look from Blue, who probably wondered why the crazy redhead was being so loud. Lacey had given Blue some of her old clothes, and gauze now covered her arm where she’d cut out the tracking device last night. Now that her hair was dry and brushed, and the dirt was scrubbed off her skin, she looked less like a drowned cat and more like a normal, everyday girl. Well, aside from the hair. Dallas waved an exasperated hand at him. “How are you helping?” she demanded.

Max bristled. “I’m standing guard.”

“Oh, very helpful, Max.” She worked at keeping her voice down. “We definitely need protection from all these dangerous books and bottles. Wouldn’t want to die of paper cuts, would we?”

“Actually,” Dominic murmured, distracted by the book in front of him as he turned a page that crackled from age and dust, “I wouldn’t be so confident that some of the things in here won’t explode.”

Blue was watching Dallas, head cocked to one side like a bird. She pushed herself up from the table and took a step toward the witch, white sneakers inaudible on the old floors. She had a habit of walking heel to toe, as if afraid of being heard. Max still couldn’t get over all the blue. It was…weird. Really freaking weird.

“What is it?” Dallas demanded, looking ready to bolt. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes flicked helplessly to Max.

He shrugged, feeling as amused as he probably looked.

Slowly, Blue reached up and plucked a cobweb out of Dal’s hair.

A squeal tore out of Dallas. It rattled the beakers and nearly gave poor Arthur a heart attack.

Even though Max had seen it coming, the high-pitched sound still raised goosebumps on his skin. “Damn it all to hell, Red,” he complained, shaking his shoulders to get rid of the chill.

Dallas was bouncing in place, her thumping feet causing glass to rattle and books to knock together on shelves. “Ewwwww! Get it, get it! Get it out, get it out!”

Blue calmly let the cobweb drift to the floor. She studied Dallas’s hair and tilted her head to the side, looking very much like a bird again with her peculiar, wide-eyed expression. “Scarlet,” she mused.

“Hey, she knows a word!” Dallas waved emphatically at Blue.

Max stuck a finger in his ear, rubbing away the ache from all the noise. “I’m standing right here, Dal,” he mumbled. He was addressing Blue when he said, “I just call her Red sometimes, but her name’s Dallas. Dallas Loud-as-Hell Bright.”

Blue gave him a blank look. And then she lifted a hand and pointed at Dallas—not at her hair, but at her chest. “Scarlet,” she said again, shaking her finger at her. “Inferno.” She spoke the words carefully, appearing desperate for them to understand. “Scarlet.”

Dallas’s brow furrowed, her lower lip jutting out in thought. She looked between Max, Dominic, and Arthur. “Dallas,” the witch corrected, jabbing her own chest with her index finger.

There was a beat of silence. Max looked Dominic’s way in search of an explanation, but the Angel threw his hands in the air, his expression as befuddled as Arthur’s.

“Dallas,” Blue repeated with a nod. She looked…disappointed.