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But it still hurt like some awful new injury to my heart.

Which was funny because I wascertainlyover him.

I wanted to see him suffer, though. There were ways to bring that about—

My sweet revenge reverie was interrupted by a polite knock at the door.

I snatched up the nearest throw pillow and screamed into it. I tossed the pillow aside, crossed to the door in two long steps, jerked it open, “Hey, Mal—”

It wasn’t Malcolm, though. Dax stood on my front step.

I snapped my mouth closed.

Dax looked older, thinner. He wore a leather bomber jacket and jeans. His cheeks were red with the cold and he now sported a golden stubble-beard. The jacket and the beard were new.

“I was waiting for George to leave.” For reasons I never did follow, Dax always called Malcolm “George”.

I said nothing.

Dax’s expression changed, grew uncertain. “Can I come in?”

I stepped back without speaking.

He said, “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you let me know you were home?”

My expression probably said it all.

Dax’s eyes widened. “Caz,” he protested. “You don’t think—what?”

“That you wrote me off? That you forgot I even existed.”

He gasped as if I’d punched him. “The hell! If this is about not coming to see you… It’s not like I didn’t want to keep visiting.”

I turned my back to him, closed the door. “Sure.”

“Don’tsureme. Listen. Astrid said it was making it harder for you.”

That turned me around fast. I glared at him. “Bullshit.”

“I swear to God.” He even put his hand up as though taking his oath. “You really think I wouldn’t have come to see you? What the hell!”

“Why would she say that? She wouldn’t. Make itharderon me to know that my friends were still—?” I had to stop. I was like a volcano of emotions now, ready to spew every time I bumped into another painful revelation. I had never been like this before. I didn’twantto be like this now.

“I don’t know!” Dax’s protest sounded sincere. “But I felt like I had to respect her…” His voice tailed off. He said again, sounding pained, “I don’t know, but it wasn’t because I ever thought you killed anybody.”

“Sure about that?” I asked darkly.

Dax goggled at me. “Caz, you passed out in biology because we had to dissect afrog—and you weren’t even the one doing the dissecting! For chrissake.No, I never thought for one second you killed anyone.”

I struggled with it, then said shortly, “I didn’t pass out because of the frog. I was coming down with the flu.”

Dax relaxed. “Maybe. The flu didn’t help.”

We studied each other for a long wary moment, and Dax’s face twisted. “Jeez, Caz. It’sme. Your sidekick. Your amigo. Your long-lost pardner?”

I nodded, sat down on the sofa, and Dax sat down beside me, slung his arm around my shoulders, said gruffly, “Welcome home, man.”

I snorted. He bumped his head against mine, harder than he intended—we “Owwwed” in unison—he jumped up and took a couple of quick turns around the living room. After a minute, he asked, “Where’s Freyja?”