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Celia’s voice cut through the patter of rain. “Helen! There you are.”

She was running toward us down the path directly from the house. It was clear from the relieved look on her face that she hadn’t looked up at the horror above. Before I could even think, I was bolting forward. She yelped as I grabbed her, spun her around, and grabbed the back of her head, holding her gaze on mine.

“Don’t look up,” I said, low and urgent.

Her head tilted upward, but I forced it down, gripping hard enough to make her whimper.

“Don’t. Please, don’t,” I said. “Celia, you don’t want to see.”

“See what?” she asked, trembling in my grip. A crimson drop splattered onto her shoulder, seeping into the pale wool of her sweater.

Footsteps crunched behind us, and Caleb spoke calmly. “Celia, do as Helen says. Just walk toward me, honey.”

“Look at my eyes,” I told her. I stepped back. She went with me, haltingly. Step by step.Don’t look, I willed her. We reached Caleb. He took Celia from me, bundling her against him and walking swiftly away. I followed close at his heels.

I glanced back once. Bryony was gone, and my heart squeezed.

“Oh, thank god.” Mom ran across the lawn toward us, Simonstriding along behind her. She reached out to hug me. I flinched back. “Are you okay? You were gone, and—”

“I’m okay,” I said with a sob, knowing it wasn’t true, and then her arms were around me, and for a moment, I could convince myself I was safe, and none of this could touch me.

Roman was dead. And the worst thing right now was not that I was afraid but that I wasglad. He couldn’t hurt me again. And I didn’t, couldn’t, grieve for that.

Caleb was murmuring in Victoria’s ear. She gathered Celia to her and nodded, her eyes unfocused and distant. Victoria steered Celia back toward the house. Caleb gestured to Eli to follow him, but Mom led me firmly back toward the house. Inside, she turned toward me again, but Simon touched her elbow, drawing her attention. “Let’s let Helen rest,” he said.

I wondered again what Simon knew. He had no connection to Harrow or to the Vaughans that I knew of. He didn’t have family, or even friends, really. His life mostly revolved around us. I’d never seen anything sinister in that. But the things he’d said, the things he seemed to know, suggested some connection. What if he were involved?

I shoved the thought away. I couldn’t go reading wickedness in everything and everyone. Simon was a good man. I refused to believe otherwise.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Desmond asked under his breath, sidling up to me.

“My room,” I suggested. The Willows was the closest thing to a safe place I had in this house. Desmond followed me up anddutifully waited while I ducked into the bathroom to change into clothes that weren’t caked in dirt.

“What happened out there?” he asked when I stepped out.

“Roman’s dead,” I said flatly. Desmond blanched. I dropped onto the end of the bed and buried my face in my hands, holding back the swell of a sob. I couldn’t fall apart, not now. Not when any one of the people in this house could be out to get me.

“Helen? I asked how he died,” Desmond said. There was a hard edge to his voice.

I startled upright and hastily scraped at the few tears that had leaked down my cheeks. I mostly succeeded in rubbing more dirt in. “I’m sorry. He was out after the night bell. I followed him. The shadows attacked. Bryony helped me and we got away. He didn’t.”

“The shadows did it.” He almost sounded like he didn’t believe me.

“Yeah.” I rubbed my arms, trying to get some warmth into them. I’d seen dead things before. I’d gathered them up in my arms, cleaned their bones. But I’d never seen a person torn apart like that.

“What was he doing out there?” Desmond asked, still with that sharpness to his tone.

“He was doing something to hurt me. I don’t understand it completely.” I couldn’t tell him about the girls until I was sure. If I was wrong, and I’d made him think his family killed Jessamine, he’d never forgive me.

“But Roman isdead? You’re sure?” He collapsed into the chair by the desk, elbows on his knees and has hands on his head.

“He’s really, really dead, Desmond. Trust me, you don’t wantthe details,” I said. I pressed a fist against my gut, trying not to think of the way the boughs had sagged beneath his weight, the look of surprise on his ashen face.

“And you didn’t—” He stopped.

“Didn’t what?” I asked, confusion written on my face.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Desmond said. He stood again, pacing back and forth in a tight circuit, his hands clasping and unclasping with nervous energy. “Roman’s always been obsessed with our family. He used to be Caleb’s best friend, back when they were growing up. When my parents split, right after I was born, it was like ten seconds before Roman started going after my mom. They got married less than a year later. And he dated your mom, too.”