“Nowhere you’re thinking,” I tell her.
She slides her phone back into her clutch. “Can we leave now? This party blows.”
“What happened to Johnny?”
Mer rolls her eyes. “He’s making out with Trixie Malone.”
I scan the party. There are still too many drunk idiots here I need to stay and watch. “Maybe we should stick around and find someone for you to make out with, then. To get back at him.”
Meredith grins. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Win, but this party’s about two minutes away from getting busted.”
“How do you know?”
“I may have called in an anonymous complaint.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “I found Brian freaking out over the mess everyone was making of his house. I thought it was the least I could do. Besides, Johnny and Trixie can’t keep making out if they’re detained for underage drinking.” She grins. “So, yeah. We probably shouldn’t be here when the cops show up.”
I arch a brow at her slightly sadistic smile. “Good thinking. Do you need a ride home?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could crash at your place.”
There are about a million reasons why that is not a good idea. “I don’t know if my mom—”
“Please, Win. I’m already way past curfew, and my parents would flip if they found out I was at a party.”
“Where do they think you are?”
“Duh. Sleeping over at your place.”
I close my eyes and take three deep breaths.
Mer leans closer. “Is that a yes?”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fine, but you’re crashing on the couch.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
She crosses her arms over her chest.
“And because I don’t want to wake Mom up,” I add. “She had a rough night.”
Thanks to me.
“Hey, whatever keeps my parents in the dark is fine by me.”
Sirens wail in the distance.
Mer grabs my arm and starts tugging me toward my house. “I believe that’s our cue to go.”
XXVII
Half an hour later, Mer’s set up on the couch, checking her various social media timelines. Henry and I pretend to say good-bye at the door before sneaking upstairs. Mom’s bedroom door is open and a flickering blue light floods the hallway. I motion for Henry to wait at the top of the stairs, and then I tiptoe into her room.
Mom’s curled up on her side on top of the covers, still wearing the same clothes she had on earlier. Dad’s picture is propped up against the pillow across from her.
“Mom?” I whisper, but her chest rises and falls slowly, unchanging. I grab one of Grandma’s quilts from the basket next to her bed and lay it on top of her. I think about turning off the TV, but decide against it. She hates waking up in the dark.
I sneak back out into the hallway, closing the door behind me.
In the bathroom light, I get my first real glimpse of the damage Henry sustained before the fireflies came to rescue us. The red mark on his cheek is starting to turn purple and there’s a gash on the back of his hand. If he has any other injuries, they’re covered by the mud caking his arms. My own wrist is still sore, but I can move it well enough, so I don’t think it’s broken. I lead Henry to the sink and turn the faucet to warm.
“Put your hands under the water and keep them there,” I tell him.
He does as I ask without saying a word while I rifle through the cabinets for the first-aid kit and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I uncap the bottle and turn off the water. “This may sting a little.”
He winces as the hydrogen peroxide bubbles white around his cut, but he doesn’t show any other sign of pain. When that’s done, I cover the wound with Neosporin, then wrap his hand in gauze.
“There. All better.”
Henry trails his fingers down my cheek. The gauze scratches my jaw. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
The smile he gives me makes my heart squeeze. “If it weren’t for you,” he says, “I would not know my parents are alive. We still have to worry about Varo finding them, of course—”
“Not if we find them first.” I close the first-aid kit and put it back under the sink. “Do you know where they might have gone?”
He shakes his head. “They could have traveled through any threshold, into any time or place.”
I nod, thinking. “Okay then, tomorrow morning, we’ll hit the books again. Find out everything we can about Varo and dragon’s bane. Whatever will give us an advantage over him.”
Henry shrugs. “It’s a start.”
Now that his cut has been taken care of, I take in the mud on his arms, his cheek, the side of his neck. “Do you want to take a shower?”
“A what?”
I smile. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
I explain how the shower works, which bottles to use on his hair and which on his body. How to squeeze the body wash onto the loofah and rub it in with his hands so it gets nice and foamy. I grab the same sweatpants and shirt he slept in last night and lay them on the counter, and then I turn on the water and remind him which way to turn the knob if it gets too hot or too cold.
I’m just as muddy, but my shower will have to wait. I run a washcloth under the sink faucet and take it into my bedroom along with a dry towel. I do my best to wash the mud from my skin, then change into my pajamas.
I lay on my bed with my chem notes in front of me, trying to study for the test on Monday, but I can’t stop reliving what happened in the wood. Images flash through my mind. Holding Henry, certain we were going to die. My fireflies coming to our rescue. Varo’s followers chanting around the fire like a cult. Varo infiltrating my mind.
Matters such as these are not always as they seem.
My coin warms on my wrist, and for a moment I think I’ve somehow summoned him to speak to me again, but then Joe’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
Winter.
Joe?
Come outside, he says. I need to see you’re all right.
I glance at the wall, through which I can hear the pipes groaning and water plopping against the tub like rain.
I sigh. Be right there.
*
I creep down the staircase, hugging the wall to avoid the creaky steps. Mer’s already passed out, her arm flung over her eyes and her neck tipped back for maximum snorage. Through the kitchen window I catch Joe pacing the backyard, his hands on his hips, his movements jerky and uncertain. I tiptoe through the mudroom and out onto the porch, softly snicking the back door closed behind me.
He exhales as soon as he sees me, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Uncle Joe’s never been very affectionate. He’s more the tough love, teach-you-how-to-fight-like-a-badass kind of uncle. But he hugs me now. Holds on to me like it’s the only way he can tell for sure I’m really here.
“Where were you?” I ask, my words muffled by his shirt.
He holds me a second longer, then takes a deep breath and steps away. “Headquarters. I tried to get there as soon as I could, but you were already gone.”
As soon as he could? Exactly how long does it take someone who can teleport to show up when you call them?