Page 113

"June."

"End of June." She frowns at her screen like it might disagree with her. "Is this about a reference?"

"Something like that."

I take one of the candy bars on the way out so she has no reason to remember me.

Four months?

Four months of shifts that she said starts at eleven, and weekend work, and being slammed, and Maren covering the shop alone on a Saturday so her best friend could go do a job she didn't even have.

Kill it.

Not a thing you can bite.

Everything is a thing you can bite.

I ordered the door Wednesday, before any of this, because Maren shouldn't have to look at that sigil every time she comes home.

It's on my truck. I get the hinges off at two in the afternoon with Sid supervising from the rail like someone who bills by the hour.

The char's finally cool. That's new. Three days ago frost wouldn’t survive within a foot of it, and today it's just a burned door, ugly and dead, the magic in it spent.

I get my shoulder under it and lift it off.

And in the split, deep in the crack where the middle line drove down through the grain, there's a thread.

Red wool.

Not sitting on the char. Fused into it, under the surface, where it went in when the wood was still opening.

I know that coat. Lila has worn it every time she’s come here to see Maren. I take the thread out with two fingers.

Sid comes down off the rail. He doesn't say anything. He sits beside my boot and looks at it with me, and his tail is flat against the boards.

I carry it around back to the fire pit. A ring of salt still burned into the dirt from Wednesday. I put a single strand in and give it a match.

It comes up blue.

Blue means what blue has meant since the apron scrap. Someone used this to reach Maren.

Which is the part I need to think about.

Because if that thread is Lila's, and it's keyed the way the other things have been keyed, there are only two ways it could have gotten into that door.

She either handed it over or someone took it off her coat the same way they took a scrap of Maren's apron and a pillow off Maren's bed.

If that’s the case, then Lila’s not responsible. She’s just being used.

I know which one my gut says.

But, my gut isn't evidence and I’m not going to be the one that takes Maren's best friend away from her without it.

Put it in your pocket.

I look down. Sid's gold eyes are on the fire.

Don't be brave about it.