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We go down through a house that’s now teeming with men, and not one of them looks at me. That's how I know how bad it is. He puts me in the car himself, shuts the door, says something short to Rafe over the roof, and gets in.

Then we're driving. Fast, out through the gates, onto the dark road, and I sit with my bag on my lap, my hands flat on top of it. For the first time since I traded myself for my brother, I'm frightened. And the part I can't make sense of is that it isn't him I'm afraid of. It's whatever just put that look on his face.

We drive for a long time. The city goes past, then the suburbs, then there's nothing but land, the odd pair of headlights, the occasional truck. He doesn't turn the radio on and I am grateful for that. His hands are steady on the wheel. Too much so. Everything feels … forced. I want to scream and teleport to a different universe. It’s like when I have to force myself to look and sound normal after I've lost a patient and there are still hours of shift left to get through.

"Where are we going?" I ask eventually. My voice is small in the dark.

"Somewhere safe," he says.

That's all. And I believe him, which frightens me in a different way because it means I've started trusting the most dangerous man I've ever met with my well-being.

I don't remember falling asleep. I remember the hum of the road, then nothing, then I'm being lifted and I wake up. The air smells green and crisp with the faint scent of woodsmoke. Laszlo has me in his arms, my face nuzzled against his neck.

"I can walk," I say without lifting my head.

"I know."

He doesn't put me down.

We go into a doorway and inside a room with a bed. Carefully setting me on top of the covers, he takes my shoes off and puts them side by side on the floor, then pulls the blanket over my legs, tucking me in. I flinch, just a fraction. It’s an instinctive reaction because he’s been so very terrifying tonight.

He catches it and pulls his hands away.

"What?" he says.

"Nothing."

"Manon." He crouches by the bed so we're level. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I frighten you? Did someone touch you tonight? Did I miss something?"

"You," I say.

He waits. Whatever he sees on my face, it makes him careful.

"Tonight. At the house." I'm too tired to hold any of it back now. "I thought I was learning who you were. You’ve always been kind to me, even when I wasn’t nice. Too kind, too good… Then tonight something went wrong, and I saw another Laszlo. The real you, the one you keep hidden from me. The one everybody else likely knows and fears. In our bedroom, you raised a finger at me when I tried to talk to you. Laszlo, you never force me to shut up around you. Never." My throat is tight but I make myself hold his eyes. "That's who you are when you lose control. Still calm, but so very cold. I don't think I can love that man."

Whatever he was bracing for, it wasn't that. The sharp edges are gone from his face, and so is the blood. He goes pale, and he looks so … stricken.

"No," he says. "No, that wasn't—" He pauses, then continues, "I'm sorry, ma macabre. Forgive me. That was never aimed at you. I would never aim it at you."

He takes my hand off the blanket in both of his and presses his mouth to my knuckles, then the inside of my wrist. He trails his lips up my arm, dropping kisses all the way, my shoulder, through my clothes, and finally, the side of my throat, quick and desperate, planting words of apology into my skin.

"I lost my grip on reality for a minute. That's all. I’d never hurt you. I’d kill myself first." His forehead comes down against mine and he’s unsteady. I bite my bottom lip. "Don't look at me like that. Anything but that. I can stand anything but that."

CHAPTER 27

Laszlo

I didn't sleep much, even after we got to the property outside Williamstown, Massachusetts and I carried Manon inside. She fell asleep in the car, some time before we passed the state line. It had been a long night for her. I didn't tell anyone where we were going. Some fucker got into my fortress, and I won't rest until I know who did it and how.

I laid her on the bed and took her shoes off. She was still in the jeans and sweater she'd thrown on before we left, and didn't wake when I pulled the blanket over her. That fucking ear. Someone wanted to make a statement, and it drove me to the edge. Once I was sure she was settled, I went to the living room and started making phone calls. I hadn't even had time to check the mortuary back at the house before we left.

Now it's past nine in the morning and I've been on the phone and pacing all morning. The living room looks like a total fucking mess. I've straightened the rug twice. I've moved the two candlesticks on the mantelpiece so they're the same distance from the edge. I've taken every book off the shelf by the fireplace and put them back in height order, and then in color, and then in height again. None of it helps but my hands need something to do while I wait for something to happen. My brother is talking to me now.

"Say it again," I tell Constantine.

"The east camera dropped for eleven minutes at 11:40. Daniel says it looked like a power flicker, but it wasn't that."

"No."