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“Yeah, it’s not vodka.” She tipped her head to one side and studied me. “How are you doing with the whole sobriety thing?”

“Good,” I lied. “Really good.”

She nodded. “Reckon I’m going to give it a proper go this time.” She pulled a face. “Mind, I said that last time. And the time before.”

“I’m going to paint,” I announced. At least that was the truth. “I figure it will be a good distraction, and you can’t really do it while you’re drunk or high.”

She nodded. “That’s a good idea. Except I’m more of a stick-figure kind of girl.” She thought for a moment. “I did a pottery class once. That was fun. Maybe I should take it up.” She laughed. “If nothing else, I can drink out of whatever monstrosities I make.”

A knock at the front door had me turning toward the sound.

“Someone’s popular,” Laura teased.

I got up to answer it, some sixth sense prompting me to put the chain on first. Finding Tyler on my doorstep confirmed that my instincts had been correct. He’d definitely looked better, his face still bruised from Caligo’s assault and his clothes consisting of a ripped T-shirt and sweatpants. I immediately tried to close the door, but he was faster, wedging his foot into the gap so that I either had to stop or risk breaking a few bones. I’d be lying if I claimed I didn’t feel tempted to keep pushing, anyway. Only the thought of the ammunition it would give him stopped me.

“Wait,” he said. “I’m not here to cause drama.”

I dropped my gaze pointedly to the foot wedged in the door. “You could have fooled me.”

“I just want the rest of my stuff, that’s all. Let me in, and it’ll take me about thirty minutes to pack everything up. Then you never have to see me again.”

“No.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“This is not a negotiation.”

“You can’t just keep my things.”

Tyler had started to sweat. It made me wonder whether he was on something. Wouldn’t that be the world’s greatest irony? Maybe he could go to rehab in the middle of nowhere. He’d have to find someone else to drive him there, though. The only way I’d oblige would be if he were tied to the back of the car.

“This is not a good time,” I said. “I have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Because if it’s Remy—”

“It’s not Remy.” The spirit of maliciousness had me adding a little more information. “We had one brief conversation about you and decided that was more than enough, so now we never need to talk about you again.”

“Bitch,” Tyler muttered.

“Yeah, that’ll make me open the door,” I shot back.

“Sorry, I’m just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Ten minutes.”

“What’s so important?”

“Nothing. I just want my stuff.”

Letting him in would be one way to get rid of the pile of things in my new art studio, but it would involve giving him access to the house. I wasn’t keen on the idea, and I had a feeling that Caligo would be even less enthusiastic—which, with Laura here, was a touch-paper I wasn’t prepared to light. “You were given time to pack. You should have taken it then.”

Tyler’s face turned red and his fingers curled into fists. “I had a fucking monster breathing down my neck. A monster that had just taken great pleasure in knocking me around a bit. A fucking beast with glowing red eyes and horns that wanted me dead. If I’d known you were into satanic rituals—”

I laughed. “Oh, please. No one’s been performing satanic rituals. Least of all me. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“So he just turned up one day, did he?”