Chapter Seventy

THE FIRST THING I NOTICE IS the smell of smoke. Which doesn’t make any sense. Guns don’t start fires.

Boom! A firework.

Crack! A gun goes off.

In a town already so loud that no one could possibly notice.

I’m pushed back against the stairs, with Mom over me.

“Leighton, are you hurt? Oh my God, Leighton,” Mom says, running her hands over me.

“No,” I say, turning. It’s just the house again.

The wall next to me is the wounded one. It’s been shot, and it’s bleeding.

Someone needs to help it.

“Shit,” he says. “Shit.”

He backs away from the stairs. He doesn’t even check the wall.

“Keys. Where are the keys?”

And then there is a familiar sound, feathers on air.

Joe flies into the living room through one of the open windows, landing on his shoulder.

I think of the Morrigan, predicting the fates of men.

“What the—” But before he can react, the crow moves, crossing to the coffee table, knocking the vase down, and it shatters against the floor. There are little blue marbles rolling everywhere. There are pennies and paper clips. The gifts left for Juniper. And in the middle of them, the keys to the truck, shining in the moonlight. Juniper must have hidden them inside. Another firework flares in the distance, and for a moment, everything is bright and clear and illuminated.

And then Joe’s claws close over the keys, and he takes off again through the open window.