The next few days seemed normal. Gradually they began to get used to the link. It was hard living with an echo chamber in their heads but gradually they learned to tune it out.

Tatiana kept to herself mostly. Her thoughts were the hardest to read. She knew the ins and outs of the link more than any of them, knew how to best shelter her thoughts from the rest of them. But her hatred for Julian was palpable.

But Julian was used to hatred. He had long since resigned himself to the fact that he would never belong in Midwich, so Tatiana's hatred didn't bother him. What he was concerned about were the yellow notes his brother had received from school.

He looked over the notes and turned to his brother, who stared at him, dark eyes wide. "Please don't be made at me, Julian. I tried to be good."

"I know you did," Julian said. He knew Jake didn't really mean to get into trouble; he just seemed to have a natural affinity for attracting it. The real problem was the school; it was obvious that first grade wasn't advanced enough for his brother, yet no one seemed to care.

He sighed as he reread the notes. Just his luck, Mom would have to be away working at a time like this, not that she'd be much help in situations like these. Last time she had to come to talk to one of his teachers, it ended in a screaming/crying match. He loved his mom but she wasn't very good at being a grownup.

He bent down to Jake's height. "Tell you what: I'll sign the notes for you. We'll keep it between you and me. Mom won't have to know about this, okay?"

Jake nodded. Julian took a pen, dashed off his mom's loopy signature, and handed the notes back to him. "Now, promise me, you'll stay out of trouble. Just be quiet, keep your head down, and stay out of the way of the bullies."

"I will," Jake said. He had always been a strange, solemn child, wise beyond his years. His mom often said that being a baby offended his dignity.

Julian prepared macaroni for the two of them, saving a little extra in case their mother came home and wanted something to eat, then packed Jake off for bed. He spent the rest of the evening pouring over the Grimoire. The enemy was back and he needed to be ready.

Tatiana pounded at the punching bag, still reeling from her humiliation at the hands of those kids. Those kids…those damn…damn kids… Now that they knew she wasn't superhuman, she'd lost what power she had over them. But she wasn't finished yet.

The thought occurred to her—she could simply let a daemon finish them off, then collect the crystals herself, but she could not, would not allow that to happen. She had vowed "No more deaths," and dammit! She was going to keep that promise even if she had to pry those crystals from them herself.

It was the Daniels boy that worried her the most. Sure Hayden and Marcus might succumb to some sort of mischief, but their evil would be no worse than the ordinary evil of teenage boys. Julian…on the other hand, had the potential for so much more. She'd better watch him closely.

There was one important piece of information she possessed: she knew who his mother really was. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't already guessed for himself, but those closest to someone are often the last to know. She wondered if she should tell him, but decided not to; she didn't need to give him any encouragement to cast his lot with the other side.

She turned as she heard the electric whirr of her father's wheelchair. She grabbed a towel and whipped off her sweat. "What is it?"

"Philip Thames is here. He wants to see you."

"Why didn't you send him away?"

"Because I'm your father, not your bouncer, Tatiana. Besides he really wants to talk to you. He's in the parlor."

She sighed. She had been trying to avoid Philip all week but she guessed it was time she bit the bullet and talked to him. "All right, I guess I'll see him." She started down the hall but Mr. Wyrek stopped her. "Before you go anywhere, let me just say, I know what you're up to. I won't try to stop you but please be careful. I've already buried two children; I don't want to lose a third."

"I will, Papa."

Philip waited for her. As soon as she saw him, her cheeks grew warm. The blood certainly ran hot in that family. "Hi," she said, feeling like the gawky, ugly teenager she had been when she last saw him, all those years ago, at the funeral.

If he was mad at her for avoiding her, he didn't show it. As she looked at him, her eyes welled with tears. God, he looked so much like his brother, or rather his late brother looked much like him: Philip was the elder by two years.

"Are you okay?" she heard him ask.

"I'm fine," she said, "just my allergies acting up." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Look," he said, "how about we go somewhere else to discuss this. I know a great Italian place."

"Sure," she said. Dear Gods what have I gotten myself into? The thought slipped through the link before she had a chance to block it.