“Had he changed clothes? Taken his phone? Made coffee?”

“None of the above. From what she could tell, he just disappeared in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll go talk to her tomorrow and to the families of the other two.”

“There’s a fourth,” Cookie said, surprising us.

“What do you mean, hon?” Ubie asked her. Hon. So cute. And kind of disturbing.

“Right here.” She retrieved some papers she’d brought over earlier. I hadn’t paid attention, but she’d certainly piqued my interest now. “Okay, according to a news article from The Los Angeles Times, a woman named Phoebe Durant went missing about two months ago. She left a suicide note saying she was going to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, but she left everything behind: her purse, phone, car keys, the car itself. And there was a sign of what the LAPD said looked like a struggle, but they couldn’t be certain. A cup was broken in her bathroom, and a few scuff marks marred the walls. They said it could have been shoe prints of someone being taken against their will, but it could also have been just general wear and tear.”

She handed us the article.

“Look at the note,” she said, pointing to a scanned copy of the suicide note. “The handwriting matches the woman’s, but —”

“The words,” I said, reading the note. “How many people use the word glorious in their suicide notes?”

“Exactly.”

“Nice catch,” Uncle Bob said to Cook.

She smiled shyly.

“How did you get this?” I asked her, holding up the copy of the note.

“A very nice young man in Records sent it to me. I had to promise to look him up if I was ever in the City of Angels.” She winked to Uncle Bob. “He liked my voice.”

“Mom,” Amber said, utterly appalled. “You used your feminine wiles on a man you don’t even know.”

Cookie smiled. “That’s what they’re for, honey. Eat your salad.”

Amber crinkled her nose as Garrett, a skiptracer who’d been to hell and back, and Osh, a slave who’d escaped from said hell, both laughed behind a façade of soft coughs.

Gawd, my life was strange.

After Cookie, Amber, and Ubie left, I asked Osh if we should change his duct tape. Which sounded odd even to me.

“The duct tape doesn’t get changed until I’m healed,” he said. “Do you know what it feels like to peel duct tape off an open wound?”

I winced. I couldn’t imagine, and, oddly enough, I didn’t want to try. “So, you’ll just know when it’s time?”

He took the recliner that time, and Garrett took Sophie.

“I will,” he said, settling into the plush chair.

“Do you need anything?” I asked Garrett.

“A foot rub would be nice.”

I threw a pillow at him instead. It was a throw pillow, after all. He stuffed it behind his head and closed his lids, a smile playing about his mouth. I couldn’t fathom what he had to smile about. Since meeting me, his life had been turned upside down. I was like a small but devastating plague upon humanity. It was weird.

9

See owner for mounting instructions.

— NOVELTY UNDERWEAR

After giving Mr. Wong a kiss on the cheek – or, well, his jaw just under his earlobe because that was all I could reach, with his nose being in the corner and all – I slipped into bed beside Reyes. I didn’t want to wake him while he was in stasis, a state that resembled a well-deserved coma. And I certainly didn’t want to jostle him. His back and shoulder had been through enough. As he showered with Osh and Garrett’s help, I could hardly look on. The Twelve beasts of hell were there for me, and I was the only one to leave that building relatively unscathed.

I lay there a long time, unable to sleep, letting Reyes’s heat wash over and warm me. Having him around sure saved on the heating bill at night. But the more I lay there, the more terrified I became. It was no longer about me. I rubbed my abdomen thoughtfully. Perhaps it was never about me. According to the prophecies, I was simply the vessel that brought in the true heroine of our story: Beep.

Clearly she needed a better name. He**ines, those who saved the world from evil, deserved great names. I’d have to think on it, but she would forever be Beep to me.

And the world needed her. I hadn’t died today. I had bought another few hours of life, postponed Rocket’s prediction of my demise. Technically, he’d never been wrong, so if I could just stay alive long enough to bring her into this world, I could die happy.

I looked at Reyes’s profile. He’d thrown an arm – the good one – over his forehead, just as Osh had. I wondered if it was a demon thing.

“You’re so serious,” Reyes said, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

I leaned onto an elbow in alarm. “Reyes.” I wanted to hug his neck but didn’t dare risk hurting him. I leaned toward my nightstand and got the bottle of water I’d brought in earlier. “It’s warm now. I can get a cold one out of the fridge.”

“This is fine,” he said, taking a sip before handing it back to me.

“How are you?”

“Peachy.”

“I need to tell Osh you’re awake.”

He looked toward the living room. “He went into stasis the moment I came out,” he said. “He’ll be fine by morning.”

“So that’s how you do it?” I asked him. “That’s how you heal so much faster than I do? You go into some kind of deep healing state like a monk? Or a ninja?”