Olivia and I slogged into the Oliversens’ house at ten that evening. We’d spent all day working with Ellis and Jacky to make sure that everything was ready for the next day. We were exhausted, and we hadn’t had anything to eat since the coffee shop. The only debate between us was whether we would stagger our way up to bed immediately, or stagger over to the kitchen first.

Well…it was the only “debate.” Everything else probably qualified as the unrestrained expression of our personal perspectives.

“My god, you are so whiny,” Olivia said as she closed the door behind us.

“Sure,” I grumbled. “You don’t care. You’ve seen at least a dozen Besom Days Festivals.”

We heard a voice call from the sitting room, “Pumpkin? Is that you?”

Olivia started taking off her boots. “Yes, Daddy.”

I was fumbling around with my frozen laces, but I still managed to give Olivia my most annoying grin. “Are you the only one around here that’s ‘pumpkin?’”

“It’s because of my hair,” she said. “It used to be more orange.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I will hex you.”

Rall came to my rescue.

“You have a visitor,” he called.

Olivia and I glanced at each other, but neither of us knew who it could be. We finished taking off our shoes and made our way over to the sitting room.

Autumn Langley and Rall Axton were sitting next to each other on the sofa. On the coffee table in front of them were two empty mugs and a few photo albums.

As Olivia and I came in, Rall stood up so he could claim a hug from his daughter.

“You’re frozen,” he observed. “Is it snowing out there?”

She made a face. “It’s light. It won’t stick.”

“I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

“Is there anything to eat?”

“I dare say I could rustle something up. What about you, Emerra? Would you like something?”

I pointed to the albums. “Are those Olivia’s baby pictures?”

Rall’s mustache had to do a lot of bending to make room for his wide smile. “Of course!”

“Can I see them?”

Rall took one look at Olivia’s face, which was displaying her silent outrage, and elected to make a strategic retreat. “Maybe later.”

What could I do? I was already under hex-threat.

Rall said, “You two sit down and relax. Where’s Mr. Noctis?”

Olivia hesitated, then said, “He stayed behind.”

Since Jacky didn’t need sleep (the lucky punk), he’d offered to stay and watch ARC Hall.

Rall considered his daughter’s answer for a moment, then nodded once, accepting yet another unknown in a life full of uncertainty. “Is there any word on when your mother will make it home?”

Olivia’s face softened. “Not yet. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Never mind.” He patted her shoulder. “You’d better say hello to poor Miss Langley. She’s been stuck with me the entire time.” He wandered out into the hall.

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Olivia collapsed into an armchair, while I stole Rall’s spot on the sofa—the one tantalizingly close to the forbidden albums.

“I’m sorry if he kept you here,” Olivia grumbled.

Delight shone from Autumn’s face. “Not at all. Your father is a joy to talk to.”

Olivia’s cheeks turned faintly pink. If she had any suspicions about who they’d been talking about, she chose not to mention it.

Autumn went on, “I came by to talk to you, and your father insisted I could wait with him.”

“Did you learn something?” I asked.

Autumn’s smile faded. “I heard something today. I don’t know if it’s important.” She looked at Olivia. “A man’s been asking about you.”

“A stranger?” Olivia said.

“He’s not a local. No one knew him. Tracy Thatcher told me that she was chatting to a man in the shop, gossiping about the festival. When she mentioned Ellis Oliversen, he said he’d met you—”

“And she started gossiping about me,” Olivia said.

Tracy Thatcher must have had quite the reputation as a talker.

“He asked her a bunch of questions,” Autumn said. “That’s why she came to me. She got curious, and she knew I knew you.”

“Did she tell you what he looked like?” I asked.

Autumn shook her head.

“Height?” As I prompted her, she continued shaking her head. “Hair color? Possibility he’s descended from a Greek god and a fashion model?”

That last one made her look at me funny.

Olivia explained, “She means did Tracy mention if he was handsome.”

Autumn raised a finger and bounced it against the air. “That one. She mentioned he was handsome.”

My eyes met Olivia’s.

“Do you know who it was?” Autumn asked.

“We might,” I said.

“But this is Craftborough,” Olivia added. “We have a lot more women around here than men. Most male strangers would be considered handsome.”

“Is this guy going to be a problem?” Autumn asked.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of it.”

Autumn’s lips tightened and she looked away. When she raised her head again, she said, “Is there any news?”

My heart sank. Olivia frowned.

News? As in, actual facts? Something reliable that you could depend on? Ha! Wouldn’t that be nice?

But I wasn’t about to say something like that to Autumn. The softness of her voice had betrayed how exhausted her hope was.

“Kirby’s still alive,” Olivia assured her. “We’ve got some ideas. And a plan. But we don’t know how it’ll pan out.”

“The plan,” Autumn said, “is it dangerous?”

Olivia tried for a dismissive and light tone: “No. Not—no. It’ll be fine.”

If there hadn’t been that unfortunate half-second pause in the middle of her answer, it might have been more convincing.

Autumn looked at me.

Count Darius Vasil has informed me, several times, that I’m a bad liar. I think that a vampire with super senses who works in law enforcement has an unfair advantage when it comes to snooping out falsehoods—but I knew I couldn’t lie to Autumn. Not when she looked that sad.

However, I could pick the truth I wanted to share.

I said, “Honestly, I’m a lot more afraid that nothing’s going to happen than that something’s going to happen to us.”

Autumn took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Is there anything you can tell me?”

Since Olivia had made it a habit to call Autumn every day, the only stuff she didn’t know was what we’d learned that day. We’d been sworn to secrecy about most of it.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia whispered. “I can’t.”

She looked as miserable as Autumn. She’d always hated secrets. It must have killed her to lock out someone she cared so much about.

“It’s all right, little ginger,” Autumn said. “I know you’re doing the best you can. You’re working with your mother?”

“Yes.”

Autumn let out a quiet breath of laughter, then looked Olivia right in the eyes. “Thank you.”

Olivia blushed again, and I smiled when I saw it.

“Is there anything I can do?” Autumn added.

Rall came back into the room with a tray bearing four mugs.

“No,” Olivia said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Autumn let out a grunt. “That’s the second time you’ve told me not to worry.”

When Rall heard that, he stopped where he was. “She told you not to worry?”

Autumn looked up at him and nodded.

Rall finished crossing over to the coffee table. I moved the cups and albums to clear a space.

“Olivia,” he said, “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia said as he put the tray down.

“Another tea, Miss Langley?” Rall asked. When she nodded, he passed her a cup. He passed me my mug of cocoa without bothering to ask if I wanted it because the man was no fool. Then he picked up the other cocoa, turned, and brought it over to his daughter. “Not everyone is powerful, Olivia, and not everyone gets to be the main hero. Maybe someday you’ll find yourself as the side character in somebody else’s story—then you’ll know. If we can’t do anything else, at least we can worry.” His voice rose with mock indignation. “Would you disrespect our role so much that you’d take even that from us?”

Jacky’s statement echoed in my head: I know how frustrating it is to not be able to help a friend—to have to sit there and do nothing...

When there’s nothing else you can do, maybe worrying counts as something.

Olivia glared up at her father, but there was a half-smile on her face. Then she reached out and took her cocoa. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Daddy.”

“Good.” Rall turned and went back for his own drink.

Olivia added, “After all, you’re so good at it.”

Rall sat down in the other armchair. “Well, I should be. I’ve had practice.”