“The Dakotas would be cool,” said Cassandra.

“Cool? Check a map,” Andie snapped. “They’re square states. Square states are boring.”

Aidan laughed. “People go on vacation to the Dakotas all the time. My parents went there for one of their anniversaries or something.”

Cassandra prodded him in the ribs. “You’re not helping.”

The fire in the pit nearest them started to flicker and Cassandra checked her watch. Eleven. Not that late, but late enough. They probably wouldn’t put any more logs on and just let the flames weaken down to embers. After that, someone would haul a bucket down to the creek and wash out the pits, leaving a sizzling charcoal soup to soak into the ground by morning.

“You ass**le!”

Twenty heads lifted and twisted toward the sudden shout. Someone yelled back. It took less than a minute for whatever it was to escalate from words into roars and squeals. Cassandra, Aidan, and Andie rose to their feet to try to rubberneck. As the scene came into view the music seemed suddenly quieter, the acoustic equivalent of tunnel vision, or maybe someone had actually turned it down to hear the fight better. Only the tops of heads were visible, and the view worsened as a crowd gathered. Andie bobbed and weaved; at one point she jumped.

“It’s Casey,” she announced. “And Matt.” Casey was a friend of theirs, a forward on Andie’s hockey team. Matt was a junior, the backup goalie for varsity. They’d been dating about a month. A few choice swear words hit the air, and a flurry of mingled, screeched accusations. There was more than one girl involved, by the sound of it.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Cassandra said. Andie shrugged.

“Misty Walker has been sniffing around Matt since that weirdo from Buffalo dumped her. Someone’s trying to break it up.” She craned her neck. “I think it’s your brother.”

“Henry?” Cassandra peered toward the fight. There he was, in the middle of it, about a head taller than everyone else. “I didn’t even know he was here.”

“Well, there he is. Playing team manager, as usual.” Andie squared her shoulders. “I suppose I should help. Captains have to set an example, and all that crap.” She twisted her way through the people and joined the fray, her hands on Casey’s shoulders to push her back. A few friends of Misty Walker’s snarled at their heels, but a raised index finger from Andie put their tails well between their legs.

“You about ready to go?” Aidan asked.

“As soon as Andie’s done playing captain.”

The fight looked to be over as quickly as it began. No one was shouting anymore and Matt was clearly trying to explain the situation to Henry; he looked embarrassed and ashamed, head low, feet scuffing the dirt. Casey’s face was red with fury and firelight, and Cassandra frowned. When the anger faded, all Casey’s toughness would fade with it. She’d spend the rest of the weekend thinking about Misty and Matt and what she would have to say at school on Monday.

“Is it weird that this never happens to us?” Cassandra asked, still leaning back on Aidan’s chest.

“That we never pull each other’s hair out at campfires?”

“No.” She smiled. He knew what she meant. No girl had ever “come sniffing” around Aidan. No one had ever tried to entice him away. Even though he was far better-looking than Matt Bauer. “You know what I mean. No one even flirts with you.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Well, they don’t flirt with feeling.” She turned and saw his face, amused and blinking, feigning innocence. It was probably the one expression his features couldn’t hold.

“They must know it’d be a waste,” he said. “We’ve got some very smart girls in Kincade.” He smiled and she pushed her fingers into his hair. “Hang on, is this your way of hinting that some guy is flirting with you?” He slid his hands underneath her jacket, warm fingers pressed around her waist to the curve of her back. “Because I guess that would mean … I’d have to flay him. It’d be pretty grisly. I’d probably go to prison.”

“Probably?”

He grinned. Blood coated his teeth.

“Aidan? I think you bit your lip.”

“What?”

“I—” Cassandra stopped. It wasn’t just his lip. Blood seeped up into his eyes. Glimpses of his tongue as he spoke words she couldn’t hear looked cracked, split open, wet and red. Pinpricks stood out on his cheeks and forehead, tearing the skin as she watched. Something pressed through as she looked closer, frozen in horror as his face degraded right in front of her. Feathers. White, and speckled brown. After they wriggled free they fluttered to the ground, leaving bleeding gashes behind, all over his body. He was a monster, holding her shoulders, his sliced-open lips mouthing her name.