But that was easy. She'd call Aphrodite. No matter what tragedies were going on in the world, Aphrodite would have her pointy little nose in the middle of everything, especially since it had to do with Zoey.

So Stevie Rae's next step in her Save Z Plan was already figured out, leaving her mind wide open to think about Rephaim.

Resetting that dang wing had been awful. She still felt the phantom ache of it all through her right shoulder and her back. Even after she'd found the jar of numbing lidocaine and spread that all down his wing and his messed-up arm, she could still feel the deep, sick pain of its brokenness. Rephaim hadn't said one word during the entire ordeal. He'd turned his head away from her, and right before she touched his wing, he'd said, "Would you do that talking thing you do while you bandage it?"

"Just exactly what talkin' thing do you mean?" she'd asked.

He'd glanced over his shoulder, and she could have sworn there was a smile in his eyes. "You talk. A lot. So go ahead and do it. It'll give me something more annoying to think about than the pain."

She'd harrumphed at him, but he'd made her smile. And she did talk to him the entire time she'd cleaned, bandaged, and reset his badly broken wing. Actually, she'd babbled in big bursts of verbal diarrhea, saying nothing and everything as she rode the tide of pain with him. When she was finally done, he'd followed her, slowly, silently, back to the abandoned mansion, and she'd tried to make the closet more comfortable by stuffing in blankets she'd grabbed from the museum's staff lounge.

"You need to go. Don't worry about this." He'd taken the last blanket from her and then practically collapsed into the closet.

"Look, I put the sack of food right here. It's stuff that won't go bad. And remember to drink lots of the water and juice. Hydrating's good," she'd said, feeling suddenly worried about leaving him looking so weak and tired.

"I will. Go."

"Fine. Yeah. I'm going. I'll try to get back here tomorrow, though."

He'd nodded wearily.

"All right. 'Kay. I'm outta here."

She'd turned to go when he said, "You should talk to your mother."

She'd stopped like she'd run into a John Deere. "Why in the world would you say somethin' 'bout my mama?"

He'd blinked at her a couple times like she'd confused him, paused, and finally answered with: "You talked about her while you bandaged my wing. You don't remember?"

"No. Yes. I guess I wasn't really paying attention to the stuff I was sayin'." She'd automatically rubbed her own right arm. "I mostly just moved my mouth while I hurried to get the job done."

"I listened to you instead of the pain."

"Oh." Stevie Rae hadn't known what to say.

"You said she believes you are dead. I just . . ." He trailed off, seeming as confused as if he were trying to decipher an unfamiliar language. "I just thought you should tell her you live. She would want to know, wouldn't she?"

"Yes."

They'd stared at each other until she'd finally made her mouth say, "Bye, and don't forget to eat."

Then she'd practically run out of the museum.

"Why in the heck did it freak me out so bad that he mentioned my mama?" Stevie Rae asked herself aloud.

She knew the answer, and - no - she didn't want to say it aloud. He cared about what she'd said to him; he cared that she missed her mama. As she parked at the House of Night and got out of Zoey's car,

she admitted to herself that it wasn't really his caring that had freaked her out. It was how his concern made her feel. She'd been glad he cared, and Stevie Rae knew it was dangerous to be glad that a monster cared about her.

"There you are! It's about time you got back." Dallas practically popped out of the bushes at her.

"Dallas! I swear to the Goddess herself that I'm gonna knock the living crap right outta you if you don't stop scaring me."

"Hit me later. Right now you need to get up to the Council Chamber 'cause Lenobia is not happy that you took off."

Stevie Rae sighed and followed Dallas upstairs to the room across from the library that the school used as their Council Chamber. She hurried in, and then hesitated at the doorway. The tension in the air was so thick it was almost visible. The table was big and round, so it should have brought people together.

Not that day. That day the table seemed more like a middle-school cafeteria with its separate and very hateful cliques.