But Jack didn’t even look at the ticket. He was looking straight at me. “Don’t use Mom guilt on me, Scarbo. What’s going on?” he said. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of me? Are you and I…not okay?”

Shit, shit, shit. I checked my watch: 5:10. It was rush hour in LA, and I had less than an hour before Jesse would come for me. If I wasn’t there, he’d probably swear out an arrest warrant. I sighed and made eye contact with Molly. “I need to use the restroom.” She nodded at me.

“Uh, okay…” Jack said, confusion still in his voice.

I got up and trudged toward the hallway. When I felt Molly leave my radius, I went a few steps farther and turned to watch them, keeping tight against the wall. Guilt folded my stomach in on itself. Molly was smiling at Jack, her face suddenly radiant, her hair brighter. Even her clothes seemed to perk up when she became vampire. She reached across the table and took Jack’s hand, forcing eye contact. I couldn’t see his face from that angle, but he didn’t pull away.

“Jack,” Molly began, still smiling. “You’re going to go to Scotland for Christmas.”

“Yes.”

Molly didn’t seem to be doing anything special, at least not from where I was, but I’d never heard Jack’s voice so empty of life. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but I couldn’t look away. I had caused this. I owed it to Jack not to hide from it.

“You’re excited to see Rhys, who is your mother’s favorite cousin.”

“Yes.”

“You’re grateful to Scarlett for setting all this up, as a Christmas present.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not at all suspicious or worried about the trip. Are you?”

“No.”

With one last smile, Molly let go of his hand and looked over to me. She nodded. I brushed tears away with my sleeves and went back to my spot near the window. Molly readjusted to mortality.

“Hey, Scarbo,” Jack said cheerfully. “Thank you, again, for setting all this up. This is the coolest Christmas present ever!”

“No problem,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“Oh, hey, since I’ll be gone next week, let me go grab your present,” he said, racing off toward the bedroom.

I felt Molly’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at her. “I just did what you asked,” she said quietly.

“I know. Thank you.” I heard her sigh. “What about you, Molls?”

“Me? I’ll be just fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t start with me, Scarlett.”

“This is the second time this year you’ve had to leave town because of who I am.”

“Oh, please. The self-blaming thing is boring. Besides, I’ll be having a great time. I’m going—”

“Don’t tell me where you’re going,” I said, too sharply.

“Right.” She didn’t falter. “Just do me a favor and kill that disgraceful bitch. For all of us.”

When we left Jack’s, I was wearing his present—a deep-green scarf, chosen to set off my eyes (“I just asked the saleslady to match it to mine,” Jack had said, blushing again)—and Jack was calling a cab to take him to the airport. I would have liked to march him right up to the security screening—hell, I wanted to close the door of the plane myself—but he promised to text when he had boarded, which would have to be good enough. I broke about twelve traffic regulations on the way home and made it to the house at 5:57. Molly made for the staircase, up to her room to pack. After a moment of thought, I went up after her and knocked on her doorframe.

“Hey, Molls, can you do one more thing for me?”

She looked up from an expensive-looking leather duffel bag. “What’s that?”

“Can you call Dashiell, fill him in on Olivia and the party tonight? Just so he’s updated?” Kirsten would never let vampires actually attend the party, but he’d want to know what we were doing.

A smile spread across her face. “Already done.”

Sometimes it can be useful, living with a spy.

Without really thinking, I stepped forward into her room and wrapped my arms around her slender frame. “Thanks,” I said into her hair.

Surprised, she hugged me back. “You’re welcome.”

We managed to avoid the whole when-to-pull-away issue, because the doorbell rang. I trotted down the stairs. Remembering my idiocy from the day before, I focused on my radius for a moment before opening it, but there was nothing Old World nearby. I checked the peephole anyway, and then let Jesse inside.

“Oh, good, you’re ready to go,” he said, eyeing my jacket and scarf. I did the classic look-down-at-what-you’re-wearing double take. “Uh…I guess so,” I said doubtfully. Then I saw a smear of ash on my jeans leg. “Wait, just a second.”

I trotted up the stairs, hearing Molly exchange a few pleasantries with Jesse as I went, and burst into the room. What do you wear to a witch’s party? Not red or green, because it wasn’t Christmas oriented, and probably not a dress, in case I had to run toward or away from something. Someone. I pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Clothes, I reminded myself. The problem at hand was clothes.

After Olivia died I had mercilessly thrown out all of the clothes she’d bought me, all those brand-name dresses from Nordstrom and the fancy heels she’d taught me to walk in. I wasn’t anyone’s fucking puppet anymore. But that meant my wardrobe pretty much consisted of what I’d worn in high school, a supplement of jeans and T-shirts I’d chosen for comfort, and whatever Molly had forced me to buy via her famous excessive-whining torture method. I finally settled on clean jeans, silver flats, and a lightweight black V-neck sweater. Witches always appreciate black, right?