"Hope?"

Her friend stopped. It was a moment before she turned. The moon had slid behind wisps of cloud, leaving Hope's face shadowed, her expression unreadable. It was another moment before she spoke.

"You said Adele can find you anywhere."

Robyn nodded.

"I'm making sure she doesn't."

Hope resumed walking. Robyn trudged behind her, the late-night dew soaking her shoes. Exhaustion slumped her shoulders, the injured one aching. The adrenaline rush from earlier was long gone. Like a midafternoon caffeine-and-sugar-crash, all she wanted to do was follow Hope, let her worry about Adele and find them someplace safe to hide, and to hell with the questions, the whys and hows. But those questions buzzed in her brain like bees, stinging her every time she tried to ignore them.

How did taking this route protect her from Adele? The field was empty – all Adele had to do was glance out when the moon reappeared and she'd see them.

She remembered when they'd first entered the forest, the man saying it was "suitably nondescript" and would keep Adele from finding them.

"She can see me, can't she? She's... like one of those psychics the police use to find people." Even as Robyn heard the words, she couldn't believe she was saying them, and worse, saying them as if she believed them.

"Adele sees me," she pressed on. "She sees what's around me and that's how she tracks me down. If there aren't any hints in the landscape – "

" – then she can't find you."

There, Hope had admitted it.

They traveled another twenty feet before Hope stopped. "Going to the car might not be the wisest idea. Something tells me Adele wouldn't hesitate to turn the parking lot into the O.K. Corral." She took the gun from her waistband.

"We'll wait for Karl to come. He'll find us."

Of course he would. He always did. An unnatural ability to find them anyplace they left a trail. Like a tracking dog.

She shivered and looked over at Hope. She was scanning the field. At a glance, Robyn could see there was no one around, but Hope kept looking, slowly turning. Robyn leaned toward her to say something. Hope's eyes were closed.

"Hope?"

She lifted a finger, telling her to wait. After a few seconds, Hope flinched and went rigid. Her eyes flew open, gaze swinging to something white in the grass a dozen feet away.

Robyn walked closer and saw a small, white cross with a faded plastic wreath. "Someone must have died here."

"Yes." Firm, as if Hope knew that for sure.

Robyn rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, started to sit, then felt the cold, wet grass and changed her mind.

Arms wrapped around her chest, she looked at the forest.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know. You said that guy seemed to know Adele and know she was after you, but he definitely wasn't planning to rescue you, at least not in the sense of letting you walk away – "

"That's not what I meant."

The wail of an ambulance filled the silence. They both turned to follow the sound. It seemed to be heading for the fair, but with all the flashing lights, it was impossible to tell. After a moment, Robyn wasn't even sure it was an ambulance at all, not just the sirens on a ride.

When it stopped, Robyn waited. Still Hope didn't respond.

"That's not what I meant," Robyn repeated.

Hope nodded. And said nothing. At least thirty seconds passed before she looked over.

"What did you mean?" she asked.

Robyn blanched under that look – a hard challenge that dared her to elaborate and maybe warned her not to, told her she was better off letting it go. Robyn knew it would be better to forget. Chalk it up to exhaustion and strain. Hope was offering her an easy way out. A safe way out. But nothing in Robyn's nature would let her take it.

"Tonight I saw my best friend pull a gun I never knew she had, and know how to use it. A man threw me like a rag doll, then I watched another man do the same to him. I heard a man talk about demons and witches and werewolves like I knew what he meant, like he was discussing something as undeniable as the trees around us. And I know that man is now lying in the woods, beaten to death by a guy I thought wouldn't know how to throw a punch."

"Did you see a body?"

"No, but – "

"Yes, Karl beat the crap out of him. That's all. Now he's checking his ID to see why he was following you, then he's getting himself clean enough to walk out here. Yes, Karl knows how to fight. That story I told you about him being in security? A lie. Any security Karl did was from the wrong side of the law. That's all in the past, but he has a reputation and he has enemies and he knows that at any time he might need to protect himself, so he keeps in shape. As for the talk of were-wolves and demons and witches? Someone is off his meds."

In the world of public relations, there are two kinds of spin. One is the totally plausible alternative explanation, like

"Yes, my client was arrested for DUI, but the reports show she was barely over the limit so she must have picked up the wrong drink at the party." The bigger and more convoluted the problem, the harder it is to find a perfect excuse. In that case, publicists have to settle for the second type, the kind that says "I know it's far-fetched, but work with me on this one, okay?" like explaining that yes, your client blew double the legal limit, smashed into a Victoria's Secret window, stripped to her underwear and posed for pictures, but she must have picked up the wrong drink and it reacted badly with her cold medication.

Hope's explanation fell squarely under type two.

"I want to know the truth," Robyn said.

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do." The bite in her words hid the undertone of hurt. "I'm your friend. Of course I want to know – "

"Then, as a friend, I'd suggest you spend a little more time thinking about it. Decide whether you really want to know more. As a friend, I'd suggest maybe you don't."

HOPE

Robyn didn't ask any more questions after that. She didn't get a chance.

First Hope had to deal with the problem of getting Karl, unnoticed, through the stream of exiting fairgoers. He'd taken the T-shirt from the mutt – Gilchrist – and put it on backward to hide the blood on the front, then topped it with his jacket. To anyone drawing near, the skintight shirt riding up his abs clearly wasn't his. It might not have looked out of place on any of the strutting teens surrounding them, but when worn by an impeccably groomed guy Karl's age, it was noticeable. It didn't help that every time he so much as twitched his lips, the split reopened, trickling blood. Hope had Karl and Robyn wait in the shadow of a closed convenience store as she retrieved the car.