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of Mary the Prophetess . I recognize some from Cyrus’s own collection, though these copies have Berkeley library stickers on them. I look past them to the sketchbook and almost gasp at what Noah was drawing—two people standing at the top points of a downward-pointing triangle, silver cords curving out from their navels toward strange symbols in the air. The cord connecting body and soul, the bond that the elixir is designed to destroy.
    My god. I hadn’t realized how much Cyrus taught Noah before he vanished. He was clearly grooming Noah for the coven. I’m not surprised—Cyrus loves intelligence and beauty. He especially loves those who are lost and confused, those he can rescue and brainwash and turn into his loyal followers. Noah is all of those things—although Cyruswould have never accepted Noah if he’d known I’d loved him.
    I want to reach out and grab Noah, keep him safe from Cyrus forever. But all I say is “How’s that?”
    Noah rises and studies himself in the mirror on the inside of his closet door. “Bravo. Should we go?”
    He leads me back downstairs, where Mr. Vander is passed out on the leather chair. I’m surprised, considering how alert he seemed only a few minutes before, but Noah barely gives him a second glance. Harker whimpers when Noah opens the front door. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ll be back later,” Noah says quietly. Harker settles down to wait, and I have the feeling he’ll still be right there when Noah gets home.
    We drive to downtown Oakland, toward Lake Merritt. It’s hard to be in this area without thinking of Cyrus—he staged his death so close to here—but I try to brush those thoughts away. I’m with the boy I love tonight. Noah sees me looking out the window and must sense my trepidation. “I swear I’m not taking you here because of Mr. Shaw.”
    “I didn’t say anything,” I counter softly. “Besides, it’s okay if you want to talk about him. I . . . I know he was important to you.” I realize that more now than ever.
    The restaurant is at the end of a long pier that extends over the lake. From the outside, it looks like a cottage outof Grimm’s Fairy Tales , with its river-stone walls and alpine beams. The interior glows with hundreds of strands of Christmas lights, criss-crossing the ceiling in a hopelessly tangled web. Metal sconces light the way to our table, which sits next to a large window. Outside, the water ripples underneath the nearly full moon.
    “I love it,” I tell him. It feels like we’re on a boat.
    The waitress brings us mint tea in delicate porcelain cups. “I had a feeling this was your kind of place,” says Noah.
    The air is redolent with cardamom and nutmeg. I sink back into my chair, holding my teacup in a decidedly unladylike fashion, fingers of both hands wrapped around its smooth surface to soak up the warmth.
    “What should we order?” asks Noah, holding up his menu.
    “You pick.” I’m so happy to be in this magical place. I can almost believe in safety again.
    “What if I pick lamb brains?” he asks.
    I’ve eaten those before, simmered in butter and garlic. I’ve lived all over the world and eaten meals that would probably terrify Noah. “Yum” is all I say, then, “Wait. Do they have that?”
    “No,” he replies. “Lucky for you.”
    “Don’t hold back on my account.” I scan the menu, and a thought occurs to me. “Wait, Noah, this place is expensive.How are you paying for this?” Cyrus had extravagant tastes and bottomless wealth, but Noah’s family certainly isn’t rich.
    “You’re not supposed to ask that, Kailey!” he protests. “It’s a date. I’m a man of means.” I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, I shot some photos for the restaurant last summer. They’re using it in a brochure or something. My dad knows the owner and hooked me up with the gig. Anyway, it’s taken care of.”
    I’ve been observing humans for a very long time, and I don’t miss the fleeting shadow that moves across