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to think about it anymore. It wasn’t until Quinn mentioned it that it all came bubbling back up to the surface.
    “Yes,” she said simply, but she looked away. She was ashamed of the letter now and desperately wished she hadn’t sent it.
    “Well, I’m sure the police haven’t forgotten,” Quinn said. “If we’re supposed to get information on the real killer, it’s the only clue they have.”
    “No,” she said.
    “Kate, what choice do we have? Tim wants us to find the real killer. Well, you invented one for the police. Why not use that?”
    She shook her head.
    “Don’t you get it?” she asked. Her words came out much harsher than she meant them.
    “Get what?”
    “The letter… it’s only going to make Summer look right. She said someone was working with Lord Halloween and…”
    “Okay,” Quinn said and sighed. “I get it.”
    It wasn’t the response Kate had expected.
    “Now I’m lost,” she said.
    “That’s why you’re so angry, isn’t it?” he said. “It isn’t that we got scooped on our own damn story. It’s that Summer Mandaville accused us of being in league with Lord Halloween—of being his partner.”
    She opened her mouth to deliver a retort before she stopped herself. The dangerous part of being so intimately connected with someone was that you couldn’t dismiss anything they said anymore. She couldn’t say, “Well, you just don’t understand.” The problem was that Quinn did understand her. Apparently better than she did herself.
    She looked out at the parking lot. She hated April. Indeed, she now hated all months except October. Being the Prince of Sanheim was exhilarating, liberating. She had never felt more powerful or free. But when that power was gone… It was like seeing the sun and then having to live the rest of your days in the shadows. She should be grateful to have some sense of normalcy, but she wasn’t. She had been part of the Prince of Sanheim for only a brief time, but there had been no doubts, no fears. Now fear and doubt were all that was left.
    “You’re right,” she said softly, and looked at him again. She was still ashamed, but he would love her anyway. Forever. She took some comfort in that.
    “It’s stupid, though, Kate,” he said. “We stopped him. We’re the good guys.”
    “Are we?” she asked. “I wonder about that. And don’t tell me that you don’t too.”
     “Maybe, but we don’t have time for regrets,” Quinn said. “We’re in a box and we need to find a way out. Your letter—even if you regret sending it—will allow us one.”
    “So what’s the plan? Publish it and hope they don’t notice we wrote it in the first place?” Kate asked.
    Quinn smiled.
    “Come on,” he said. “We can do better than that. The police will be in such a hurry to prove Lord Halloween is dead, if we ask the right questions, we can weasel the existence of the letter out of them. After that… we can ‘obtain’ a copy. Who knows? They may be so desperate, they actually give us a copy of our own letter.”
    “And what then, Quinn? Ask people in town if they’ve seen the Headless Horseman lately?”
    She said it as a joke, but the look on his face was deadly serious.
    “Why not?” he asked. “I know at least a couple already and there are bound to be others that saw me racing by that night. Let’s tell people that there is a new player in town—and it’s not Lord Halloween. Your letter was quite clear that the innocent don’t need to fear us. That doesn’t sound like Lord Halloween to me.”
    Some part of her still insisted it was a bad idea, but she had to admit she was warming to the notion.
    “Spread the legend,” she said, and she smiled in spite of herself.
    “Exactly,” he said. “And when next Halloween comes around…”
    “Make a few guest appearances?” she said.
    “There’s already buzz out there,” he said. “It’s quiet now, but I’ve seen a few mentions on Internet forums. All we need to do is give them