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a lone freak. Derrick is a telepath and he doesn’t feel the need to unburden himself to a goblin therapist.
    When it’s my turn, I walk down the hallway that leads to Dr. Hinzelmann’s office. He looks up and smiles. His eyes are the color of maple syrup, with slit pupils. I sit on the couch, which I’ve come to think of as the divan of discontent, since contact with its cushions is usually a prelude to feeling bad for the next forty minutes.
    Dr. Hinzelmann opens a green folder. My green folder. All of his folders are color-coded, but I’ve never managed to crack his chromatic code. He glances down at it for a few seconds, then looks at me.
    “How are you?”
    This question is a trap waiting to be sprung. I’ve tried every conceivable answer, but none of them works. Inevitably, he ends up finding some crack in my resolve. There’s no such thing as feeling fine in this office. Fine means that you could be better. Fine means that you should consider letting go of your anger, and I can’t explain to him that my anger is what keeps me warm.
    “Fine,” I say.
    “Relaxed?”
    “Sure. I’ve been sleeping better.”
    “That’s good to hear.”
    Lying to him is useless. He sees through every confabulation as if it were made of tissue paper. His eyes scan me. If this were a psychic attack, I could raise a defense, but there’s no adequate ward against a PhD from Johns Hopkins. I feel like he knows my mind, like he’s seen hundreds of minds like mine, obscure and boring. My childish fracture points are as easily divinable to him as a connect-the-dots picture in a child’s coloring book. He smiles. He always smiles before he strikes.
    “Would you like some coffee?”
    “I already had some. Thanks, though.”
    “Really, I just like turning the dials on the machine.”
    I almost say,
That makes sense
, but it feels racist. Being a goblin doesn’t make him mechanically inclined. Or does it? I should have paid more attention in my demon anthropology classes. I should pay more attention in general. I can’t remember where Mia said she’d be today, even though she told me twice. I can’t remember whose turn it is to make supper. I could ask Derrick to bring home Sky Dragon, but lately he’s had this weird issue with the chow mein. Something about the noodles being too fat, or maybe not fat enough.
    “Tess?”
    Dr. Hinzelmann is staring at me good-naturedly. I want to lunge over his desk and grab the green file, which contains all of my nightmares, everything that’s ever made me ashamed, and probably a few sexual peccadilloes. Instead, I put both hands in my pockets and smile.
    “Sorry. I spaced.”
    “Where were you?”
    Don’t mention Lucian or the text message. Don’t mention that you feel gross and unattractive. Don’t mention the time you saw him buying pants in the junior department at Sears. Goblins have to shop somewhere, right? And those Nevada cargos were pretty sharp. Almost kicky.
    “I don’t know.” I lean back. “Sometimes I never know.”
    “The goal of these sessions—one of the goals, at any rate—is to determine whether this break that you’ve requested should be temporary, or permanent. Do youfeel like you’ve made any headway in answering this question for yourself?”
    “Not really.”
    “Why do you think you needed time off?”
    “Well, a Kentauros demon tried to kill me. I mean, not just me. He tried to kill a bunch of people, but I was pretty high on his list. Then I met my biological sister, who, as it turns out, is an enraged waterspout who killed Ru’s brother. It was by accident, but still—it freaked me out. My family is messed up.”
    “All families are psychotic, Tess.”
    “Oh, really? Is your sister a demonic intelligence who sends you nightmares because she has a daddy complex?”
    “No. But we’re not talking about my sister. Tell me about Arcadia.”
    “First tell me something about your family.”
    “That’s not how it works, Tess.”
    I cross my arms.