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looked like the old priest had been using part of it as a makeshift club. There was blood and some stray bits of hair matted on one splintered edge. A little splash of crimson painted the nearest curtain.
    I didn’t think it was Father Frank’s.
    Creakily, he pulled himself to his feet, one hand going to his side. Wincing, he sucked a shallow breath. There was a pipe on the floor behind him, and I really hoped he hadn’t been hit in the ribs with that. Old bones were fragile, and they didn’t mend easily. I bent to help him, but he waved me away.
    “Don’t worry about me. Where’s the girl?”
    Pillows and covers had been torn from the bed, creating deceptively person-shaped lumps on the floor. One of those lumps twitched when I neared it. It moaned with a phlegmy male voice—definitely not Halley. Mismatched Army boots poked out from beneath the blanket. I toed the crumpled form, worried he was playing possum, but the guy just cringed beneath the blanket and groaned again. Down for the count.
    I continued searching.
    A soft mewling came from a brightly painted toy cabinet on the other side of the room. Covered in flowers and dancing, winged ladies, it matched the fairy theme of the night lamp. It was a little bigger than an old steamer trunk, and its slanted lid lifted half an inch as I approached. I could just make out a single dark eye peering through the crack.
    “Halley?” I asked, ducking down so I was closer to her level.
    She whimpered in response. The lid snapped shut.
    “The kid’s safe?” Father Frank slurred. He pressed the back of his hand against his swollen lip and scowled when it came away bloody. “There were three of them—strong. Two… went out that way,” he added, nodding toward the broken window. “They must have scattered.”
    I crouched down in front of the toy chest and very carefully started lifting the lid. The girl inside scuttled backward, pressing herself against one corner with such force, the whole thing jumped. She yanked back on the lid—it must have had some kind of handhold on the inside.
    “Come on, Halley,” I said soothingly, intoning each word with as much gentle sincerity as I could muster. “You’re safe now. You can come out.”
    I pulled on the lid a little more insistently. She tugged it back down in response. After the third time, she giggled. It turned into a game, like peek-a-boo and tug-of-war combined. Each time I took a turn, she let me lift the lid a little higher. Eventually, I had the toy chest all the way open. Halley lay half on her side, knees tucked up to her chin with her Disney Princess nightshirt pulled down around them. For a girl of her age, she was so tiny. She held herself more like a toddler than a teen.
    As she looked up at me, her lips parted in wonder. One word escaped them.
    “Wings.”

5
    I had no idea how to respond. I wanted to play it off, but there was no mistaking what held her attention. Forcing an uneasy smile, I reached out to comfort her with a pat on the head. Halley ducked her chin, neatly avoiding the contact. She peered sideways through her lashes, a thick veil of hair draping one eye.
    “Pretty,” she murmured, reaching a hand toward my shoulder.
    Instinctively, I jerked my wing away. Bad enough she could see them. I didn’t want to find out if she could touch them, too. That went against all the rules as I understood them. I flexed, so both wings stretched well beyond her reach.
    Halley’s eyes tracked the movement.
    An inhuman voice deep in my psyche screamed for me to kill the girl—kill her now. She was a danger. She could expose me.
    I silenced it the most effective way I knew—humor.
    “You start thinking I’m a fairy, kid,” I said wryly, “and we’re going to have issues.”
    Her gaze flicked forward and, briefly, she met my eyes. She held contact for less time than it took for all the air to rush out of my lungs, yet in that short span, dozens of impressions spilled into my mind—images of everyday