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was simmering when Dad left for the airport. Mom took off my apron. She hummed along with Sinatra andpulled me into a dance with her. She’d taught all of us to dance a little bit, so it was no chore keeping up. I took over the lead, swung her out. Mom laughed and said, “You’re not nervous, are you?”
    I spun her. In the tight kitchen, it wasn’t easy. The spaghetti sauce needed stirring, smelling up the room with tomatoes and fennel. When she turned back, Mom put her hands on the sides of my face. “Will. You don’t need to be.”
    “He’s my brother. I’m not nervous.” I removed her hands. “But I should stir the sauce.”
    Her smile tilted a little. Enough to make it sad and proud at the same time. “Everybody’s hero,” she murmured as I backed away and turned to the stove.

MAB
    I fell asleep in the bath and dreamed of the doll. It squished its clammy wax fingers around my throat and squeezed. I bit my lip, but no blood spilled out. I scratched at my arm, and when the skin peeled back under my nails, it was dull and yellow and bloodless. The doll’s jagged mouth pulled into a smile.
    I jerked awake, sloshing water out of the claw-foot tub. It was tepid, and my skin was wrinkled and waterlogged. There was a strange scraping sound, and I turned to find a crow crouched on the tank of the toilet. He hopped down onto the pale green tiles and walked stiffly over them, his head bobbing as his claws slid gracelessly over the slick floor. When he reached the wall below the window, he flung himself up to the sill. Warm, humid air blew in, ruffling his feathers and tanglingthe thin curtains. He squawked at me, flipped his tail, and jumped into the sky.
    I heard him yelling at his brothers, and then the slam of a car door. We had visitors, and the crows had come to wake me.
    As I stood, water streamed down my back from my hair. This wet, it fell past my waist, all snarled and heavy. I hadn’t meant to get it wet before picking out the tangles, but I’d slipped down in my sleep. I toweled off and wound my hair up into a messy knot, then stepped into my room and found a clean summer dress that was yellow like the sun. Granny Lyn had pieced it together last year from bits of an old sunflower flag.
    A voice called from outside, and I walked to the open casement window. In the pebble driveway, covered in crows, was a moon-silver SUV shiny enough to attract them even if they hadn’t known the owner.
    Donna’s son, Nick, stood next to the driver’s side of the SUV, hands on his narrow hips, staring down at the splatters of mud that caked the entire bottom of his car. A few enterprising splashes streaked all the way up to the door handle. He slid a thin cell phone out of his rear pocket and snapped a photo of the dirty SUV.
    Leaning out over the casement, I called down, “Nick!”
    Twisting in place, he grinned up at me. He wore his standard tight T-shirt with a vest, jeans, and his favorite porkpie hat, which he tipped in my direction. “Hey there, babe.” An exaggerated grimace instantly followed the epithet. “I mean Deacon, ma’am.”
    I smiled. “We weren’t expecting you! I’ll be right down.” I waved and spun away before he could respond.
    And in the middle of my bedroom, I paused to take a huge breath and pray that his girlfriend, Silla, wasn’t with him. After the parting we’d had last month, I couldn’t bear to think of her finding out I’d sacrificed one of the crows this morning.
    In moments I was down the stairs, dancing barefoot over the creaky spots. As I passed the kitchen arch, I gathered myself up, remembering I wasn’t a kid anymore, I wasn’t just rushing to say hi to an almost-brother. I was the Deacon, welcoming a wandering blood witch home.
    The day had spun up into a hot one, with sheer clouds pulled across the bold blue sky. As I stepped down off the front porch and walked smoothly toward Nick, I let my smile reflect the brightness of the day.
    He’d moved to the rear door of