Charlie hesitated. Emma looked away. Aggie's eyes felt all hot again, but she swallowed down the ache and said, "I need to talk to Charlie for a minute, okay? We'll be right over there where you can see us."

Emma raised her gaze; old eyes, haunted eyes. She glanced at Charlie's shadow and said, "You're leaving."

"I don't have a choice," he said, and Aggie heard the pain in his voice, the hoa.r.s.e hush.

"Okay," Emma said, and reached out to hug him. Her arms pa.s.sed through his body, but Charlie wrapped her up in himself and she whispered, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," he said. "You changed my life."

Emma began to cry. So did Aggie. Charlie pulled away, gliding fast over the meadow away from the car. Aggie stumbled after him, wiping her eyes.

"Charlie," she called after him. "Charlie, stop!"

He did, waiting for her to catch up, and though he was not solid, Aggie still pressed against his apparition, soaking in his heat, his presence, the comfort of knowing he was there. In all her life, she had never felt such a need to simply be with a person; but here she was, and her heart was breaking because-I need to breathe, I need to eat, I need to love.

"You'll find someone new," Charlie said, rough. "You'll forget me. You didn't know me long enough for anything else. We were barely friends."

"We could have been best friends," Aggie said, shaking. "I think, maybe, we already are."

His body seemed to contract in on itself-at first she thought he was going to disappear, but it was nothing; a shudder maybe. One to mirror her own. She wished she could see his real face... and then thought perhaps it did not matter. This was Charlie. The real him.

"Agatha," he whispered. "I wish things could be different."

"Tell me," she breathed. "Tell me why they aren't."

"I don't own myself," he said, and if there had been pain in his voice earlier, it was nothing compared to now: broken and hollow, dull and dead as stone. "I'm... locked up. My brothers, too. All of us kept, like animals."

Aggie thought of her future memory, the sand and the woman, and Charlie said, "Yes, her."

"Why? How?" How, in this modern world, with so many eyes, so many ears?

"How was Emma taken? And that boy you saved? The most terrible abuses happen in plain sight, and no one sees. Hearts go blind. Do you know why, Agatha? Because it takes courage to help others. More courage than anything, because it means opening yourself, dedicating yourself to something that is beyond your life. Easier to just... walk on by. Ignore and pretend. It's safer that way."

"You didn't do that."

"But I have. Maybe I will again. I hope not. I don't want to be that man anymore." He stopped, pressing her tight within himself. "That's not something you need to worry about. You, Agatha, are a champion. True blue. My huntress."

And you are my dark knight, she thought, my mysterious companion. She could not say the words out loud. They felt intimate, somehow. As though to say them in the air would be exposing a part of her that was raw. Thoughts, though... thoughts were still reality. And she meant them. She really did.

"Mysterious companion," Charlie echoed. "Dark knight. Maybe I'm not quite Batman material, but I like that. I like being that for you."

Her mouth curved. "And the woman who keeps you? You haven't told me why. Or how."

"Because she can. Because she wants something from my brothers. Their obedience, their pride, their strength to draw on in order to make herself more powerful."

"But you're here. You're able to dream your way out."

"No," Charlie said. "This-me, what you're looking at-is not a dream. It's my soul, Aggie. My spirit, my consciousness, whatever you want to name it. And the only way... the only way for me to separate my soul from my body is through death."

Understanding was slow. Her mind tasted the words, rolling them around, horror growing as she sounded out the concept in her mind. Death. His death. It was impossible.

"No," Charlie said. "Every time I came to see you or Emma, I had to die first."

"But when you left..."

"It was because my body came back to life, calling back my soul. My kind are hard to kill, Agatha. We... regenerate our vital organs. Call it a... a consequence of our early purpose, which was to battle creatures more powerful than ourselves. It gave us an edge."

"But if you have to die in order to be here, then how? Who does it?"

"The witch-the woman keeping me. She would... cut out my heart. All my vital organs. Doing it that way takes longer, so I could stay with you and Emma. But she found out. Got angry. To be here this time, I... had to do it myself."

Aggie choked. "Why? Why would you put yourself through that?"

"How could I not?" His hands pa.s.sed over hers and warmth rolled up her arms into her chest, her heart. "Death really wasn't a high price to pay."

She couldn't talk. It was too much-Charlie dying, Charlie murdered.

Charlie killing himself.

Aggie shook her head, helpless, and Charlie said, "You don't have to find the words. I hear you."

He heard her. He heard everything. She wanted to say, Don't go, please, we only just got started, but it was no good begging him to stay. Instead, because she had to say something, anything to fill the silence inside her breaking heart, she whispered, "You're warm."

"Yes," he murmured. "I can be warm, even as a dream."

"You're no dream. Don't keep calling yourself that. You're real. You're more than idle fantasy."

She wondered if he smiled; the warmth around her body intensified. "My body is quite some distance away. I'm also dead. I think to call me anything but a dream-"

"Ghost. A big hulking scary ghost."

"Scary."

"Terrifying. My knees knock when you're around."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Yeah? You like that?"

"I do," he said, and then, softer, "Take care of yourself, Agatha. I wish I could be here to watch over you. Maybe... maybe I'll get another chance one day. Just to say h.e.l.lo."

It was the wistfulness in his voice that got her; the sense that he had already given up. Anger threaded through her gut; pure stubbornness. "I don't live on maybes and h.e.l.los, Charlie. Not this time, anyway. I'm making my own future."

"Agatha."

"No. Where's your body?"

"She'll kill you."

"She can try. And if you won't tell me, then I'll do it the hard way. You forget who I work for. I'll figure it out."

"Agatha."

"Charlie." Her voice broke on his name, and inside her heart she begged, she screamed, she threw her thoughts at him and raged. She refused to let him suffer; she refused it with all the power of her heart. Because it was wrong, because he deserved better, because she deserved better than to be given just a taste of some perfect dream, some possible mysterious future, and then have it s.n.a.t.c.hed away like so much candy in the fist of a bully. No, absolutely not. She would not allow it. Short time together, maybe-but that was enough to know she wanted more, that she would do anything to get it, to see him safe. Killing himself, murder-that was torture, plain and simple. And he had endured it for her and Emma. The least she could do was return the favor.

Charlie touched her face, drawing near, wrapping his spirit so tight around her own that she thought she must be a caterpillar and he was the coc.o.o.n, and together they would merge and transform into something beautiful.

"Somewhere in Glasgow," he whispered. "But that's a fool talking. I'm crazy. Don't try."

"Then don't leave me."

"Agatha," he said again, and she felt his soul press upon her mouth, infusing her with radiance and fire.

And then he pulled away, far away, and she cried out, hands scrabbling the air.

She could not hold him.

When he opened his eyes the witch was there. She sat in the sand beside Charlie, cross-legged, covered in blood. His blood. The knife lay across her thighs.

"I should cut off your head now and be done with it," she said. "You are such a pain."

"You extended my death," he realized.

"I did," she said. "I was overcome by a moment of weakness. I saw the lengths you went to secure your own exit, and could not help but admire your dedication. Death by repeated gouging and impalement? And on your brothers, too. That is rather sick."

"Just a bit," Charlie admitted. "You didn't give me much choice."

"I suppose not. I also underestimated you. Which is why your brothers will be sleeping outside your prison from now on."

Charlie looked. She had already moved them. They crouched just beyond the circle in the sand. Their bodies were still stained from his blood.

The witch smiled. "Love makes such fools of men, human or not."

Charlie said nothing. Love had not made a fool of him. Love had given him everything. He had never imagined it could be that way, that he could be sustained and strengthened by his love for another, his compa.s.sion. But yes, truth. He loved. And if he never was able to see Agatha or Emma again, he had that much, the knowledge and the memory.

Agatha is coming for you.

She would never find him. Glasgow was a big city, and he had been deliberately vague. He could not lie to her-not when he wanted so badly to tell her the absolute truth-but he also could not risk her life for his. It wasn't worth it.

"You're thinking of that woman," said the witch. "I can see it on your face."

Charlie sighed. "What do you want?"

"So much," said the witch. "I'm having another guest tonight."

"Is this also someone who sees you as an a.s.set?"

"Yes," she said. "And I want to impress her. I was thinking steak. Fresh meat." She raised her knife and turned it this way and that, so the light rolled off parts of the dirty blade.

"Don't get your hopes up," said the witch, raising her knife. "I'm not going to kill you."

"If only," Charlie said, and then braced himself. He wished he could fight. He hated being so helpless.

She cut him, deep.

If it had not been for Emma, Aggie might have remained sitting in that meadow until the cows came home; the sky went dark, and birds forgot to sing. As it was, she remembered that there was someone who needed her, someone whose pain was greater than hers, and she put her heart aside to return to the rental car and the little girl within.

"I saw him go," Emma said. Her eyes were red. Aggie wished she had a doll to give her. Something to hold on to. She ended up giving herself, sitting down on the seat beside her, wrapping a gentle arm around the child's narrow shoulders.

"I'm all alone," Emma said. "My mommy is gone."

And she began crying again, this time in earnest. Aggie wanted to march inside the house and put a bullet in Mrs. Kreer's head. Her son, too. Maybe more than bullets for him. She had not seem him in the flesh yet, but she remembered the hunger in his eyes and knew. Just... knew. It made her sick.

"Don't worry," Aggie promised. "I'll take care of you."

And she would, somehow. She did not know what that meant, only that saving one life was not enough, not if that life got dumped by the wayside and handed over to the system. Emma might be crying now, but that was good, healthy. The kid still had strength, still had... something more inside her that was not yet broken. Despite everything, despite all the hardship, Emma was still strong. Aggie could see that in her eyes.

And another reason to fight: Charlie loved the child. Aggie had to do right by him, too.

In the distance, she heard sirens. As Aggie and Emma waited for the police; the little girl continued to weep. The big girl wept, too, but she tried to keep it on the inside, where her heart was howling.

Amiri slunk out of the house. Aggie saw him and pushed his clothes out the back door, distracted Emma while he silently changed shape some distance away, and put them on. The little girl twitched when she saw his human face and body, but Amiri shocked Agatha by rolling up his sleeve and showing off his arm, which suddenly rippled golden with fur.

"I am a fairy tale," he said gently, and Emma nodded with grave understanding.

She got another surprise when the police arrived-the FBI was with them. In fact, there was more of a federal presence than a local one, and Aggie thought, Roland, you are a devil.

The cars stopped, surrounding them. Men and women piled out. Emma leaned against Aggie. An agent approached; a tall, spare man. Blond hair, nice face. She recognized him; he had been at the crash scene only yesterday-a lifetime distant. He was going to see a lot of very bad things in the next five minutes; the probabilities were quite high.

He glanced at Emma and Amiri, and then to Aggie said, "Ms. Durand? I'm Agent Warwick, with the FBI. Maybe you remember me. We got a tip that, uh, you had a tip. Related to the David Yarns case you a.s.sisted on yesterday afternoon."

"a.s.sisted" was generous; Dirk & Steele's help on high profile cases like Yarns's was usually billed as a tip-off or private-citizen intervention-which didn't bother anyone at the agency, just as long as the job got done. The feds and local PD could have all the ego bolstering they wanted.

"Yes," she said to Warwick. "That's correct. We came out here on an investigation and discovered evidence of an abuse in progress. We... took the child out of the situation and, given what we saw, secured the perpetrators-a woman named Mrs. Kreer and her son, Andrew."

"And this is the child?" Warwick asked carefully. Emma gave him a long, level look that was far too old for her years.

"They kept me in the bas.e.m.e.nt," she said. "They made me do things."

Which was really all the testimony anyone should need. Warwick swallowed hard, nodding. Aggie told him where to find Emma's kidnappers-as well as Quinn-and after a swift, "Stay here. We'll need to take your statements," Warwick jogged off and began coordinating their approach into the house.

"Efficient," Amiri commented. He sat in the gra.s.s, arms braced on his knees.

"Yeah," Aggie said. "Although I know who to blame for that."

Her phone rang. She answered it with a sigh and Roland said, "Perfect timing."

"You called the FBI?"