"Much happier now that the dark elf is gone." We stood there in companionable silence for another couple minutes before Duff tightened his fists in my hair and pulled until I looked up at him. "Well, you've had my report. No more stalling from you. Get in there. Once I see you inside, I have to report back to Trixie and then I am joining the pixies. They're starting their trip to Buenos Aires tomorrow. We're following the Summer Court to their next destination. I've also heard whispers from the Winter Court that they're planning an ice storm before All Hallows' Eve."

I pushed away from my SUV as Duff launched himself into the air. "Safe travels."

The hobgoblin settled on the low branch of an old oak tree and then pointed over my shoulder. He was right. I was stalling.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up the sidewalk to the red-brick ranch with the dark blue shutters I had been sitting outside of for nearly thirty minutes. The yard was neatly trimmed and two sedans sat in the driveway, baking in the afternoon sun. I got to the front porch before I started to lose my nerve. I wiped my sweaty palms down the legs of my brown cargo pants and over the edge of my navy polo shirt. They were the nicest clothes I owned besides the f.u.c.king dark suits that kept appearing in my closet. I shredded the first two only to have four appear the next morning. I wished it was Gideon's doing, but I knew it was Darius taunting me.

Cursing my cowardice, I punched the doorbell with my index finger before I could chicken out. I held my breath, listening to the sound of footsteps echoing through the house as one of the occupants approached the door. My heart pounded and my throat was threatening to close up on me. As the footsteps stopped by the door, I realized I didn't have a clue as to what I was going to say. I almost bolted when the door was pulled open.

My first thought was that she was shorter than I remembered, but then I realized that I must not have been done growing when I last saw her. Her hair was still pale blond, making it nearly impossible to pick out the gray hairs, and there were more lines around her eyes and mouth. It wasn't so much that they made her look older as that they softened her lovely face.

"h.e.l.lo," she said in a voice that cut straight through my heart. There was no recognition in her eyes at first, but they immediately swept up for a closer inspection as if something had registered faintly in the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry to bother you," I started, my voice low and rough. My eyes darted away from hers, no longer able to hold her gaze as I frantically searched my mind for what to say next. What was I supposed to say? Hi, I'm the middle child who ruined your lives.

"Jason?" Her haunted whisper jerked my gaze back to her face. Tears were filling her eyes. My entire body tensed painfully. I licked my lips and tried to say something, anything, but I couldn't make a sound past the lump in my throat. I finally settled on a nod.

My mother gave a harsh cry before she threw both of her thin arms around my neck, holding me in an impossibly tight embrace. Her fragile body was racked with violent sobs as she held me in her arms. I hugged her, wrapping my arms around her.

From the back of the house, I heard heavy footsteps rushing toward us, and the tension that had started to ease returned. I took a step backward, pulling my mom with me as my father turned the final corner to enter the hallway. I was afraid of being rejected, of being blamed for their hardship. It was no less than I deserved, but that thought did nothing to protect me against the pain.

My father was still a tall, broad-shouldered man, but his brown hair had gone completely gray. Confused anger hardened his features as he looked from his crying wife to me standing in her tight embrace. "What's going on here?"

My mother pulled back enough so she could turn to look at him, but both of her hands were tightly fisted in my shirt as if she were afraid that I was going to disappear. "It's Jason. It's our baby Jason," she cried.

He held back, his eyes narrowed on me, searching my features. I wasn't sure what my mother had seen to convince her it was me, but it only took him a second to see it as well. His face crumpled in a blink and I found myself pulled roughly into the house by big hands before I was engulfed in a hug by my father.

I don't know how long we stood there, hugging and crying; somewhere between a heartbeat and forever, but I knew it would never be long enough. It was only when my mother laughed that we started to pull away.

"Goodness," she said, wiping away her tears with her right hand while her left hand was tightly clenched in my right. "The neighbors must think we're crazy, standing in the open doorway, crying like a bunch of loonies."

My father and I laughed, letting the last of the tension ease from my shoulders. My father reached past me and closed the door while my mom ushered me down the hall toward the living room. I stopped, my eyes falling on the wall filled with framed photographs. They were all family photographs taken over the years. Sadly, there were no pictures of me over the age of seven, and those were all of the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy I had been so long ago. I was surprised to find that I was on the wall. It was only when I was standing there staring at the pictures that I realized I hadn't expected them to be on the wall.

Something must have shown on my face, because Mom touched my cheek. "Jason, honey, what is it?"

"I didn't expect to see my picture here," I admitted softly before I thought about what I was saying.

Dad placed a hand on my shoulder from where he was standing directly behind me. "Of course your picture is here."

"I talked to Robert." My voice was rough with emotion. I wasn't angry. Just surprised. "He said you told everyone that I died. He said that I was the reason you were forced to move and come to Low Town. I figured when you started fresh here, there'd be no evidence of my existence."

Mom placed both her hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look down at her. "Oh, no, honey," she started, and then stopped, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "I mean, yes, we did tell people you had died when you first left, but we were always so ashamed of that lie. We have never been ashamed of you and your wonderful gift. But they told us it would be easier if we told everyone you were dead. We never took your pictures down and we never denied that you are our son."

I folded my mother in a fierce hug. "I'm not angry. You did what everyone does, what you were supposed to do. I guess I'm surprised. I wasn't sure how you'd react to seeing me again. I'm sorry about what happened in Vermont. I'm so sorry I screwed up your lives."

"Jason Stephen Grant," Dad thundered behind me, causing me to flinch. I hadn't heard anyone use my entire real name since I was six and in trouble for covering the dog in green food coloring. "I don't ever want to hear you apologize for that nonsense. You have nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of. Like your mother said, we're proud of your gift and have no regrets. And the weather is much nicer here than in Vermont."

I laughed. I couldn't stop. If my father was anything, he was always practical.

We walked into the living room with its pale yellow walls and thick brown carpet. I sat on the end of the couch while Dad took the chair nearest to me. Mom hovered, offering to get drinks but seeming unable to let go of my hand. I squeezed hers and smiled. "I'll be here when you get back, I promise." She gave a jerky nod and then released my hand as she expelled a heavy breath before disappearing back down the hall.

Dad shifted to the edge of his chair, leaning close as he clapped his hand on my shoulder. "We're happy to see you, son, don't misunderstand me," he started softly so Mom couldn't overhear. "But the last time we saw you, you said you weren't coming back because it was too dangerous. I'm guessing something has changed."

I sighed. "Yes and no. There's some danger, but not like before. If you want, I'll leave. I can alter your memories. You'll never know I was here."

"No! No!" Dad said quickly, sitting back in his chair. "d.a.m.n glad you're here. Just wanted to make sure you were okay." He knew there was a lot I wasn't saying, and he wasn't going to ask for more information, but he felt that he needed to have a handle on the situation. As I said, Dad was practical. "Regardless of your hocus-pocus, you know you're not getting out of here before having Sunday dinner. It's not as fancy as when you were a kid, but your mom still makes a great pot roast."

Sunday dinner had been a tradition in my family. Throughout the week, all of us were constantly running for school, work, soccer practice, Little League games, and music lessons, but by some odd twist of fate, Sunday dinner seemed to be one time when we all managed to be in the house at the same time. Mom and Dad had taken turns each week making a large meal that we ate while sitting around the formal dining room table. When I had been taken by Simon to the Towers, it was the first thing I missed from my old life.

Mom quickly rejoined us with drinks and then took a seat next to me, her hand slipping back into mine. A part of me wanted to keep the conversation light, filled with silly stories and random incidents, but that wasn't why I had come to their house. Mom squeezed my hand and smiled at me, trying to look encouraging. She knew there was something, but then that was Mom. Dad was practical and Mom always knew when we were hurting like she had some kind of mystical sixth sense.

Slowly, I told them about Robert. I cleaned up the story as much as I could, but something in Dad's eyes told me he knew I was leaving bits out. The last thing I told them was that his final thoughts as Robert Grant had been about them. I never mentioned his new name or the direction I sent him in. I also didn't mention the deal I had made with the Towers to keep him safe.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I kept my eyes fixed on my untouched iced tea, the gla.s.s sweating on the coffee table while I listened to my mother cry.

"Is he safe now?" she asked, both her hands tightly gripping mine.

"As safe as I could have possibly made him."

She nodded. "Thank you. I don't know what it cost you to do it, but thank you for saving your brother."

I took a deep breath and launched into a brief and somewhat clean version of my life, trying to distract them as much as possible from the loss of yet another son. I knew they'd think about Robert and cry when I left, but for now we smiled and laughed over my bad relationships and tattooing adventures.

A comfortable lull in the conversation had Dad taking command again. "Was Robert the reason for this visit?"

"Part," I admitted with a blush. At least I had the decency to look embarra.s.sed. "Part was because I didn't know you were in Low Town until I spoke to Robert and I wanted to see you. And part is because I need to ask a favor." I stopped, my mind struggling with how to broach the subject.

"It's okay, honey. We'll help you any way we can," Mom coaxed.

"I know, but it's a lot to ask."

"Then ask and see if we can help," Dad pushed, bringing a grin to my lips.

"A while ago, five kids escaped from the Towers much like I did," I started, and then paused, licking my lips. Good grief, I had to be out of my f.u.c.king mind to even think this was a good idea, but I plunged ahead. "They're young, between the ages of nine and seventeen. They can't go home because the Towers are searching for them and it's the first place they'd look. We've managed to find homes for some of them."

I paused again and sighed, shoving one hand through my hair as I fought to block out visions of Alice. "Look, when we first came up with the idea of finding a home for these kids, you were the first people I thought of. I don't know what it was, but you did something right with me. I got out of the Towers. I stuck to the ideas of right and wrong that you gave me. I clung to the belief that people were good. I'm afraid that if they don't find someone like you, they're going to end up like the monsters in the Towers despite having escaped. I won't lie to you. There is some risk, but we can take precautions to protect you and them. If expense is a problem, I can help. I have some money saved."

"Honey," Mom said, laying her hand against my cheek. I was babbling. I was afraid if I stopped talking, they'd say no. She smiled at me. "What are their names?"

"etienne is seventeen and from France, but his English is excellent. Anthony is fourteen and American. They escaped together and are close like brothers. Something in my gut says it would be a bad idea to separate them. I-"

I instantly shut up again when Mom put her hand against my cheek again. She looked over at my father and said nothing. He smiled at her and said nothing. Maybe that's what came of thirty years of marriage. You didn't need words anymore to say the things that needed to be said.

When she looked back at me, she was smiling a secret little smile that came with being a mom. "When can they move in?"

I pulled Mom to me in a fierce hug as a shudder of relief ran through my body. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I will help you in any way I can, I promise," I said in a choked whispered.

Mom ran her hand over my back, soothing away the shaking. "We're proud of you, Jason," she murmured in my ear. "We always have been."

After a moment I pulled away and hugged Dad, who only laughed at my worry. I should have known they wouldn't hesitate to help the runaways.

At Mom's urging, we followed her into the kitchen so we could sit at the table and talk while she finished making dinner. Throughout the meal, she hit me with a mound of questions, pulling out all the information I had about etienne and Tony. By the end of dinner, she had a legal pad beside her, making a list of all the things that she would need to get to make the house ready before they arrived. Dad smiled, happy to leave the planning in her hands. As I said, Dad was practical.

It was after eleven when I finally managed to step outside the house following a series of long hugs and promises to come back soon with the boys. Leaving that night was one of the hardest things I had ever done, but I promised myself that I'd be back soon. I promised myself that my parents would be safe.

As I reached the bottom step, I realized that I never told them that my name was now Gage Powell. I never explained why I looked different, but I let it go. It had been nice to spend one last night as Jason Grant, son of Lily and Jonathan Grant. For one last night, I hadn't been Gage Powell, a warlock who had killed for the first time at the age of thirteen. I wasn't the monster who had killed other witches and warlocks. I wasn't the one who'd traded another person's soul to Charon the ferryman. I wasn't the one who'd killed a dark elf to save his own life. I was just a guy trying to be something his parents could be proud of.

Turning away from the house, I spotted Gideon standing beside my SUV wearing a dark suit with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. I hadn't seen him since we'd left the New York Tower together nearly a month ago. Of course, I hadn't been using any magic since then, so he wouldn't have shown up. I received one brief message stating that Paola was now living with his wife and daughter, while James was safe on a ranch in Montana living with a witch and warlock who had faked their deaths. He never gave me names and I didn't want to know. He only asked me for suggestions on where to place etienne and Tony.

I couldn't stop the smile that rose when I reached him. "The boys will stay with my parents," I announced before he could ask.

Gideon gave a soft grunt and a nod, at least acknowledging that he heard me. His face was blank, but his eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"Paola okay?"

"Yes, fine." His words were clipped and terse, but I didn't get the impression that he was angry at me. When Gideon was p.i.s.sed at me, there was no doubt about it. Of course, when he was p.i.s.sed at me, I was usually in pain.

"You're not here about the boys, are you?" I asked as a deep uneasiness settled into my bones.

Gideon looked up at me, meeting my stare with his unblinking silvery-gray eyes. His expression was solemn and a little sad, but his voice never wavered. "You need to change. We have a job to do."

I nodded, fighting the urge to let my shoulders slump in resignation. I'd made my choice. I chose to go back to the Towers rather than face death. Now it was time to live up to my end of the bargain. I'd survived Simon Thorn's murder attempts. I'd survived Reave's attempts to plunge the world into another war. I'd survive this. I escaped the Towers once. I could do it again, and this time I was taking Gideon with me.

How hard could it be?

About the Author.

The bestselling author of the Dark Days series and a former financial a.n.a.lyst, JOCELYNN DRAKE lives in Wisconsin.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Also By Jocelynn Drake.

THE DARK DAYS NOVELS.

Nightwalker.

Dayhunter Dawnbreaker.

Pray for Dawn.

Wait for Dusk Burn the Night.

THE ASYLUM TALES.

The Asylum Interviews: Bronx.

The Asylum Interviews: Trixie Angel's Ink.

Praise for Angel's Ink.

"Jocelynn Drake's writing holds a wonderfully wry humor akin to dark chocolate: bitter but irresistible. With a unique and fascinating magic system, Angel's Ink is a new take on traditional and urban fantasy themes, spinning a tale of personal vendettas, mob bosses, and just a touch of romance. Gage is an engaging, sympathetic character with curiously twisted problems that he brings upon himself despite his best efforts. Keeping secrets from his friends works . . . until the hapless Gage makes the largest, and perhaps best, mistake of his life. Now he just has to survive it. Angel's Ink is an otherearthly blend of magic and technology in the best tradition of urban fantasy that refused to let me go. The continuing Asylum Tales promise to be intriguing and wildly inventive."

-Kim Harrison.

"A lot of fun, with a whole new take on the dark urban fantasy. Bright and breezy, with fascinating characters, and a background with hidden depths. Drake puts the 'ink' in 'incredible.' "

-Simon R. Green.

"Gritty, authentic, and fast-paced! This urban fantasy series rocks!"

-J. R. Ward "Jocelynn is amazing at fleshing out plots, subplots and characters."

-USA Today.

"A distinctive and absorbing tale."

-Kirkus Reviews.

"Drake kicks off a new urban fantasy series with a strong first t.i.tle. . . . Definitely check out this series from the popular Drake."

-Booklist "Drake (the Dark Days vampire series) very ably spins a series launch. . . . Stirs up trouble that sends the plot caroming with ferocious intensity to a satisfying but open-ended conclusion."

-Publishers Weekly.

"Expert storyteller Drake invites readers to join her in a spirited and spellbinding new series. . . . The author does a great job of introducing her mesmerizing new world and then filling it with a truly compelling cast of characters. She is on track to deliver another outstanding and inventive series."

-Romantic Times BOOKclub.

"Fans of Kim Harrison and urban fantasy alike will enjoy this."