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with a loose fist.
    “I think you need your head examined if you believe that’s a proper introduction.”
    He laughed and hugged her, then turned toward me again. “Mouse, this is my maman, Marguerite DeFoudre. Maman, Maura Fitzgerald, but people call her Mo.”
    “You don’t,” she pointed out.
    “I’m special.”
    She smacked him again, fondly. “You’re something, son.”
    “Constance,” I said. “I want to see her.”
    “ ’Course you do.” With a sweeping motion, he gestured me into the shack, past his father, to the rickety cot.
    Constance lay on the bed, ghostly white, her hair sticking damply to her face. But her breathing was even, and the bleeding had stopped. “She’s okay?”
    “Right as rain,” Luc said. “Or air. Guessin’ air, anyway.” Relief washed over me, and Luc’s fingertips grazed my hand like butterfly wings.
    “Come outside, please.” Without waiting for a response, Dominic stepped through the open doorway, his footsteps making the entire cabin shudder.
    I glanced back at Constance, frowning, and Marguerite touched my arm. “I’ll sit with her.”
    “Thank you,” I said, and Luc pulled a chair over to the side of the bed, then guided Marguerite to it. She eased into the seat with a grace I’d never possess in a hundred years, and reached for Constance’s hand.
    I smoothed back Constance’s hair and adjusted the thin blanket over her. Luc stood unmoving at the broken window.
    “Patience has never been your father’s strong suit,” Marguerite said.
    For a moment longer, he was motionless. Then he turned, holding out his hand. “Ready, Mouse?”
    I hesitated, then slipped my fingers inside his and followed him onto the porch.
    Near the spot where Marguerite and I had waited, Dominic was deep in conversation with two other people—an old woman leaning on a cane and an aging hippie with a receding hairline. None of them looked happy. A few feet beyond the group, three separate doors were cut into the air, each outlined with a different colored flame. The space inside was filled with endless black, icy air leaching out and flowing across the stubby grass.
    “Who are they?”
    “The Quartoren,” he said with a grimace.
    “That’s a bad thing, isn’t it?” I couldn’t imagine why they would take an interest in Constance.
    “Ain’t good.” But before I could ask more, Luc tugged me across the clearing.

C HAPTER 5
    L uc’s fingers tightened on mine as we approached the Quartoren. With my free hand, I brushed at the sweaty tendrils of hair clinging to my face. Dominic waited until we’d stopped, and Luc dipped his head, murmuring a greeting to the strangers.
    “Pascal, Orla,” said Dominic, nodding to the man and woman. “I’d like to present Maura Fitzgerald. The Vessel. Pascal and Orla are the Heads of Earth and Air, respectively.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement.
    Pascal studied me, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, his lips moving silently. Orla gave a short, unfriendly nod and turned back to Dominic. “You’re certain?”
    “Of course I am. The girl belongs to your House. See for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
    Orla glanced over at the shack and pursed her lips, her orangy-red lipstick feathering into the wrinkles around her mouth. “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Good. We should be getting this under way. You’ll come with us,” Dominic said, nodding at me.
    Luc’s hand urged me behind him with the very faintest pressure, but I stood my ground.
    “Come with you? Where? For what?” I eyed the flickering doorway to Between. “I can’t leave Constance.”
    “The girl is fine,” said Orla. “Marguerite’s with her.”
    “We need to return to New Orleans,” Pascal said. “We’ve work to do.”
    “No offense, but the only place I’m going is back to Chicago. Constance needs a doctor, and I’m supposed to be in third period right now.”
    “I’m afraid that’s