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scraping sound broke the silence. Oliver turned to find Dean stepping out of the shadows. He was holding a chicken bone and grinding it down with his teeth. Bones, especially the marrow, were a normal part of a zombie’s diet. Oliver remembered walking by an entire pod grinding like that in the Underground, and the sound had been deafening.
    â€œHey,” said Oliver.
    Dean nodded. He glanced warily up at the little house. “Maybe she’s already asleep.” He sounded almost hopeful.
    Oliver led the way up the brick steps of the walkway through the overgrown yard. The front porch was dark. A light shone weakly from the living room. Oliver wondered how Emalie’s dad was doing. The few times Oliver had ever seen him, he hadn’t looked well. And he’d been talking to Margie, Emalie’s mother, as if she were in the house.
    The single upstairs window was also dark. Emalie’s room. He could still picture himself lying on her floor, the night before Dean had died, when he had been on the run. There was so much that Oliver had found out in those days before Longest Night, yet it had almost seemed like a dream in the weeks since, when there had been nothing else to do except get back to existence as usual. But now, being here, he remembered the feeling: knowing that his parents, his vampire parents, had been lying to him about his whole life ( Aren’t they still? he reminded himself). He’d felt safe in Emalie’s room that night. Normal. He’d actually slept well on her floor.
    â€œLet’s check the basement.” Dean was stepping past Oliver with surprising decisiveness.
    Oliver followed him around the house to the small ground-level window. Red light spilled from it. They peered in carefully, but found Emalie’s darkroom area empty. There were no photo supplies out, no trays of chemicals in the sink, nor photos hanging up. Oliver remembered now that Emalie’s camera had gotten damaged in the Underground. There was only a stack of books on the floor. They looked old, their bindings frayed. A beat-up spiral notebook was lying open on top of the pile.
    â€œMaybe she’s in the kitchen,” Dean whispered, starting toward the back of the house.
    Oliver lingered, looking in at the darkroom space, its walls still made of unpacked boxes. Almost as if on cue, his side ached. It had been on that concrete floor that the amulet had shattered and showed him his true parents. He remembered the portal vision now with a rush of sadness—remembered Emalie in it with him, sensed her scent there—
    Wait, no, her scent wasn’t in the vision. It was here now.
    â€œDean!” Dean was just reaching the corner of the house when Oliver grabbed him by the shoulders and lunged forward. They flew up over a van parked in the back alley. As they landed, Oliver pushed Dean to the ground.
    â€œOw! What the—”
    â€œ Tssss ,” Oliver hissed quietly.
    Just then, the basement door of Emalie’s house squealed. Watching through the narrow space beneath the van, they saw Emalie emerge. She was wearing a black wool sweater and a black knit hat, and had a backpack slung over her shoulder. She crept away from the house and stole off down the alley.
    â€œWhat’s she doing?” Dean asked as they watched her go.
    â€œCome on,” Oliver said and started off after her.

Chapter 4
    The Sunlight Slaying
    THEY HADN’T GONE TEN feet when Emalie froze. Oliver grabbed Dean and pulled him to the side of a garage as Emalie slowly looked over her shoulder. She stared down the alley for a moment, then turned and kept moving.
    â€œThat was close,” said Dean. He started back out into the alley.
    â€œWait.” Oliver held him back. “Let’s let her go for a while. I can keep track of her.”
    They let a minute pass, then leaped to the roof of the garage and began to bound from one rooftop to the next. Dean could keep up, but he wasn’t