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who could make her so angry. Stephen Sawoski
     had made her feel ugly, invisible, unwanted—but never angry. Not like this. He’d made
     Emma angry though.
    And maybe that made sense. Allison wasn’t much good at sticking up for herself. She
     never had been, not when it counted. But she could stick up for her friends. She trusted
     her instincts where they were concerned.
    “Your mom just disappeared,” he told her.
    Allison exhaled. “You might as well come to the house,” she told him. “Because if
     you don’t, she’s going to come out.”
    “I really don’t need to meet your mother.”
    “You should have thought of that before you followed me home.”
    * * *
    Chase could be friendly. He could be charming. Allison had seen both. He had a genuine
     smile, a sense of humor, and a way of turning things on their side that mostly suggested
     a younger brother. Someone else’s younger brother. Allison, however, was full up on
     younger brothers, given Tobias, the one she had. She searched the windows of the upper
     floor with sudden anxiety. If he embarrassed her in front of Chase, she’d have to
     strangle him. No Toby was visible from the street.
    Allison headed toward her front door. Chase lagged behind, losing about three inches
     of height at the top of the driveway. She looked back at him. “Don’t even think of
     running.”
    “Is it that obvious?”
    “You smile when you’re facing armed Necromancers. You charge
into
green fire. Compared to that, meeting my mother is terrifying?”
    “I don’t meet a lot of mothers.”
    “No, you don’t, do you? Mine doesn’t bite. Mostly. I’d suggest you drop any discussion
     of Emma, killing Emma, or abandoning her, though. I come by my temper honestly.” She
     put her hand on the doorknob and added, “She also approves of Michael.”
    “Everyone does.”
    “Not really. But Michael’s a kind of litmus test. People who see Michael as a person
     are generally people you can trust. People who dismiss him or treat him like he’s
     a two year old, not so much.”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “People who treat him as if he’s a child see what they want to see; they don’t see
     what’s there.”
    “Me being one of those people.”
    “Not sure yet. You might have been trying to be manipulative.”
    “And that’s not worse?”
    “It’s bad—but it’s not worse. Not really. I know how to handle guilt.”
    Chase laughed as she opened the door. Her mother was buttoning up her coat. “Mom,
     I’d like you to meet Chase Loern. Chase, this is my mother.”
    Her mother held out a hand; Chase shook it. “I’m one of the new kids,” he told her.
     “Allison finds me when I get lost between classes. I’d have built an impressive late-slip
     collection without her.”
    “He’s lying,” her daughter added cheerfully.
    “Lying? Me?” The slow smile that spread across his face acknowledged a hit with a
     wry acceptance and something that felt like approval.
    Allison’s mother took her coat off as Allison removed her scarf. “Chase is behind
     on assignments,” she said. “And he hasn’t figured out how to use the electronic blackboard—yet.”
     The last word was said in a dire tone. She took off her coat as well, reaching for
     a hanger to hand to Chase. He stared at it.
    “You’re not wearing that jacket in here—my mother will turn the heat up twenty degrees
     if she thinks you’re cold, and the rest of us will melt.”
    He slid out of his jacket. Allison noticed that his eyes were sharper; he surveyed
     the hall—and the stairs and doors that led from it—as if his eyes were video equipment
     and he was doing a fancy perimeter sweep. She should have found it funny. Or annoying.
     She didn’t.
    She wondered, instead, what Chase’s life was actually like. She didn’t ask; her mother
     had headed directly for the kitchen, and Allison was about to drag Chase up to her
     room, which was the one room in the house in which her younger