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the ankles, and she had done the same with the shirt sleeves. On any other girl this might have looked messy, but she made it look good. She sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs under her.
    The teapot began to whistle, and Stephen bustled about fixing us all tea. When we all had cups in hand Stephen and I sank into the low couch across from Hannah. We sat at opposite ends, awkwardness filling the seat between us.
    “How did you end up there?” Stephen asked after a moment of silence.
    “I woke up alone in the street,” Hannah said, studying the mug in her hands. “I didn't know where you were, I didn't even know if you were here too. For all I knew. . .” Hannah shook her head. “I was scared.”
    “I never would have left you alone here,” Stephen said.
    “I didn't know what was going on,” Hannah said. Her dark eyes met Stephen's, each matching the other’s intensity. “I spent three days sleeping on the streets. I started singing down on the boardwalk. It earned me enough to eat, but that was all. A man saw me sing and brought me to Lost Angels. Mr. Jones offered to take care of me . . . for a price.”
    “Of course,” I said. Wasn’t there always a price?
    “He said I sang well, but that he could make me sing even better. He promised I would be rich and famous. He could make it so people couldn't help but listen when I sang.” I thought about how I had felt when Hannah sang at the club, and knew Mr. Jones had not been lying. “He took my soul,” Hannah said. She said the words flatly, as if they meant nothing to her.
    “Your soul?” Stephen asked in disbelief. I felt the same way. I wasn't sure I even believed in souls, let alone considered that someone could buy one.
    “Yes,” Hannah answered. “In exchange for my soul he would take care of me until I made enough money for the club and earned back my soul.”
    “Why would you do that?” Stephen asked.
    “Because it was my best option,” Hannah said, her voice as cold as stone. The lost little girl from the club was nowhere to be seen now. “I didn't want to live my life on the streets and I had no idea where you were. Working at Lost Angels made me a star.”
    “But you didn't like it,” I said, remembering the way she had looked when she sang.
    Hannah looked down at her mug again. “No,” she admitted. “Mr. Jones is terrible. No one who works there has any compassion, and I felt empty without my soul. I could feel that it was gone. I tried running away a few times, but Mr. Jones always found me and hauled me back.”
    “Not this time,” Stephen said. “I'm here for you.”
    “I know,” Hannah said. “I just don't think it will matter. Even if you can keep him away from me, he still has my soul. I’m still empty.” She yawned widely. I had no idea what time it was, and I was so pumped up on adrenaline and fear I didn't know if I would ever sleep again.
    “Get some sleep,” Stephen said to Hannah. “We'll figure this out in the morning.”
    “Okay.” Hannah nodded. I stood and took her mug. I watched from the counter as Hannah lay down, and Stephen covered her with a blanket. They muttered something too soft for me to hear and he brushed her hair back from her brow.
    I sat at the small table with my mug of cooling tea while Stephen stayed with his sister. I could hear the murmur of their voices, but focused on my own thoughts so as not to overhear them. I was glad we had found Hannah, but the idea of staying cooped up in the small apartment while my sister was out there somewhere was going to drive me insane.
    I couldn't imagine that Claire and Clea were the same person. My sister would never do anything as horrible as scarring the faces of those men. We didn't always get along, and sometimes she seemed evil, but just normal sister evil, nothing that bad. Even as I thought that, I couldn't keep my mind from wandering over some of the mean things Claire had done. Boys she had talked to just because she knew I