Auntie Ink! So cool! Mom and I are going to the Grand Canyon to meet Uncle Freddie on May 18. I’ve only seen it in pictures. Wish you could come. Because Grand Canyon!

  Also you should meet Uncle Freddie sometime. You would like him.

  Yes. Well.

  I shared that info with Carnifex and the Midnight Angel, and Billy Ray answered:

  We know. Source believes SCARE may prevent Amazing Bubbles from departing NYC, providing opportunity to acquire F at Canyon.

  No airline seats available Phoenix to Flagstaff. F will travel by bus.

  Avoid scrutiny. Rent car, drive to Flagstaff. Board bus there. Will send itinerary.

  Stay close to F. Your presence may discourage SCARE. Do not identify self or inform F of situation. Could contact Bubbles, who could cause incident.

  If Bubbles detained NYC, assume SCARE at N Rim. Then M Angel will arrive ASAP to extract. Keep phone GPS-enabled.

  If SCARE attempts to acquire F before M Angel arrives, trigger shout to defend. AMN.

  AMN meant “Any Means Necessary.”

  It was a sickening sensation, knowing I could have a legitimate reason to hurt Freddie Fullerton.

  Because I was jealous of him. In a deeper, uglier way than I had ever been jealous of anyone else.

  Sure, Adesina called me her Auntie Ink. But Freddie really was her Uncle Freddie. He was Michelle’s long-lost half brother, the son of her father and one of her old modeling chums, the brother she had never known she’d had, and—to hear Adesina tell it—the brother she’d always wanted.

  So in December, after the riot, Freddie had been able to walk right in, and Michelle had accepted and loved him. He hadn’t needed to make any effort at all.

  At least, not like the effort I had made.

  But in light of the SCARE situation, I would have to get over that. Or at least ignore it. As Rick says to Ilsa in Casablanca, the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.

  Which is kind of hilarious, since the Amazing Bubbles is not one of the “little people,” in any sense.

  But I am. And I would try to do something for this crazy world anyway.

  Looking back, I know I should have confided in Freddie at the outset, despite what Carnifex had said. When we met on the bus, I should have told him right then that I knew his sister and his niece. I should have told him the real reason I was there.

  But that evening and that night, I didn’t even tell him my real name. I started to, then cut myself off before uttering the t in Juliet. So he thought I was Julie. And I didn’t give him a last name at all.

  I didn’t think Adesina had shown him a photo of me, because he gave no sign of recognition. But then, I had also lightened my hair, altered my tattoos, and shaded my eyes, cheeks, lips, and chin. I didn’t look like any photo he could have seen.

  In other words, I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t the Juliet Summers who only slept with women. I wasn’t the Juliet Summers who had loved the Amazing Bubbles.

  I wasn’t even Morpho Girl’s “Auntie Ink.”

  That night, I was Julie.

  And Julie turned out to be someone else altogether.

  * * *

  —

  Got an ID on her yet?

  “Not on any list of known aces.” But that don’t mean she ain’t one, does it?

  What the hell is “Occam’s razor”? She got razor blades for toenails or something?

  Keep looking. You oughta be able to find her somewhere, even if she’s a nat and a civilian.

  Goddammit. She might have made me.

  I’m heading back outside. I’ll get eyes on the kid again when he goes to his cabin.

  Here’s hoping the woman is just a rando and not somebody the Bobbsey Twins sent.

  Whaddaya mean, who are the Bobbsey Twins? Read a book, dumbass.

  * * *

  —

  I helped Julie get her bags into the Grand Canyon Lodge, and then we queued up with the other escapees from the bus. The big, vaulted lobby was all rough wood and limestone, just what you’d expect. All of it lit by a golden glow from lamps suspended by long, almost invisible cables.

  “Do you know if your sister and niece are here yet?” Julie asked, glancing around. I had told her I was meeting Michelle and Adesina, but so far I hadn’t told her they were the Amazing Bubbles and Morpho Girl. I supposed she would recognize Big Sis, at least, as soon as she saw them.

  I was looking forward to being with them, but not in a hurry. After all, once they appeared, that might be the end of my time with Julie. I had some guilt at that thought. But then I remembered Big Sis’s remark about how often I was likely to fall in love. So she, at least, would understand.

  Outside of our check-in queue, only a few strangers occupied the lobby. A family of four leaving the dining room. A couple of lads about my age sitting on a rustic cowhide couch, deep in whispered conversation. A tanned middle-aged bloke slouched in a chair that matched the couch, staring at the screen of his phone. That was it.

  Maybe Big Sis and Adesina were already in our “Deluxe Western” cabin. Michelle had sent me photos. Each building contained two units, with two queen beds in each unit. A doorway between the beds led to a bathroom and storage area, and a connecting door next to the bathroom led to the other unit. One unit in our cabin would be for Michelle and Adesina, and the other for me. So not only would I have a holiday with my two favorite people, but I’d have some privacy, too. Which was something I never had on the road, since I was always sharing a room with one of the other roadies.

  I took my phone from my jean pocket to see if I could get a signal. I had to hold it over my head and turn it back and forth, but then it buzzed furiously.

  There were four texts. Three were from Big Sis:

  Freddie our flight is delayed two hours. Something mechanical. Might not get in until late.

  Flight now delayed three more hours. We get to Flagstaff in middle of night. Will be at GC Lodge in morning.

  Flight canceled. Soonest we can depart will be tomorrow afternoon, which puts us in Flagstaff tomorrow night and North Rim Monday morning. Have fun until we show up. PS. Let me know when you get this.

  The fourth text was from Adesina:

  Uncle F this sucks.

  “Aw, bollocks,” I said.

  Julie looked at me quizzically. “Are you British? You haven’t sounded like it before now. But ‘bollocks’ is a pretty British word.”

  I nodded. “That’s what it says on my passport.”

  “It says ‘bollocks’?”

  More teasing. If she wanted to fend me off, this wasn’t the way to do it. “No, that I’m British, Miss Wit. But my mum spent years in the States before she went back to London and had me. So I started off sounding like her, then like a mixture of her and my schoolmates, and then like, I don’t know, maybe Neil Young. I’ve been told my accent sounds midway between Brighton and Minneapolis, via the North Pole.”

  Julie gave me a delicate smirk. “Ah, that explains why you pronounced ‘bollocks’ like a Zamboni driver in Saskatoon.”

  “You’re so sweet,” I said, with what I hoped was charming mock sarcasm.

  She still had that little smirk. “I do what I can.”

  I wanted to kiss her even more.

  I tapped my phone. “My sister and niece can’t be here until Monday morning. Their flight was canceled.”

  Julie’s smirk vanished. “Oh! Oh, no.” She sounded dismayed to a degree that startled me.

  The queue moved a bit, and I shifted my backpack and scooted Julie’s bags ahead of us. “Well, Big Sis says it’s a mechanical problem. And it’s better to be late than to crash.” Although a crash would just make Michelle extra big and powerful. And if Adesina could get out before impact—well, Morpho Girl can fly. Still, best for the rest of the passengers not to take off with a defective scozzwozzle or whatever.

  Julie glanced to her left, then bumped into me. “Sorry,” she said. Her voice had changed. She was almost mumbling.

  For a weird moment, I thought I saw one of the vine tattoos on her neck curl a bit tighter. “Would you like to sit down?” I asked. “We can always check in later.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t convincing. “I’m okay,” she said. “Low blood sugar, I think.”

  I could relate. But as I looked across the lobby toward the lodge dining room, its lights went out, and the hostess put a chain across the entrance. It was 9:30 p.m.

  “Looks like we’re out of luck,” I said. “Maybe there are vending machines.”

  Julie shook her head. “I have snacks. Once we get checked in, I’ll be happy to share.” She looked to the right. “But at the moment, I need to find a ladies’ room. Would you mind watching my bags?”

  She headed off, taking her phone from her cargo pants as she disappeared into a hallway.

  I’ll do anything you want, I thought.

  I was feeling even more guilty now, because I was actually glad that Big Sis and Adesina wouldn’t be arriving for another day and a half. I was so glad, in fact, that I wanted to shout.

  But that would be a bad idea, since I might blow the roof off the lodge.

  I had never given that kind of shout from anything but pain, so I wasn’t even sure it was possible, otherwise. Still, I thought I should be careful. Because I had the strangest sense of impending joy.

  And who knew what that would do to me?

  * * *

  —

  None of your intel says he has a girlfriend. But he just now took her to his cabin.

  And I’m telling you, that kid is not smooth enough to pick up a woman on a bus. Or a train, a plane, or whorehouse.

  Which means she’s picked up him.

  Woman like her, picking up a dork like that?

  So keep looking. Get a driver’s license, a police record, Facebook page, something with a name and some history. Hell, there’s gotta be a credit card tied to her bus ticket and lodge reservation.

  Meantime, I’ll stay in the trees and watch.

  What’s the soonest the Pond woman could show up?

  Monday morning. You sure?

  In that case, I can hold off. I could try to put the chick down and snatch him right now, but I’d rather be sure it’s gonna be easy. Guess I’ll make like the pope and shit in the woods tonight.

  * * *

  —

  I went to Freddie’s cabin with him. He was in number 309, attached to number 306—which was empty, since Michelle and my godchild were stuck in New York.

  Unit 306/309 was right on the canyon rim, just a few dozen yards from the lodge’s east terrace. Leave it to Michelle to wrangle the best. Even Billy Ray hadn’t managed to get me a cabin that good. I was booked into 312, four buildings north.

  Freddie had offered to walk me to 312. We could have our snack there, he’d said, and he would go to his cabin right after.

  But I needed to stick with him, because I had spotted someone in the lodge who had made me nervous. If anyone I had seen might be a SCARE agent, it was him. Lean, tall, leathery. Brand-new black baseball cap with a blood-red Arizona Diamondbacks logo. A fringe of dark, gray-peppered hair between the cap and his ears. Long sideburns. Narrow, ice-blue eyes. And a khaki shirt and blue jeans, both also brand new.

  Once I spotted him, I excused myself and scooted off toward the ladies’ room. I held my phone down at my side, shot some photos behind me, and got lucky. In the restroom, I sent a pic of my suspect to Billy Ray and the Angel.

  The Angel replied within thirty seconds. Don’t recognize. But could be someone new.

  That wasn’t much help. So what do I do? I asked.

  She did not try to assuage my fears. Stay close to F. As noted, will arrive to extract when possible.

  I was not reassured. I am not reassured, I said.

  There was a pause of twenty seconds.

  Trigger shout if needed, she wrote then. As discussed.

  I sent her a smiley face with X’s for eyes.

  So, after we collected our cabin keys, I asked Freddie if we could have our snack at his place instead of mine. My excuse was that my cabin was back in the trees and would have no canyon view. And since there was a full moon tonight, the view from 309 might be amazing.

  The cabin was limestone and pine, just like the lodge itself. Once inside, we each took a turn in the bathroom, then started a fire in the gas fireplace in the corner of the main room. I put my smaller suitcase on one of the beds and dug out cheese, salami, trail mix, grapes, and bottles of water.

  Then, since it was in the mid-forties outside, I put on my hoodie, Freddie put on a gray canvas jacket, and we took our feast to a little porch that looked out over the Grand Canyon. Or, to be accurate, over the Transept, a secondary canyon that links up to the Bright Angel Creek tributary, which links up to the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon itself. They’re all part of the same vast sculpture. If sculpture could be carved by the hand of God, or someone similar.

  The moonlight shining over all of it, even with scattered clouds, was…impressive, I suppose, since “magical” and “transcendent” seem even more trite than “carved by the hand of God.” But if you’ve never been there, don’t judge. You don’t know how much capacity you have for clichés until you’ve been dropped smack in the middle of where the clichés were born.

  But all of that hit me in the first few seconds. Then I was looking away at flatter ground to see if the sinewy, lanky man from the lodge was approaching. I saw no one, but that meant nothing. He could be crawling up through the scrub just down from where we sat.

  Or maybe that dude hadn’t been SCARE at all. Maybe he had just been alone in the lodge waiting for friends or family to arrive, as Freddie was waiting for Michelle and Adesina.

  Which was what Freddie started off talking about, out there on that little porch while we ate grapes and cheese and gazed at moonlight on canyon walls. Michelle and Adesina. Which caused me no more anguish than an ax to my forehead.

  He asked about me, too…but I told him the bare minimum. Born in Korea, never knew my birth parents, adopted by Americans and raised in California. Now tell me what it’s like to be a roadie for the Who.

  “I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but talking about myself,” Freddie said. His breath came out as a puff of crystallized smoke. “And trust me, being a roadie isn’t all that fascinating, although I do like it.”

  “Well, it gives you a chance to see the world,” I said, gesturing at the magnificence before us. “For example.”

  He took off his tinted spectacles and slipped them into a jacket pocket. Then he looked out over the canyon.

  “This is thanks to my sister,” he said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen any more of Arizona than the concert venue and the hotel in Phoenix.” He turned back toward me. “Thanks for not freaking out just now. I mean, when I told you who she is.” He let out another crystallized breath. “I’m still trying to reconcile the Michelle I’m getting to know with the Amazing Bubbles that everyone has heard of. If you know what I mean.”

  I knew better than he could guess. In fact, I knew of at least two other Michelles that weren’t anything like the ones he knew. “What about your niece?” I asked.

  Freddie grinned. “She’s the most what-you-see-is-what-you-get person you’ll ever meet. I mean, my Big Sis and the Amazing Bubbles are different people, because they have to be. But Adesina and Morpho Girl are one and the same. I’ve watched her fly people to safety from a fire, play Mr. Entwistle’s bass lines from Tommy lick for lick, and argue with her mum over whether chicken salad should have walnuts. And she has the same attitude in all three situations. She’s always—who she is.”

  I couldn’t help grinning at that, myself. He was right. That was Adesina.

  “Goodness, Freddie,” I said. “You sound like the proudest uncle on Earth.” Which didn’t surprise me. After all, that was how I had always felt about being Auntie Ink.

  He nodded. “Brother, too. But you know, I didn’t earn it. I just showed up and got this fantastic family.”

  I had a pang. It was as if he’d read my mind.

  My phone buzzed. I had to check it, because it was going to be something from Carnifex or the Midnight Angel.

  “Sorry,” I said, pulling out the phone. “I’m an admin at a security firm, and they keep pestering me.” Which almost wasn’t a lie.

  I held the phone so Freddie couldn’t see the screen. There was a text from Billy Ray.

  No ID on your photo yet. But if civilian, could ID quickly.

  Avoid.

  M Angel en route soon as possible. May require 18–24 hours. Shelter in place.

  I put away my phone and shivered. I was sure a hundred pairs of eyes were watching us from the darkened trees.

  “Everything okay?” Freddie asked.

  “Just getting chilly.” I stood. “Could we go inside?”

  I didn’t think he’d object. And he didn’t. I knew what he was hoping for. But I was going to disappoint him. And I was going to disappoint Billy Ray, too. I didn’t think I could string Freddie along and keep him in the dark for another twenty-four hours.

  So I was going to tell him the whole story. I was going to tell him that the Towers administration wanted to turn him into an anti-dissident bomb. He deserved to know. And maybe then we’d have a better chance of staying safe until the cavalry arrived. Otherwise, if SCARE jumped us before I could aim an Amplifier shout, what would I do? Tattoo myself to resemble a werewolf? All five foot one of me?

  We went inside. The fire we had started was flickering on the walls, the ceiling timbers, the beds.

  There were large windows on the west and east walls, beside each of the beds. I went to the one on the west, which looked out over the Transept, and closed the curtains.