Malhar raised his eyebrows.

  “What was that?” Charlie demanded, mightily unnerved.

  “Secret shadow language,” Red told her with a small, amused smile.

  Charlie sighed and pointed toward Malhar’s computer. “Can I use that for a second? While you two do whatever it is you’re going to do to that thing, which clearly can understand us after all.”

  “Sure.” Malhar leaned across her and typed in his password.

  Charlie sat down and cracked her knuckles. Although she played through her cons in person, the lead-up to each required a lot of digital research. Usually she did it at libraries when she was sure she could stay out of the range of cameras. Sometimes, when she was really worried about being found out, she would break into office buildings and do her research there.

  But this time, she had nothing to worry about. She was the investigator, not the criminal who’d be investigated. So Malhar’s desktop would be fine.

  Charlie took a still from one of Rooster Argent’s videos and reverse- image-searched his face. Then she scrolled through lots of photos of people who might be him if she squinted. Frustrated, she went to a site that offered a better image search for about fifteen bucks. That yielded more precise results. Rooster at a conference of YouTubers. Lots of photos from his Instagram. And there was one—she clicked through to an abandoned Myspace page of a fifteen-year-old named Dave Pugliese.

  Gotcha.

  Dave Pugliese graduated from Holyoke High School in 2013—there was a photo in the yearbook. He was arrested for criminal trespass in 2015, then seemed to disappear. Six years later, Rooster Argent arrived on the scene, already a gloamist.

  But it was Dave Pugliese who’d bought a penthouse apartment in an old building near the center of Northampton.

  Charlie stood. “We should go.”

  Malhar let out a sigh from where he was attempting to create a maze that led to a blood-soaked tissue. “You could leave it here overnight. I could observe it some more. See if it communicates more readily with less distraction.”

  Red shook his head.

  “You don’t think it’s safe?” Malhar said.

  Red gave him a look. “Absolutely not.”

  Charlie was only halfway paying attention. I have had a great deal of blood from many people, living and dead, and I care nothing for most of them. Red had said that earlier. The Blight in the cage had been focused on her finger. “Maybe the motive was simple. Maybe the killer—maybe Rooster—just wanted a much more powerful shadow. Wanted the blood. Didn’t Balthazar imply there was some kind of conflict between him and Mr. Punch?”

  “He said they were opposites,” Red said, leaving her unsure if he was agreeing or not.

  On the way out, she saw Aron sitting on the couch outside the house with an enormous water bong resting on the ground in front of him. He struggled with a matchbook.

  “You want a hit?” he offered, then blinked at Red. He must have wondered how he’d missed a large guy like that showing up.

  “I’m good,” she told Aron, stepping off the porch in the direction of the car. Halfway to it, Charlie met her sister, walking up the path.

  Posey jerked to a stop. “What are you doing here?”

  Charlie studied her, the weight of the duffel bag slung across her body, the timing of her arrival, and the number of times she hadn’t been in her own bed at night recently. “You’ve been sleeping over at Malhar’s place? That’s where you’ve been?”

  “I—” Posey began. On the porch, Aron waved and after a moment, she waved vaguely back. She was so busted.

  “Malhar’s your boyfriend?”

  Posey gave her head a half shake, but seemed to think better of denying it. “We have a thing. Which is undefined and also none of your business.”

  Hall women made famously bad choices. But Charlie hadn’t seen any warning signs in Malhar, except, of course, that Posey liked him.

  “Great,” Charlie said decisively. “He’s got a lot of roommates. We’re moving tomorrow. How about you get your not-quite-a-boyfriend to come and bring them along to help?”

  “I will,” Posey said, but she still looked unhappy. “Now you explain why you didn’t come to me?”

  “About what?” Charlie found herself mystified.

  “Whatever you wanted to ask Malhar. I’m the gloamist,” she said. “Ask me. I know stuff.”

  “Fine,” Charlie said. “Who massacred the people in the basement of the Grace Covenant Church?”

  Posey flinched, visibly uncomfortable. “You asked Malhar that?”

  “I came here looking for leads,” Charlie told her. “One of my theories was that Blights might have been involved, maybe controlled by a gloamist? I figured Malhar could know something about their habits since that’s his area of study.”

  Posey looked more upset, rather than less. “You should leave it alone.”

  “Leave what alone?”

  “Whatever happened in the church was bad. Let the Cabals figure this one out for themselves.” Posey wasn’t wrong, but there was something strange in her expression, something that Charlie didn’t like.

  “So I guess you don’t have any theories for me?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah, that it was done by a psycho,” Posey said. “See you at home.” Then she headed toward Malhar’s house, as though she hadn’t been the one pushing Charlie to ask her for help. As Posey went up the path, Charlie noted a dark stain marring the cuff of her jeans.

  She thought of the massacre in the church, of the hungry Blight in her backpack, of Rooster’s TikToks. He didn’t seem the type to kill a roomful of people for their blood, but then, she supposed that people seldom did.

  * * *

  They drove to Northampton next. Charlie directed Red to take her to a grocery store, then park across the street from Rooster’s apartment building. Now that she knew his name, finding his place hadn’t been difficult.

  “Dare I ask?” Red appeared a little amused, ready to be impressed. He didn’t seem to even consider the possibility that she didn’t know what she was doing, which was flattering enough to make her cheeks redden in a way she pretended was just from the cold.

  “Watch and wait,” Charlie told him, glorying in the moment.

  They sat in surprisingly companionable silence until the events of the day caught up with Charlie and she yawned. “Talk to me. I don’t want to fall asleep.”

  Red leaned back in his seat. “Did you go to college?”

  “That’s what you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “I asked.”

  “It just wasn’t what I expected a monstrous Blight, bound to miserable servitude, to be curious about.” He smiled.

  “I went to community college,” she admitted. “Then I dropped out so I could give my full attention to my life of crime.”

  “Plenty of criminals with college degrees,” Red pointed out.

  Charlie groaned. “I hate that there’s even an old boys’ network of miscreants.”

  “That’s a good word.” He was watching her with warmth in his expression. “Miscreant.”

  Charlie looked up and saw someone heading toward the building. “You have to stay in shadow for this,” she said, getting out of the Porsche, then grabbing her bags of groceries.

  Sprinting across the street, she got through the doors before the approaching sucker. Scanning the buzzers for Rooster’s apartment, she saw that each floor was broken into three units—1A, 1B, 1C, and the same for 2s and 3s—except at the top, there was only 4.

  The person she’d seen walking arrived at the building. He used a key to open the second, inner door and, as she’d hoped, held it for her without any questions.

  The guy took the elevator, so Charlie headed for the stairs, climbing them all the way to the fourth floor. A metal fire door greeted her. Setting down her groceries, she tried the handle. Locked. Since there was only one residence on the fourth floor, it was possible that it led directly into the apartment. Picking the lock on a fire door wasn’t easy, but at least she had Red.

  “Is there onyx?” she asked him.

  He moved out of shadow, his legs still blurred as he moved toward the door. Then he was flowing beneath it.

  A moment later the lock turned. Red stood, silhouetted in the doorway, still not quite solid. “I don’t think Rooster expected anyone to send a shadow here.”

  Looking around, Charlie wondered if it was because he’d been too worried about a line of black flooring ruining his aesthetic. A cloud sofa dominated the living room, aimed at the enormous television taking up a whole wall. Three separate gaming systems had been plugged in, their controllers on a slick black console. On the wall, staggered shelves showed off a collection of Kaws art figures, each one carefully spotlighted. A “KEEP OFF” Supreme x Ikea rug covered the floor. The full hypebeast experience.

  She walked to the next room, which turned out to be Rooster’s filming studio—lights, tripods, a mess of expensive camera equipment, a green screen, and a couple of stools and chairs. Down the hall, she discovered his bedroom, dominated by a huge bed—by appearances, larger than a king—as though he was expecting an impromptu orgy. A display of prized sneakers covered the wall over the headboard. A mini fridge sat in the place of a nightstand.

  “Charlie,” Red called.

  She followed his voice to the kitchen. There, she found a beautiful, huge espresso machine resting on a marble island next to a bunch of stacked BAPE camo mugs. Pulling her gaze from it, she saw Red with a laptop covered in skater stickers.

  She raised her eyebrows. After all, it seemed impossible that Mr. Punch hadn’t been here already, hadn’t looked through Rooster’s things before he set her on this trail. A laptop would be the first thing he checked, assuming he’d found one.

  “Under the floorboards. Password was ‘PASSWORD.’” Red turned it toward her. “Look at this.”

  He indicated the folder on the desktop that was marked BLACKMAIL MATERIAL.

  “Seriously? He just put that there?” Of course, what in this apartment would make Charlie think Rooster wouldn’t have done that? This was a guy with PASSWORD for his password. On the other hand, this was also a guy who’d managed to conceal his laptop from everyone but a living shadow.

  “I think it’s meant to be ironically unironic,” Red said. “But there are real recordings in here. Recent ones too.”

  “Holy shit,” Charlie said, reaching over to the second to last, labeled PUNCH.

  It started midconversation.

  A voice Charlie didn’t recognize spoke. Our harvester is gone. I need you to do the job.

  I never signed up for that. She could hear Rooster’s nervous breaths.

  You’re the architect of this problem. Now solve it. That had to be Mr. Punch speaking. The real Mr. Punch. She paid attention to the sound of his voice. It reminded her of someone.

  It’s not how this works. I cut you in on this. If Rooster belonged to the puppeteers, he’d have worked for Malik until very recently. Maybe they’d had a system.

  Quit whining and get the fucking shadows, Mr. Punch told him.

  What if he goes to Vicereine? Rooster said.

  Mr. Punch laughed. Him? He can’t. And neither can you. Then silence.

  Charlie looked at the timestamp. The conversation took place three days before the massacre at Grace Covenant.

  There was only one other file in the BLACKMAIL folder with a timestamp after that one. She hit play.

  Where are you? Rooster asked. You fucker. They’re going to kill you for this.

  Then came a weird, hollow laugh. It shivered down Charlie’s spine.

  The recording ended, leaving her to ponder how these new pieces fit together.

  She went to the refrigerator, trying to get a sense of the last time Rooster had come to this place. There wasn’t much inside—a carton of milk that was sour when she brought it to her nose. Wilted lettuce. A block of Gruyère. A package of ham that smelled off. A bottle of unopened Moët that was probably just fine.

  “I think he’s dead,” Charlie said, turning back toward Red.

  He was lounged in the kitchen chair, looking too big for it, long limbs crossed at the ankles. “So where’s the body?”

  She played that final recording again. That laugh made her think of the way Mark had laughed that final time they’d spoken, before he’d conspired with his brother to murder her.

  Charlie met Red’s eyes. “This guy sounds like he’d know.”

  * * *

  Balthazar jerked open his door, glaring down at Charlie and then turning that glare on Red.

  She pushed past him and into the flat. He was shirtless, his hair messy as though he’d just come from bed.

  “Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

  He folded his arms over his bare chest. “Is there a reason you’re in my house, Charlie Hall? And is it a reason I am going to hate or merely dislike?”

  She put her backpack down on the table. “The Blight you wanted.” The creature inside moved at the sound of her voice, wriggling.

  He blinked at her. “But I just … that conversation was only days ago.”

  “I work fast. You know that.” She tried not to look excessively smug.

  “Okay,” he said, smoothing back his hair in a way that indicated some level of freaking out. “Okay. Can I see it?”

  For the second time that night, Charlie opened her backpack to reveal the Blight. Then she dumped it, in the onyx netting bound with zip ties, onto Balthazar’s couch.

  He studied the shadow creature as it attempted to fight its way free. “Lively,” he said.

  “All things considered, it’s fairly friendly,” Charlie told him. “More curious than murderous.”

  “Equal parts, at least,” put in Red.

  “So,” Charlie said. “Would you like me to sew it on you?”

  A man’s voice sounded from the hall. “Balthazar, I thought you were—”

  A familiar voice.

  “Is that Bellamy?” Charlie said, dropping her voice to a whisper. She remembered Red saying they met up behind Rapture. Apparently, they met up other places as well.

  “You better go,” Balthazar said, lowering his voice too. “I can take it from here.”

  “What if he finds out?” Charlie demanded, partially because this was an important question and partially because she wanted to know if Bellamy had been selling Blights and Balthazar knew it.

  “Then I will lie about where it came from,” Balthazar promised, herding her and Red toward the door.

  “One more thing,” Charlie said. “Remember when you said Rooster Argent was scheduled to talk at some wellness retreat upstate? Do you remember the place it’s being held?”

  “Solaluna. Now, goodbye.” He shut the door in her face.

  Charlie turned to meet Red’s gaze.

  Solaluna, like the matchbook they found next to the stubbed-out cigarettes in Hatfield. Solaluna, where Rooster was supposed to quicken the shadows of the wealthy and powerful. Solaluna, which might be at the center of everything.

  23

  Moving Day

  Charlie spent her night frantically packing in preparation for moving out of their rental house the following day. She threw clothes in garbage bags and dumped her toiletries on top. By the time Red came into her room late that night, she had a line of them against the wall as though she was ready to take her whole life to the dump.

  She looked up at him. His eyes were hot and hungry, but he didn’t move toward her. Didn’t do anything but look.

  “You should, um…” Charlie said. “I should give you some blood.”

  He took a step toward her. “Should you?” he asked, voice deep.

  She turned away from him and flopped down on the mattress. “Throw me something sharp,” she said. “Or bite me. Whatever you’re into.”

  “There isn’t much you failed to pack up,” he said, looking through her drawers.

  She grinned. “I guess that leaves only one option. You’re going to have to play vampire.”

  He sat on the edge of the mattress, a strange light in his eyes. He looked hungry. “Give me your hand.”

  Charlie thought of the bites on the bodies and shuddered, suddenly less certain about what she was inviting him to do. But she reached over to him and felt the pressure of his thumb against her palm.

  He brought her pointer finger to his mouth. Between his lips. His tongue slid over it and then she felt a sting, as though the tip of his tongue had a thorn attached to it. The barb of a scorpion’s tail. He drew her finger deeper into his mouth.

  She shuddered again, this time for entirely different reasons. She felt the warmth of her cheeks and a sudden heat between her legs. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

  Then he kissed the very tip of her finger and returned her hand to her.

  “You were right,” he said.

  “Oh?” Her thoughts were a muddle of disappointment and shame.

  “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” He stood. “And I can’t have you.”

  Leaving Charlie to lie there in the darkness and wonder why he couldn’t.

  * * *

  Moving day is when people discover who their true friends are. Charlie had asked Barb for help, but she and Aimee were allegedly visiting Aimee’s parents upstate for the holidays and couldn’t make it. José, however, showed up with Katelynn, and José’s new boyfriend, Paul. Paul and Katelynn had enough of a resemblance that Charlie thought he might be the cousin that Katelynn had offered to set up José with.

  That guy with the blue hair might have eaten a moth when he was a child. Vince had met these people, so Red needed to be briefed. Was that a justification for gossip? Maybe.

  Only one moth? Red asked in return.

  Does it matter? Charlie imagined the powder from their wings coating her tongue and made a face.

  Red smiled. Multiple moths means he has a taste for them.

  Charlie had to smother a laugh. True to her word, Posey had recruited Malhar and three of his roommates who hadn’t gone home for winter break—Ibrahim, Deon, and Aron.