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“It’s worth asking,” Vic said. “But if he can’t help, then I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m coming.” Vic put his hand on Adam’s leg and squeezed, riding up to the edge of what Adam could bear. “I’m not letting you go back there without me. I couldn’t protect you the last time. I’m not taking any chances now.”

Adam wanted to argue some more.

There might be boggins, or worse, if the crack to the Between opened while they were there. Plus, it was breaking and entering. They might get arrested, and they had more than enough trouble already.

Adam knew that neither of those were the real reason.

He didn’t want Vic to see him in that place, what it might do to him, or who he might become if he broke down.

And yet it was Vic, who’d already seen the worst of him so many times and never walked away.

“Okay,” Adam said.

“When do you want to go?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Why the delay?”

“I’ve got therapy tomorrow. I’m hoping that shores up the walls a bit.”

12

Adam got the impression that Dr. Cahill was trying not to glare at him. While he didn’t quite stare back, he studied the oval of her face and the brown waves of her long hair.

They’d gone a few minutes without him answering her first question, which was always her standard How are you?

It really shouldn’t be a challenge, but he also knew that the kind of answer you’d give a waiter or someone in passing wouldn’t work here.

He needed to answer. He should use this time. Instead he turned to the neutral beige walls and soft tones of the furniture offset by the Eastern art.

“This is your hour, Adam.” She sighed and checked her smart watch. “I can’t make you engage, but it’s a waste of your time and money if you don’t talk to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I really wanted to come here today. It feels like everything should be okay, but it’s not. I’m not.”

“There are no shoulds, Adam. You can’t force people to be what they aren’t and you can’t just will away your PTSD.”

A thought occurred to him.

“But what if I could? What if I could change someone so they didn’t have to suffer later?”

“Would you want that kind of power?” She tapped her pen against her notepad.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

It didn’t matter if he wanted it. He had it. It had occurred to him that morning, in the middle of switching out Mrs. Carpenter’s brake pads, that he could do to Ian what he’d done to Wilcox. Adam had severed Patrick’s magic, the threads of it inside him. It was more effective and more permanent than a binding.

He hugged the throw pillow to his chest.

If Ian grew up without Sight, he’d never fall into the Between. He’d never become the Wolf, and Adam would never have to kill him.

Maybe that was what the dreams were trying to tell him. They were warnings, of what Ian would be like if he had no magic.

He couldn’t trust anyone but Vic with this, so he changed the subject. “I drew a tarot card this morning and got the Five of Cups.”