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“I see.” Caleb nodded again. “You’ve asked around town?”

“Caleb, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I’ve got the mother of all headaches, and I can handle this by myself.”

“Okay. Okay.” Caleb checked his watch. “I should head back anyway. It’s a long drive, and if I stay for lunch you’ll have to feed me, and I’ve seen your protein bars in the videos.”

“They smell like glue,” Leo added, helpfully.

Caleb wrinkled his nose.

Nate showed him outside.

On the porch, Caleb stopped and turned. “Are you sure you’re fine here?”

“Yes, I am.”

Caleb paused, but then he said what was on his mind. “You’re chewing tea leaves and sleeping on the floor next to your painting of him.”

Nate groaned. “I was sleeping there before the painting entered the room.”

Caleb looked at him a moment longer. “I know we’re not close anymore, but promise me you’ll at least talk to Jonah if things spiral out of your control, okay?”

“Does that mean you won’t tell my mom about…” Nate gestured vaguely.

“I’ll tell her you eat disgusting protein bars.”

“She’ll make me come to dinner again.”

“You deserve that.” Caleb smiled, and then, finally, he got in his car and drove away.

Nate kept standing on the porch for a while. At least talk to Jonah.

He wasn’t going to. Jonah would never understand.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Leo hovered at the end of the hallway and waited for his cue.

Nate stood a few feet away, facing his phone camera on the tripod and talking about glue. “Sometimes on wallpaper this old, the glue has given up in some places and fused in others, and you can’t tell which is which until you start pulling.”

He worked the scraper under a seam and pulled. A palm-sized piece tore off, and he held it up. “Guess it’s fused here.”

Now.

Leo focused on the wall behind Nate.

He’d practiced this for three nights in the turret room, where Nate wouldn’t film. Doors were easy once you knew the trick. They wanted to move; you only had to convince them of the timing. Paper was different. Paper had to be persuaded along its whole length at once, or it tore, and instead of a miracle you got confetti.

He’d ruined ten strips before he got it right.

The seam lifted. Leo peeled it back, slow and even, one unbroken sheet curling off the plaster from ceiling to baseboard. It settled on the floor without tearing.

Perfect.

Nate stopped mid-sentence. He turned around, looked at the wall, looked at the sheet on the floor.

“Guess that one wasn’t fused,” he said.