We materialized in Boston. At least, I hoped it was Boston. I'd personally never been there, but I knew the general location. I dropped us once I found a sign proving we were in the right city. The street was empty as we appeared. Dad hadn't been prepared for the sudden travel and he coughed, the wind having been yanked from his lungs. I grimaced. The first time I'd been unprepared, it had literally knocked me unconscious. I understood what that was like.

   "Roxie," he wheezed, "what . . . the hell . . . going on?"

   Tate caught his arm, alarmed, as Dad stumbled. Dad pulled his bicep free with a mutter. I shook my head, exasperated. "Catch your breath. We're grabbing you and Tate's parents and getting you guys to safety. Dani's made it pretty clear she's after me, and I'm not taking any chances."

   Dad opened his mouth to retort, thought about it, and changed his mind. "You know what? I can handle myself, but I'm not going to argue. Dani Darhk's actually insane. Stupidly powerful, too."

   Tate looked at him oddly. "If I didn't already know you two were related, I'd know just from that statement."

   "Tate, which way is your family?" I asked.

   He glanced at the nearest street sign. "Closer north. Two blocks from an interstate exit and intersection. Can you see your surroundings when you Linewalk?"

   "Somewhat."

   "It's a big, navy blue house with white trimmings. The yard is flawless except for a single corner. There's a tree stump there with a white stone."

   I nodded and hooked my Dad's elbow. "Hold your breath, this time."

   Dad snorted. Tate caught my wrist and I pulled us back into the nex gate. This time, I journeyed down one of the smaller lines. Images flashed past rapidly until I slowed down. My eyes felt like they were crossing as I examined the different houses, trying to keep up with the warped, blurry images. Finally, I saw navy, and skidded to a stop. The nex line pushed us out of the current and we appeared on the sidewalk.

   Tate immediately let go of my arm. His feet carried up to the fence and he didn't even bother with it. The guy scaled it like a hurdle and hurried for the front door. Dad stared. "He's a little eager. Why weren't you so excited to see me?" His tone was teasing.

   "Because Tate hasn't seen them for five months. Unlike my departure, his parents had no idea what happened to him. And you were snoring like an idiot and your breath reeked -- I wasn't going to hug you." I tossed away my staff, allowing it to vanish. Dad looked offended.

   Tate knocked again on the door, getting agitated. "I think they're asleep," he muttered, "but Mom's hearing is as good as mine. She should've--" The lock flipped and he went silent. The door cracked open, held by a chain. 

    A tired eye peered through the gap. It narrowed. "That's not funny, whoever you are."

   Tate shook his head. "It's actually me, Dad."

   Tate's father stared at him, measuring. "My son didn't have those scars on the side of his head."

   Dad snorted. "And my daughter didn't have a limp, but here we are." I whacked his arm, hissing, but he'd caught Tate's father's attention. His gaze seared our way. Tate shook his head. "Sorry, they're a salty bunch. But it's me, Dad. On tulip, it's me."

   A woman's voice murmured quietly enough that I couldn't hear what she'd said. The door closed, the chain unlatched, and a woman wrenched the door open. She crashed into Tate hard enough that he stumbled. Reminded of the fact that he was inhumanly strong, I mildly wondered how strong that old woman had to be to budge him that much.

   I could hear her fighting tears, her chest heaving. A faint smile came to my lips as I realized Tate was holding her so tightly that her feet weren't even touching the ground. Unwilling to intrude, I looked around their yard.

   In the corner Tate has described, the grass was lush and green, save for one spot. There was the stump of a tree, cut at about six inches. The thickness suggested that that sucker had been quite the tree before it was cut down. Sitting next to it was a white stone. It stuck out of the grass by a foot. Carved in the center was a delicately-drawn tulip.

   There was some story behind it, I could tell. Tate had said something about a tulip. I made a small huh sound as I looked back at Tate. He'd moved onto his father, who'd finally realized that he wasn't seeing things. His mother grabbed his hand. "Where have you been?"

  "Long, long story," Tate told her gently, "but I've been in the Ghost Realm."

   "Ghost Realm?" His father said sharply, alarmed.

   "I'll tell you inside."

   The mother finally looked my way. I wiggled my fingers at her, amused that I had realized where Tate had gotten his hair. Hers was a thick mop that looked almost impossible to deal with. Somehow she'd wrangled it onto a bun on the top of her head, but some strands still fell onto her polka-dot pajamas.

   Tate's father was a brisk man with salt-and-pepper hair, his skin so tanned from years in the sun that it looked like sandpaper. He was missing half of one ear. My hand raised to my newly-scarred ear, relieved I still had most of it. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts and flip flops.

   "Who are your friends, Tate?"

   Tate glanced my way, remembering we were here. He beckoned us forward. I made a point of unlatching the gate and swinging it open. Dad covered his mouth, fighting a wheezing laugh. It cut off the moment I looked at him with a smirk. He froze and looked down, then cursed. "You never let me change out of my pajamas!"

   "You don't think they'll like your Super Drama Llama pajamas?" I'd bought them for him as a joke for Father's Day a few years ago. I never thought he'd actually wear them. 

   He shot me a glare. I moved past him with a grin. Tate was fighting a smile. He'd obviously heard what I'd said. "Mom, this is Roxie--"

   "Reilly?" She finished for him, her eyes wide.

   "Huh?" Both me and Dad said it at the same time. Dad looked at me, bewildered. "How'd she know that?"

   I grimaced. "You don't keep with with magick media, do you, Dad?"

   "No, not really. Not unless it's local."

   Tate's mom practically shoved him out of the way. He stumbled off of the sidewalk. She offered her hand with a grin. "Roxie Reilly, huh? How do you know my son?"

   I shook her hand, amused. She was spicy -- I automatically liked her. "We met in the Ghost Realm."

   "So it's true!" Mrs. Leon rounded on her husband. "I told you, anyone wanting to make a statement after something like that party would do something crazy -- and the Ghost Realm fit the bill! I knew it!"

   Mr. Leon shook his head and commented idly, "Sorry, she loves coming up with theories."

   "Just plausible ones. Not the crazy theories, like people who believe demons are actually from hell or that vampires burn in the sun." She winked at me. "I baked cookies last night. Want some?"

   "Oh, heck yes." Dad and I said it at the same time again. I elbowed him, annoyed. "She was offering me, not you!"

   "I'm your dad, I get first dibbs."

   "Dude--"

   Tate sighed. "And that's her father, if you can't tell."

   Mr. Leon gave him a look. "I wonder what gave it away."