"Nadia! I've been looking for you for forever!"

My eyes must've been popping out of my head as Roxie swept toward me and gave me an unasked-for hug. She looked exactly as I remembered her: the brown hair swept back into a silky ponytail, the heart-shaped face and cat eyes and flawless skin. She was too pretty. Seeing her again made me remember how startled I'd been to find her in a place like Oliphant.

"So you do know her?" asked Henry.

I gaped at him over Roxie's shoulder, unable to respond, and he shrugged and went past me into the bathroom, promptly shutting the door and starting up the shower.

When she released me, she held me back at arm's length, smiled enthusiastically, chimed, "Vieja amiga! Here we are, together again!"

Old friend? I hadn't thought of us as any kind of friends. Acquaintances, I guess, but our experience at Oliphant hadn't been particularly friendly. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"You called me, remember?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"We got cut off! I was so worried. I didn't know what happened to you. So I tried to find you and here you are."

I couldn't believe she'd cared enough about me to go out of her way to find me. No way I trusted her. "How did you find me?"

She tipped her head, her ponytail swishing, smiled knowingly, as if we were sharing a bit of gossip. "You know I still got my contacts." She held up her hands and emphatically added, "I don't sell any more—diablos no. But I know a lot of people, so I put out the word, and one finally got eyes on you. I got a girl usually at the corner of 3rd and Hampton, said she saw a couple of people match your description. Messages me, and here I am! San Judo's not that big, you know."

She grinned, perhaps waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't buying her act. No doubt she knew people and probably had the ability to find me, but why would she want to?

"You called me! Dios mio, Nadia! What's with you?" She grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

I pushed her hands off. "I don't know why I called you, to be honest. I saw your name; it was familiar. I guess I thought—maybe you'd have information. Knew something about what happened after Oliphant. Maybe had heard of this thing I've been hearing about called the Circuit." I said it casually enough, trying not to ascribe much importance to the words.

"I got nothing for you. I left before you."

"But didn't they catch you?"

"Si . . . Can we talk about that later?" She leaned in closer to me, indicated the closed bathroom door. "What's with him?"

"Henry?"

"Is he with you?"

I wasn't entirely sure what she meant by "with" me, so I wasn't sure how to answer. At length, I said, "We're here together, if that's what you mean."

Roxie eyed the door somewhat longingly. "I always wanted to meet him." She frowned disconcertedly. "He's not quite what I expected. Still," she grew wistful, "el es bonito."

Something caught in me. Maybe that was her angle--Henry. She wasn't here because she cared about me; she wanted to see him, even after all this time. She was probably still traumatized from him misleading her, telling her he was going to go with her and then never showing up. Because he was waiting for me, instead. What did she feel toward me, then? I couldn't imagine it was the friendship she was playing at.

"Roxie, listen. I . . . appreciate that you came here to check up on me. Really, that's above and beyond. But Henry and I are fine, and we don't actually need you to do anything for us. So I'm sorry you came here for nothing--"

"I'm not going to lie to you. Esta es la verdad. Pinsky-Waters wanted me to come."

Wait--what? I recalibrated. That was a name I hadn't heard in a while. "What about Miss Pinsky-Waters? Explain."

"Yeah, all right." She plopped onto the bed, leaned back on her hands, got a little too comfortable, swung her slender legs back and forth. "You remember that crazy lady, right? But she actually was an undercover detective! I know you know that. She told me all about it. After everything happened with you and Jason she and the police--I guess it was the police, yo no se--they investigated Oliphant, and that's why it got shut down. Abuse of minors and all that. Anyway, lots of people got sent to other places, but some of us, lesser crimes, we got community service and therapy and all that crap. So I got to go back to school and my house. And Miss Pinsky-Waters, she visited me. She interviewed a lot of us. When you disappeared, she came back to me again and asked me to contact her if you reached out." She stopped talking, raised her eyebrows a little at me like she expected me to say something, which I didn't. "That's it. So I told her you called, and she asked me if I could find you and see if you'd come talk to her."

"She was the one that forgot about me," I protested, "long before I left San Judo. Why does she want to talk to me now? After Jason's trial, she was supposed to help me--she and that other detective promised me that--and then they just left me on my own with the Hineses. They never even told me why. I just stopped hearing from them. It was like they had what they wanted from me and just up and left."

"No Nadia. That's not what happened. They had to go into hiding. It was dangerous! Their partner got murdered; lots of people got hurt or disappeared."

I nodded. Old Lisa. I remembered Mel telling me about him ages ago. It was true--the Circuit had seemed out for revenge. Roxie's story was interesting, and it wasn't implausible. A part of me definitely felt drawn to talk to Miss Pinsky-Waters and Galen Arnold again; they'd genuinely helped me after Oliphant. But Henry and I didn't have time, and I wasn't sure I needed or even wanted their help anymore. If they'd been so scared of the Circuit that they'd gone into hiding, they wouldn't be much use to us anyway, when I was trying to take us back into danger. They'd probably advise me and Henry to stay away from the Circuit and anything potentially affiliated with it while they worked their investigation, but that was absolutely not going to happen. In fact, as kind as they were, they may even try to lock us up to keep us out of danger. I couldn't risk that.

No, there was no way I'd go with Roxie to talk to them. "Why don't I call you after I talk to Henry about it?" I'd never call. I'd thrown away the number. "Tomorrow. I'll call tomorrow." We'd be long gone by tomorrow.

"No soy estupida, Nadia. You're not going to call. And I don't even care. I said what they wanted me to say, but now I want to tell you why I'm actually here."

She'd piqued my interest. There was more to say?

"I'm bored to hell. Now that I'm done with all the stuff that got me into trouble, there's just nothing to do. I've been going to school and I'm graduating soon and then everyone wants me to go off to some community college or something, but I want to have some fun. Whatever you've got going on here, I just want a little piece of it, all right? Can I just hang with you for a while? What've you got happening with him? I know it's something. Can't you tell me what's up?"

This was unexpected. I started to tell her no, but then I shut my mouth and thought. There was no way I could tell Roxie everything that had been going on; there were a lot of reasons for that, not least of which was the fact that I trusted nobody. She'd shown up out of nowhere and imposed herself on us. That was pretty suspicious. My gut told me that Roxie wasn't smart enough to be with the Circuit, but my gut had been wrong plenty of times. Her info about Miss Pinsky-Waters was entirely believable, but Roxie didn't seem like the kind of person who'd do a favor for someone without expecting a reward . . . so what was the catch? Was she getting paid for contacting us? Or was there some more sinister trade-off? Ugh. The possibilities were endless. Questions opened an ever-widening black hole of potentials. And then there was the chance that Roxie really did just want something to do.

Whatever it was, she hadn't earned any explanation from me, but maybe she'd prove useful, if I just kept an eye on her. She could stay for a while, but at the very least, she deserved a warning. "Roxie, I am not going to go into everything that's going on with me and Henry. You're welcome to stay, but I have to be honest--we're going to do something potentially stupid and dangerous tonight, and I can't promise you'll be safe. I'm not going to look out for you."

She widened her eyes at me, and for a moment, I thought I'd sufficiently worried her, but when she grinned, I knew she intended to stick around. "Yo puedo cuidar de mí mismo, Nadia. I don't need a babysitter." She popped up off the bed excitedly. "So I'm staying, si? I can hang?"

"You could die."

"It's that serious?"

I chewed my lip. She was more thrilled than concerned by my comment. This girl was either crazy or conniving . . . whichever it was, I didn't care enough to argue with her.

Henry came out of the bathroom looking clean and, thankfully, clothed. He didn't even look at Roxie or me, but Roxie definitely looked at him. She looked at him a little too long, for my comfort. I went to him, got close just to show her, and told him Roxie was staying for a while. As expected, he didn't seem to have an opinion about that, though I'd sort of hoped he'd argue with me.

By that time, it was about eight thirty. I ordered room service; Roxie opened the mini-bar and started drinking things out of it. She begged us to drink with her, but neither of us was inclined--I was at least grateful Henry was with me there. Roxie became only more spirited but kept herself together; I guessed she had quite a tolerance. Time crawled. Conversation was minimal, with most of it coming from Roxie and occasionally from me. She told us her life story, pretty much. I learned a lot more than I'd ever wanted to know about her. Honestly, her prattling offered a kind of respite from the heavy thinking I'd been doing before she showed up. Maybe this whole Halo thing was one of those situations I couldn't overthink. I just had to go with it and see what happened. For his part, Henry mostly stared off at nothing in particular or, for a small while, napped. Roxie tried to get information out of me about him, about what we'd been doing all this while, about what was going on that night, but I deflected her questions successfully. It was easy: I just asked her something about herself. By the time we were ready to head out of the hotel, she knew as much about me and Henry as she had when she'd arrived, and she didn't even seem to realize it.

About one thirty, I decided it was time to go. I made sure I had my few belongings,what little money we had left, and led Henry and Roxie out and back onto the streets. Before we'd gone very far, I pulled Roxie aside, told her she didn't have to go with us--that she probably shouldn't go with us. I told her we were meeting with someone involved in crime, that we were headed somewhere we may never get out of, and that she could be killed and there was no way I could stop it.

Didn't matter. None of my words mattered. She was only more excited, and her excitement lessened the guilt I felt in bringing her along. If she wanted to be stupid, that was her choice. At least having her there meant I could watch her, too. She wasn't going to run off and get Pinsky-Waters if she were with me.

I quickly realized, though, that none of this was about me. She was absolutely there for Henry. As we walked along the dark, half-empty streets, she drew back from me and walked apace with him, leaving me to lead. I heard her try to talk and was gratified to hear little response from Henry, but when I looked back, I saw Roxie linked arm in arm with him. I had to pretend not to notice; stopping or making a big deal out of it would've been awkward, but I felt a jealousy I didn't know I could feel begin to grow. I kept forward, walking, facing, ignoring whatever was happening behind me, watching street signs and people's behaviors--who crossed streets, whether anyone was looking our way, groups versus those on their own. I had to suspect everyone and anyone could be watching us, and I didn't exclude the girl behind me. I was beginning to think she was most suspicious of all. I reminded myself that everyone was my enemy and, while walking, pulled my bag off my shoulder, unzipped the pocket, retrieved the gun, and placed it inside my jacket. I couldn't be caught off guard this time. Not again. If she put Henry or me in danger, I'd do what I had to.

That thought eased my envy, somewhat.

We reached the designated meeting spot a little early and decided not to approach until the time was closer. We were in a pretty deserted part of the city, and it'd been a bit of a challenge to find it. Knowing a lot of the streets from our time spent with Peale's gang helped, though--I had never actually been in this area, but I knew its general location and could follow the street grid well enough. Henry wasn't dependable for directions, but I forgave him for that. His mind was a mess, and he'd saved our lives. He'd come back from the dead to rescue me. I could even forgive him for letting Roxie fawn over him. I could forgive him anything.

We found a porch stoop outside what looked like an empty duplex and settled in. The place had boarded windows and no door, so we were fairly certain we were alone. I kept standing, up against the wall, near the door frame; Roxie slid down to sit, pulling Henry with her. They were invisible from the street, entirely behind the porch wall. I was perhaps visible to one who was looking, but I was shrouded in shadow, and this way, I could see anyone who approached from almost any distance. Unfortunately, that meant I could also see the two of them, and I could barely contain my annoyance.

Henry just sat there, looking his normal vacant self, even had his eyes closed as if he were trying to take a nap, but Roxie was practically on top of him, her arm through his, her head on his shoulder, looking about as content as a kitten in a sunbeam. I couldn't stand seeing her hands let alone her head on him. But what was I supposed to do? Saying something would be strange; Henry wasn't mine, not exactly--not at all, actually. I couldn't tell him what to do. If he wanted to let that ridiculous girl get all cozy with him, that was his choice. I just . . . hated that he was making it.

We had about ten minutes to go. Between Roxie's cuddliness with Henry and my attempts not to watch it, I practically began praying for the moment when Halo arrived and we could leave the stoop to go meet her. I didn't know what we'd say to her--that's what I needed to focus on. No doubt she'd wonder why we had Roxie with us. I had to come up with some excuse for that. My mind tangled with potential things to say, but then again, as clearly as if someone was standing at my ear and speaking to me, I heard a voice cut through my thoughts:

Go into the house.

I straightened up, looked around. Although it had happened multiple times, I was always startled when I heard my inner voice. And here it was telling me to go into the house. Of course I'd listen; I always did, but before I could move, it came again.

Just go into the house. Trust me.

Me? Trust me? Who was me? Why would I think that to myself? And why the impatience? Wasn't I going to do what it'd said? Something disquieted me. I shuddered and glanced at Henry, who seemed entirely unaware that anything was going on at all. In fact, he looked more asleep than he had when I'd last looked at him, his head nodding down onto his chest.

As I stood, my heart pounding between my ears, I waited to see if the voice would come again, but it didn't. As unsettled as I was, I had to listen to myself. The voice had never hurt me, whatever it was, and taking a peek in the abandoned house couldn't be too dangerous, could it?

Holding my gun out in front of me, I turned and stepped into the dark rectangle of the missing door. Nothing of any interest immediately met my eye. It was a room, bare of any furnishings, plaster falling from the walls in huge patches leaving wood exposed, light scare but present where the streetlamp outside was given permission to shine through the poorly-boarded windows in the wall to my left. A black-hole-of-a-fireplace ate into the wall directly across from me; another darker rectangle near the fireplace showed me where a hallway no doubt resided. A defunct ceiling fan with missing blades rested in dust right above me. The hardwood floors creaked with my weight but felt solid enough. Everything was as normal as an empty duplex could be . . . until I turned to my right.

There, written on the wall in black paint or chalk, was a message: You're welcome. And on a nail poking out of the wall was a car key.