“Sounds like Mr. Vince has been enjoying our little party too much,” the mayor says, cutting him off. “How about we find someone to take him home?”

Tobin’s dad and another man break away from the crowd. They approach Joe like he’s an injured cat.

“Let’s go, Joe,” Tobin’s dad says.

Joe wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. He looks up at the mayor. “You know what I did. You know what I gave up to become the ‘God of Rock.’ And I’m not the only one here guilty of the same sins.” His gaze moves from the mayor and locks on to me. “And now the devil has come to collect.”

I take a step back, letting go of Daphne’s hand.

Did he really just say what I thought he said? Was he outing me in front of Daphne and the entire town?

But how would he even know who I am? What I’ve come here for?

Tobin’s father makes a move to grab Joe, but Joe takes a swing at him—too slowly—and Tobin’s father moves easily out of the way. Joe lurches forward, stumbling. He falls onto the asphalt. I hear the crunch of glass under him as he tries to break his fall with the hand that was holding the beer bottle. More camera flashes go off.

“Joe!” Daphne says, jumping down from the stage. I follow her without even thinking.

He tries to push himself up, but then looks, bewildered, down at his hand. It’s covered in blood.

“Bloody, buggering hell,” he says, holding his injured hand. “How did that happen?”

“What were you thinking?” Daphne asks. I can’t tell if her question is directed at Joe or at Tobin’s father for inadvertently causing Joe’s fall.

Joe blinks up at her. “Daphne, when did you get here, love?”

“He’s drunk out of his mind,” I say. “He probably has no idea what he just did. Or even what he’s said.”

At least I hope that’s true. Or at least that Daphne will believe it.

More camera flashes go off as Daphne grabs some napkins from a nearby table. She presses them into Joe’s hand. The blood soaks right through.

A Keres would be able to smell that much blood from a mile away.

“There’s a first-aid tent at the other end of the street,” Tobin’s father says.

“No. We need to get him out of here,” I say, helping Joe up. I need to get him as far away from this crowd as possible.

“Good thinking,” Daphne says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if pictures from this little event end up in the newspapers tomorrow.”

“I’ll take him home,” I say to her. Or at least to an area out of sight that will be easy to defend. “Stay here with your friends. Go find Tobin.”

“Yeah, right,” Daphne says. “I’m not sticking you with Joe. He’s my dad.”

“You called me dad,” Joe says. He reaches out and runs his fingers down her face, almost poking her in the eye.

“I already regret it,” she says, looping his arm around her shoulder.

“Really, Daphne, I can handle it.”

“I’m taking him home,” she says. “Don’t argue with me.”

A rotten egg smell wafts by on a breeze. It could be from one of the garbage receptacles placed around the festival or it could be a Keres.…

There’s no time for arguing.

“We’ll both go,” I say.

“Stop the car,” Joe moans from the backseat. Daphne had ridden her bike to the festival, and Joe was in no condition to walk the lake paths—nor did I want him out in the open—so the three of us had piled into my Tesla.

“We’re almost home,” Daphne says tersely. I can feel the anger radiating off her. I’m glad it’s not directed toward me.

“Stop. The. Bleeding. Car.”

I slam on the brakes. Joe is out the door before we even come to a complete stop. He stumbles onto the grass and I hear the sounds of his heaving onto the gravel path that leads to one of the lakefront beaches.

“Nice,” Daphne mumbles. She wipes her hand down her face.

“He’ll be fine by morning.” If I can keep him alive until then.

I run through different options in my head. If the Keres has locked on to his scent, then we need to get as far away from town as we can. Maybe take him to a hospital in LA? The cut doesn’t look deep enough to warrant stitches but … no. I couldn’t risk leading a Keres into such a populated area as Los Angeles, and definitely not a hospital. Simon’s house, perhaps? Where Dax and Garrick can help … But what excuse do I make for taking Daphne and Joe there instead of home …?

I open the door and stand outside my car. I sniff the air to determine if the Keres is on our trail, but the smell of Joe’s vomit is too overwhelming.

Joe heaves again. I turn away. It sounds particularly violent.

“What do you think he meant by all that?” Daphne asks loudly, as if trying to cover up the sound of her father’s indiscretions with her question. “What he said about trading me for fame and fortune?”

“I don’t know.” I’d pass it off as alcohol-addled ramblings if his words about the devil coming to collect hadn’t hit so close to the mark. “Maybe he really regrets not being there for you as a kid. Like he traded your childhood for his career.”

“Do you really think so?” Daphne almost sounds hopeful.

“Daphne. Come here,” Joe moans. “I need your help.”

She sighs and pushes open her door. “I am not going to hold your weave back as you puke, Joe.”

“Dappphhhnnneeee?” he says with a whiny urgency that makes me look at him. He sways in the glow of a street lamp, looking as though he’s about to fall over. “Have I always had two shadows?” he asks, pointing at his feet.

“What?” she asks.

I hear her gasp as she sees what I see. Joe does indeed have two shadows. One is shorter, about half his height in length, but the other stretches out to the border of the lamplight.

I suddenly feel as though a cold wind has wrapped around me and pierced into my bones. Two shadows. Two shadows. The Keres has been with us all along. It’s attached itself to Joe. He’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.

“What the …?” Daphne starts to say as the second, long shadow suddenly curls forward and rises up off the pavement.

I toss my car keys at her. “Drive,” I say. “Get out of here!”