“Like how?” Oscar demands. There’s barely a question mark at the end of it, more like a statement. He takes his glasses slowly off his face and then folds the arms back. Vic looks from him to me.

“Like she matters,” I say, my voice sharp. “Because she doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t?” Oscar parrots, and Vic gives him a sharp look as Hael’s fingers squeeze my hip hard enough to bruise. He’s warning me to keep my temper. I know he’s probably right, that Oscar’s baiting me, but it’s working for some stupid fucking reason. “She seems pretty important right now; I won’t lie. If Vic really did marry her, he’d have access to business connections we could only ever dream of.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Vic says as Oscar stares me down with his graveyard-colored eyes. His smile is like a knife, and it cuts right through me. “Oscar, knock it the fuck off. I’ve warned you once.”

And he did, at the beach. If Victor said it, he’ll follow through with it. That’s the scary thing.

“Hm,” is Oscar’s only response. He moves past me and up the stairs toward the bathroom. I’m tempted to chase after him, just to punch him in the spine, but I’m not giving that asshole any power. It occurs to me that he might be as jealous of Victor as I am of Trinity.

I look back at Vic.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe. Or maybe we’ll just show up to school on Monday together.”

“Why don’t you check in tomorrow and we’ll see?” Vic retorts, narrowing his eyes. He walks by and puts his hand on the top of my head in a way that just pisses me off. I smack his hand aside, but he just smiles at me.

“Careful, princess,” he warns, and I wonder, if I pushed, if he wouldn’t take me to bed and destroy me in it.

“You sure you want to come with me?” Hael asks, his voice a hollow echo, the way it gets when his family is brought up. I know why he stays, because of his mom. And mom is truly a powerful word, a blessing for some and a curse for others. I know all about the word mom. “It’ll probably be boring as fuck.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I say, glancing back at him and finding his honey-almond eyes on me.

“Okay, Blackbird,” he says, and then he steps away from me, releasing my hip and leaving me to shiver in the darkness of the Fadler house. “Get your stuff and let’s go.”

I wonder if, this time, I might be the one who gets to comfort Hael Harbin in the dark.

“Maman, je suis rentré!” Hael calls out when he opens the door and the spicy scent of cayenne pepper and oil drifts over to me. He tucks his keys into his jeans pocket as we pause in the living room so he can re-lock the door. There are seven locks in total on it which isn’t surprising over here in the Four Corners neighborhood. Everyone in South Prescott who gets gentrified off the block escapes over here, so it’s nearly as bad. Nearly. But not quite.

“Bienvenue!” she calls back. “Je suis en train de cuisiner dans la cuisine.”

“She’s making dinner,” he tells me, translating with a sly smile on his face. When he leans in toward me, I take a step back so he can put his palms on the wall on either side of me. Our bodies are far too close right now. Just the smell of him is making me sweat. “Do me a favor and hide your bag in my room. Mom doesn’t approve of sleepovers—especially with girls.” He winks, and I gape at him.

“Your mom doesn’t approve of premarital sex?” I whisper, trying to hold back a laugh. All things considered, I mean, come on, this is Hael Harbin. He laughs, putting his head down, forehead against mine. It feels nice, to stand like this, even if his mom could walk in at any moment. We’re sort of past parental scandal here in Havoc.

“She was raised Catholic,” he says in explanation, shrugging his shoulders and standing back up. “I don’t agree with it, but I play along.” Hael smiles at me, and I can tell why he does it. Because it’s not about rules, it’s about respect. He respects his mother, so he does his best to please her.

I look down at the floor for a moment, at the toes of the boots I’m wearing, and then back up at Hael.

“I brought heels,” I tell him, and it takes a moment, but he grins at me like a wild thing.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he says with a laugh, slapping my ass and sending me down the hall to his room. I store my bag on the floor on the far side of his bed, sweep my hands down the front of my hoodie dress to straighten it out, and take a deep breath.

When I walk into the kitchen, there’s a brass band on the radio and Hael is spinning Marie in a circle and then dipping her while she laughs. Her red hair falls back in a wave, the lines around her mouth brightening. When he pulls her back to her feet, she murmurs at him in French and then turns to look at me.

“Bernadette’s having dinner with us,” Hael says, and his mom smiles at me like she’s never seen me before. Maybe she doesn’t remember me from the last time I was here? I sure as fuck remember her, weeping and shaking and mumbling about people coming to get her.

“This is your new girlfriend?” she asks Hael in accented English. She sounds like faraway places and Louisiana secrets. I smile and nod.

“Yeah, I’m Bernadette Blackbird … Hael’s girlfriend.” Our eyes meet as I shake his mom’s hand and end up pulled into a hug instead. She squeezes me tight and then invites me to dance with her for a moment. I’m no good at it, but it makes me laugh anyway.

Hael hauls himself up to sit on the countertop, looking years younger than I’ve ever seen him.

“Qu'est ce que tu prépares?” he asks, his voice teasing. She slaps at him when he reaches over to snatch a package of cookies that’s sitting on the counter. The atmosphere in here is so disturbingly normal that I’m not quite sure what to do with it. I lean my shoulder against the cabinets, a genuine smile resting on skeptical lips.

“Après le dîner, Hael,” Marie chastises, and even if I can’t understand French, I can guess what she’s saying, and I laugh. No cookies until after dinner, Hael. As if her son doesn’t fuck like a porn star and kill people in the dead of night.

“Wow, Hael Harbin being told no dessert before dinner,” I tease, and our eyes meet from across the room. There’s a tension there that makes him curl his fingers around the edge of the countertop.

“I always save my dessert for after dinner,” he tells me, voice dropping in invitation. His mom slaps at him again and chastises him in sputtered French, kicking us out to set the table.

After dinner, I get to see exactly what he means.

“Your mom is nice,” I tell him, studying the same comic books that I looked at last time I was here. The collection gives a nice, little insight into the man standing behind me. The tortured superhero, the story with a twisted narrative, the redeemable villain. It’s all here, contained in ink and glossy paper. The most important story that it tells, however, is the one about Hael himself.

Just as I find myself wishing I could believe in impossible things, things like justice and peace and goodness, so does he. It’s all a bunch of fairy-tale crap, but it’s nourishing to the soul.

“She is,” he agrees finally, but he doesn’t sound entirely happy about it. “Too nice.”