I certainly hadn’t thought having dinner with my brother and his girlfriend was any big deal, but when I got home that night I slept all the way through until morning, for the first time in weeks.

MARCH

THE FOURTH WEEK

“There,” said Sam. I had to strain to hear him. Someone had put Jace Everett’s “Bad Things” on, and just about everyone in the bar was singing along. “You’ve smiled three times tonight.”

“You counting my facial expressions?” I put down my tray and gave him a look. Sam, my boss and friend, is a true shapeshifter; he can change into anything warm-blooded, I guess. I haven’t asked him about lizards and snakes and bugs.

“Well, it’s good to see that smile again,” he said. He rearranged some bottles on the shelf, just to look busy. “I missed it.”

“It’s good to feel like smiling,” I told him. “I like the haircut, by the way.”

Sam ran a self-conscious hand across his head. His hair was short, and it hugged his scalp like a red gold cap. “Summer’s coming up. I thought it might feel good.”

“Probably will.”

“You already started sunbathing?” My tan was famous.

“Oh, yeah.” In fact, I’d started extra early this spring. The first day I’d put on my swimsuit, all hell had broken loose. I’d killed a fairy. But that was past. I’d lain out yesterday, and not a thing had happened. Though I confess I hadn’t taken the radio outside, because I’d wanted to be sure I could hear if something was sneaking up on me. But nothing had. In fact, I’d had a remarkably peaceful hour lying in the sun, watching a butterfly waft by every now and then. One of my great-great-grandmother’s rosebushes was blooming, and the scent had healed something inside me. “The sun just makes me feel real good,” I said. I suddenly remembered that the fae had told me that I came from sky fairies, instead of water fairies. I didn’t know anything about that, but I wondered if my love of the sun was a genetic thing.