WHEN DR. DAVIDOFF WAS done with the propaganda, he took me to see Rae, who was still in that makeshift game room playing Zelda. He opened the door and waved me in, then closed it, leaving us alone.

“Game time over?” Rae said, turning slowly. “Just let me finish—”

Seeing me, she leaped up, controller clattering to the floor. She hugged me, then pulled back.

“Your arm,” she said. “Did I hurt—?”

“No, it’s all bandaged up. It needed some stitches.”

“Ouch.” Rae took a long look at me. “You need some sleep, girl. You look like death.”

“That’s just the necromancer genes kicking in.”

She laughed and gave me another hug before plunking back down in her beanbag chair. Despite our long night on the run, Rae looked fine. But then Rae was one of those girls who always looked fine—perfect clear copper skin; copper eyes; and long curls that, if they caught the light right, glinted with copper, too.

“Pull up a box. I’d offer you a chair, but decorators these days?” She rolled her eyes. “So slow. When the renovations are done, though, you won’t recognize the place. Stereo system, DVD player, computer…chairs. And, as of tomorrow, we’re getting a Wii.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I said, ‘People, if I’m helping you with this study of yours, I need a little love in return. And a GameCube ain’t gonna cut it.’”

“Did you ask for a bigger TV, too?”

“I should have. After the whole Lyle House screwup, they’re tripping over themselves to make us happy. We are going to be so spoiled here. Of course, we deserve it.”