The rabbit came out of its paralysis and scampered to safety on the other side of the road. Hunter pressed the gas pedal, and Das Boot surged forward again. "Right, then," he said. "Later."

Hunter and Sky's house was on a quiet street somewhere near the edge of Widow's Vale. I didn't really pay attention to the route. Now that the adrenaline of escaping the fire was leaking away, I felt exhausted, groggy.

The car pulled to a stop. We were in a driveway beneath a canopy of trees. We got out to the night's chill and walked up a narrow path. I followed Hunter into a living room where a fire burned in a small fireplace. A worn sofa covered in dark blue velvet stood against one wall. One of its legs had broken off, and it listed at a drunken angle. There were two mismatched armchairs across from it, and a wide plank balanced on two wooden crates served as a coffee table.

"You'll need a shower and clean clothes," Hunter told me.

I glanced at a small clock on the mantel. It was nearly nine. I was more than late for dinner. "I've got to call my folks first,” I said. "They've probably called the police by now."

Hunter handed me a cordless phone. "Should I tell them about the fire?" I asked him, feeling lost.

He hesitated. "The choice is yours, of course," he said at last. "But if you do, you'll have a lot of explaining to do." I nodded. He was right. One more thing I couldn't share with my family.

Nervously I dialed my home number.

My dad answered, and I heard the relief in his voice as I greeted him. "Morgan, where on earth are you?" he asked. "We were about to call the state troopers!"

"I'm at a friend's house," I said, trying to be as honest as I could.

"Are you all right? You sound hoarse."

"I'm okay. But Cal and I. . we had a fight." I fought to keep my voice steady. "I'm—I'm kind of upset. That's why I didn't call earlier. I'm sorry," I added lamely.