“So you said. You needed a real phone, Min. In fact, it’s about time you had a real life.”

Zombie stared up at me, as if listening.

“What do you mean by that, Astor Michaels?”

“Why don’t you move out, Min?”

“Move… out?” My eyes swept the candlelit darkness around me.

“Red Rat has a few apartments set aside for our special artists, for when they come to town to record. Nicely furnished and in Manhattan. You could move in anytime.”

I swallowed, reaching out to stroke Zombie. His fur had the shivers. “But what about—”

“Your parents?” He made a disappointed noise. “You’re eighteen in two weeks, Min. You can disappear for that long, can’t you? Do you think the police will spend much time looking for a runaway who’s about to turn legal?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t care about the police, or my parents much either. But I wasn’t sure how long I could go without Luz. She could be a total pain, but she’d cured me, more or less.

And Mozzy needed her even more than I did. I was splitting Luz’s medicines with him, making sure he got through the first stages of the illness. So far, he was keeping it together just fine, but I didn’t want him to turn all bitey.

“Min?”

I covered up the microphone. “What do you think, Zombie?”

His eyes opened wide, glistening, nervous but… excited.

Mozzy needed to get well, but we needed things too—to breathe the air outside at night, sucking in the smells and the moonlight. To go down in the subway, like Mozzy got to every night.

I wanted to learn more… to make my songs stronger.

In a couple of weeks I could call up Luz and have her come to my new place. She could make birthday mandrake tea for both of us. Once I was eighteen, it wouldn’t matter if she told my parents where I was.

Me and Moz could make it for that long, couldn’t we? We knew to eat lots of garlic. Probably all those other smelly herbs were just for show.

Zombie meowed, still staring at me with gleaming eyes. In our own place, he could go play with his little friends whenever he wanted.

Astor Michaels was talking again. “Once you’re out of that room, the band can rehearse every day. Think what that would do for you, especially with your first gig coming up.”

I bit my lip. Pearl had been complaining about having only one more Sunday to rehearse. Zombie stared at me, tail twitching, anxious.

“Okay. I’ll move.”

“I thought you might say that,” Astor Michaels said, and I could hear his smile. It slid through the airwaves like a needle. “Go pack.”

“What, right now? But it’s midnight.”

“Best time to run away, don’t you think? I’m on the road as we speak, coming over to collect you.”

“Um, but Moz said he was going to call later.”

He filled my ear with a little sigh. “You can call him instead, Min. Remember my little present? The one we’re talking on?”

“Oh, right.” I giggled. “Clever Astor Michaels.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Pack light.”

Pack light? Puh.

I needed lots of dresses—all my black ones, for wearing onstage. All my necklaces and rings too, even though my old jewelry box was pink and tattered. Only a few pairs of shoes, because I really had to buy all new ones; none of mine were very rock star. I packed every bit of the underwear me and Pearl had bought the day we’d gone to Red Rat Records, but no pajamas, because I was so bored of lying around all day. Bored of sleeping.

Never again, I thought as I stuffed my two suitcases full. I could save up all my sleeping for the grave.

I packed my notebooks, of course. I’d memorized most of the songs in them, but they smelled good, and I liked to stare at my old handwriting. It was sweet how only I could read the songs, all of them in my own special language.

Zombie trilled from the top of the dresser, reminding me to bring cat food and a place for him to pee. I grabbed his bag of dry food and promised to get him a litter box. And big piles of bones—Moz and I were going to need lots of meat, especially without Luz’s tinctures and teas to help us.

I wondered if he would come and stay with me…

The thought made me shiver a little, and I looked around my room again, the place I’d lived for almost eighteen years. It was time to grow up, after all.

The illness had emptied this room of meaning. Luz had cleared all my old possessions out, back when they’d made me scream. She was reintroducing familiar things one by one, but none of them held any significance now. Everything from before the disease smelled like old toys from childhood, sugary with memories, a little embarrassing.

Better to let my parents keep it all.

Mommy and Daddy would be upset, but I could call them from my new phone and tell them how happy I was.

I snapped the suitcases shut, then crossed to the door, closing my eyes to listen. Maxwell was sleeping loudly down the hall. He’d started snoring lately, puberty making him prickly and restless. He’d be much happier without a crazy big sister sucking up everyone’s attention.

I listened harder, trying to hear through Max’s snuffling. The slightest creak of settling sounded below… was it Astor Michaels on the stairs? But he didn’t know about the secret key.

The phone vibrated again, like a tiny, nervous animal in my hand.

“I’m ready,” I whispered.

“Excellent. We’re just pulling up now. Heavens, this neighborhood’s seen better days.”

“It’s not our fault. The mean garbagemen won’t come here anymore.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m taking you away.”

I frowned. Suddenly I wished it wasn’t Astor Michaels helping me escape. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, rushing off with him. Mozzy could help me instead…

But I couldn’t imagine unpacking my bags, putting everything back into closets and drawers and under the bed, defeated.

One more day, even one more hour, was too long to stay here.

“Okay,” I whispered. “First you have to get the key. Then you sneak to the top of the stairs without making any noise—”

He laughed. “Just a moment, darling Min. I don’t do sneaking.”

“But… there’s a lock on my door.”

“Yes. And you can break it.”

“The lock?”

“The door. You’ve had the condition for five months, Minerva. You can feel your strength, right? I’ve broken doors down by accident. Just hit it with the palm of your hand. Hard.”

I touched the door softly, thinking of all the nights I’d tried to stare holes in it. But knock it down?

“It’ll make noise,” I whispered. “Wake them all up.”

“You’ll be down and out the front door while they’re still wondering what’s going on. Don’t be shy. Just hit it, Min.”

I remembered how I’d lifted Pearl’s mixing board with one hand last Sunday, making her eyes as round as buttons.

But bash down my own door?

“Do you want to stay in your room forever?” he said.

I hissed at the phone. Astor Michaels and his little tests. Were we mature enough to stay together? Tough enough to face a nasty audience? Strong enough to… bash things down?

Fine.

I hung up, scooped Zombie from the floor, and placed one palm against the wood. Drew my arm back…

And smashed it into smithereens.

Moz stood just outside, his jaw open.

“Mozzy!” I cried.

His smell rushed into the room, and Zombie struggled to jump down and say hi.

I stared at my stinging palm. “I’d have heard you coming up except for smelly Astor Michaels distracting me.”

“Um, I…”

“Poor Mozzy. You look frazzled.”

“Something happened to me. Something weird.” He looked down at the bits of wood around him. “Why did you do that?”

I bent to pick up a suitcase. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“What way? The way where?”

“My new place,” I said. “Quit squirming! Not you, Mozzy. Grab that, would you?”