I call to Samjeeza.

He meets me at the fence. He comes up the hill in the form of a dog, then changes, standing silently on the other side of the chain-link with mournful amber eyes. He can’t cry—it’s not part of his anatomy. He hates that he hasn’t been given the dignity of tears.

This is awkward, him being evil and all. But I’ve finally moved beyond mad.

“Here,” I say.

I fumble to take a bracelet off my wrist, Mom’s old charm bracelet. I thrust it through a hole in the fence.

He looks at me, face slack with astonishment.

“Take it,” I urge.

He holds out his hand, careful not to touch me. I drop the bracelet into it. It tinkles as it falls. He closes his fingers around it.

“I gave this to her,” he says. “How did you . . . ?”

“I didn’t. I’m just playing it by ear, here.”

Then I turn and walk back to my family, and I don’t look back.

“Baby girl, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” says Billy.

“Let’s go,” I say. “I want to go home.”

Samjeeza is still standing there, like he’s been turned to stone, a marble angel in the cemetery, as we drive away.

What I really don’t expect is the police to be waiting for us when we get home.

“What’s this about?” Billy asks as we get out of the car to gawk at the police car parked in the driveway, the two officers poking around outside the house.

“We need to have a few words with Jeffrey Gardner,” one of them says. He looks at Jeffrey. “You him?”

Jeffrey goes pale.

Billy, as always, is the picture of calm.

“Regarding what, exactly?” She puts her hands on her hips and stares them down.

“Regarding what he might know about the Palisades fire last August. We have reason to believe that he may have been involved.”

“We’d also like to take a look around, if you don’t mind,” the other officer says.

Billy’s all business. “Do you have a warrant?”

The officer’s face grows red under her intense stare. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m Jeffrey’s guardian. He’s just been through his mother’s funeral today. Your questions can wait. Now you two gentlemen have a pleasant afternoon.”

Then she takes me by the shoulder with one hand and Jeffrey by the shoulder with the other and ushers us into the house. The door bangs shut behind us. She lets out a breath.

“Well, this could be a problem,” she says, staring at Jeffrey.

He shrugs. “Let them question me. I don’t care. I’ll tell them. I did it.”

“You what?” But part of me isn’t really so surprised. Part of me suspected it, even from the first moment when I saw him flying out of the forest that night. Part of me knew.

“It was my purpose,” he says. “I’d been dreaming about it since we moved to Wyoming. I was supposed to start that fire.”

Billy frowns. “Now, see, that’s a problem. You two stay inside for the evening, okay? I have to make a few calls.”

“To who? The congregation has a lawyer?” Jeffrey asks sarcastically.

Billy looks at him with no humor at all in her usual twinkly dark eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Do we have an accountant, too?”

“Mitch Hammond.”

“Whatever,” Jeffrey says. Any vulnerability I saw in his face earlier today, any hint of the little boy who wanted his mom, is completely absent. “I’ll be in my room.”

Off he goes, roomward. Off Billy goes, to Mom’s office, and shuts the door. Which leaves me alone. Again.

I wait for a few minutes, until the silence of the house starts to feel like a buzzing in my head. Then I figure what the heck and head up to Jeffrey’s room. He doesn’t answer when I knock. I stick my head in just to make sure he hasn’t gone out the window.

He’s there, messing around with stuff in his dresser. He stops and glares at me.

I sigh. “You know, it might be easier for both of us right now if you would stop hating me for like ten minutes.”

“That’s your sisterly advice?”

“Yeah. I’m older and wiser too. So you should listen.”

And Mom wanted us to be there for each other, I don’t quite dare to say out loud.

He snorts and goes back to counting out pairs of socks.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Packing my gym bag for this week.”

“Oh.”

“I’m busy, okay?”

“Jeffrey . . .” I move a pile of dirty clothes from his desk chair and sit on it. “What’d I do to make you hate me so much?”

He pauses. “You know what you did.”

“No. I mean, yes, I guess I was pretty selfish last year, about my purpose and stuff. I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“Oh really,” he says.

“I’m sorry. If I ignored you, or took the attention away from you because I was so focused on my purpose. I didn’t know about yours, I swear. But don’t you kind of owe me an apology too?”

He turns to me incredulously.

“What for?” he demands.

“You know . . .”

“No. You tell me.” Suddenly he tugs off his tie and flings it on the bed.

“You started the fire!”

“Yeah, I’ll probably go to juvie. Is there even a juvie in Wyoming?”

“Jeffrey . . .”

But now that he’s talking, he doesn’t plan to stop. “This is pretty convenient for you, right? Because now you get to blame me. If I hadn’t started the other fire, Tucker would have been safe and your thing with Christian would have gone off without a hitch, and you’d be a good little angel-blood who fulfilled her purpose. Is that right?”

“Are you sure it was your purpose?”

“Are you sure about yours?” he counters.

“Okay, true enough. But seriously, I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense. But if you say you had the visions about it, and that’s what you were supposed to do, I believe you.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was?” He’s almost shouting now. “The crazy stuff that went through my head, like I could have been murdering people, starting that fire. All those animals and all that land, and the firefighters and people who risked their lives to put it out. But I still did it.” His lip curls in disgust. “I did my part. Then you had to go and bail on yours.”

I lower my eyes, look at my hands. “If I hadn’t, Tucker would have died.”

“You’re so wrong it’s pathetic,” Jeffrey says more calmly. “As usual.”

“What?” I glance up, startled. “Jeffrey, I was there. I saved him. If I hadn’t shown up when I did, he would have . . .”

“No. He wouldn’t have.” Jeffrey looks out the window like he can see it happening all over again. “He wouldn’t have died. Because I would have saved him.” He starts packing his bag again, underwear this time. He laughs, a mean, humorless sound, shakes his head. “God. I was frantic that night, looking for him. He didn’t show up where he was supposed to, where he always did, in the visions. I thought I’d messed up somehow. I thought he was toast for sure. Finally I gave up and came home. I saw you on the porch with Christian and I was like, well, at least she did it. At least she fulfilled her purpose. Then I spent all night agonizing over how your face would look when you found out Tucker was dead.”

“Oh, Jeffrey.”

“So you see,” he continues after a minute. He grabs a stick of deodorant and tucks it into his duffel bag. “You thought I screwed up your purpose, right? But the truth is, if you’d followed your vision, if you’d just trusted the plan, then you and Christian would have done your thing in the forest, and Tucker would have been perfectly safe, and everything would have worked out fine. But instead you had to go and screw it up for the both of us.”

I don’t say anything. I just slink out of his room and shut the door. In my own room I lie down on the bed and stare up at the empty ceiling wide-eyed, dry-eyed, and it feels like the ache opens a huge gaping hole in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, although I have no idea who I’m apologizing to, Jeffrey or my mom, who believed in me so much, or even God. I just know that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry.