He stopped and turned to me. Nothing on Earth got Rocket’s attention faster than the mentioning of a name. His eyes shone eagerly, almost hungrily.

I stepped closer, not wanting to lose him if he took off on one of his quests through the haunted halls of the asylum. “Mimi Anne Jacobs. Her maiden name was Marshal.”

He bowed his head, his lids fluttering as if he were a search engine scouring the recesses of his own mind for information. He stopped and looked back at me. “No. Not her time yet.”

Relief washed over me, and I braced myself for the next name. I knew it was fruitless to ask Rocket anything else about Mimi, though I suspected he knew more. Now Reyes. After placing a hand on his arm for good measure, I asked, “Rocket, what do you know about Rey’aziel?”

His lips pressed together and he stood motionless for a heartbeat, two, then leaned into me and said quietly, “It shouldn’t be here, Miss Charlotte.”

Rocket had said that before when I asked about Reyes Farrow. Apparently, he knew they were one and the same.

I squeezed his arm reassuringly and whispered, “Why?”

His face transformed. “Miss Charlotte, I told you.” He chastised me with a scowl that looked more like a pout. “He should never have been a boy named Reyes. He’s Rey’aziel. He should never have been born at all.”

I’d also heard that before. “Rocket, is his corporeal body still alive?”

He bit his lower lip in thought before answering. “The boy Reyes is still here, but he broke the rules, Miss Charlotte. No breaking rules,” he said, wagging a finger in warning.

Once again, I breathed a little easier. I was terrified Reyes’s body would pass before I could find him. The thought of losing him petrified me.

“Martians can’t become human just because they want to drink our water,” he continued.

“So, Rey’aziel wanted our water?” I was trying so hard to understand his metaphors, but it wasn’t easy. Nothing about Rocket was easy.

His boyish eyes focused on mine. He stared a long moment before answering. “He still does,” he said, his fingers brushing over my cheek. “He wants it more than air.”

I breathed in softly. Rocket rarely seemed so lucid, so rational. So poetic. “Reyes said once he was born for me, to be with me. Is that what scares you, Rocket? Are you afraid for me?”

“It’s Rey’aziel, Miss Charlotte. Of course, I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid for everyone.”

Oh. That was probably bad. I squared my shoulders and faced him head-on. “Rocket, do you know where his body is?”

He shook his head with a tsk. “He can’t break the rules.”

“What rules, Rocket?” Maybe the clues were in the rules Reyes had apparently broken. I knew I was grasping at straws, but without Angel’s help, I had nothing.

“No playing hide-and-seek in the house.”

“Which house?” I asked, a little surprised by his answer. Reyes was hiding his body. Was that the hide-and-seek Rocket was referring to?

He stilled and looked down for a moment as if sensing something. Without warning, he slammed a hand over my mouth and shoved me against the wall. Leaning into me, he glanced around the room, his eyes wide with fear. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “It’s here.”

And in that moment, I felt him. The room became charged with heat and static, like an electrical storm was brewing within its walls. With the fluttering of wings, a darkness exploded in on us, swirled like obsidian clouds in the midst of Armageddon. When he materialized, he stayed ensconced inside his robe, his face shadowed, hidden from view.

Oh, yeah. He was pissed.

I pushed Rocket’s hand off me and stepped toward him. “Reyes, wait—”

Before I could say anything, I heard the sing of metal being drawn. My breath caught when I realized he was going to use his blade on Rocket.

“No, Reyes,” I said, jumping in front of Rocket, but the blade was already in full swing. It whirred through the air and stopped a fingerbreadth inside my rib cage, on the left side. The sting was instantaneous, but I knew there would be no blood. Reyes killed with the skill of a surgeon, only from the inside out. No external trauma. No evidence of foul play. Just a pristine slice so clean, so sharp, it stumped even the best doctors—or coroners, depending on the outcome—in the country.

Time seemed to stand still as I looked down at the blade, at the sharp edges and menacing angles. It hovered parallel to the floor, an inch inside my body, and glistened with a blinding light.

Reyes jerked the blade back and sheathed it inside his robes as I tipped awkwardly toward the wall, my heart stumbling over its own beats. He pushed back the hood of his robe, concern drawing his brows together, and leaned toward me as if to catch me. I pushed at him and whirled around, but Rocket was gone. Then I turned on Reyes. My anger at his utter stupidity was reaching an all-time high.

“You seem to be very willing to hurt people these days.” The realization had me doubting everything I’d come to believe about him. I’d come to believe he was kind and noble and, okay, deadly, but in a good way.

“These days?” he asked, incredulous. “I’ve been hurting in your behalf for quite some time, Dutch.”

That was true. He’d saved my life more than once. He’d hurt people who were going to hurt me more than once. But each and every time, the person had been guilty of something very bad.

“You can’t just go around hurting people, killing people, because you want to. I realize your dad didn’t teach you—”