He hurt like one big bruise, aching all over the place, and his stomach kept lurching and rolling like he was going to throw up at any moment. His whole body felt hot and cottony and heavy. He was awful thirsty, and his throat ached. Laghu was lying on his legs, heavy and warm, big husky eyes listless. A soft hand smoothed his hair back out of his face, pleasantly cool against his feverish, sweaty skin. Jake opened his eyes to meet a pair that were just as blue as his. "Mama," he mumbled quietly. The bed shifted as she sat down next to him; Adi ran his raspy tongue over Laghu's head.

"Shh. You're okay, sugar, just a little sick," she soothed him, running her fingers through his hair. She slid her arms under him, pulled him up into her lap, and bundled him up in her sunrise quilt, the one that Nana had made for her before she died. "Gotta sweat the fever out, honey," she said, rubbing circles on his back. Jake rested his head against her shoulder, her skin cool and soft under his cheek. She rocked him gently, humming "Sea of Love." It was her favourite song, she always played it in the truck.

It was raining outside, he could see fat raindrops splattering the windows, drumming on the roof, and the steady sound mixed with Mama's heartbeat under his ear and her husky voice humming. He was so tired. Maybe he wouldn't hurt so much if he went back to sleep, and it was so impossibly warm, and she smelled like safety and home, and he could feel the ghost-tickle of Adi's tongue running over the backs of Laghu's ears. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges, and he closed his eyes.

Jacob opened his eyes. His entire body felt like it was one big bruise. Each breath made all of his ribs creak and ache as his lungs pushed against them, hot red sensation that swelled and retreated, and his back was made of torn up iron and heavy salt. He could taste copper on his tongue, sweet newpenny flavour, with his heart pulsing behind his eyes, joints clogged with ground glass. The sound of Mama humming "Sea of Love" faded into the sound of his own slow, rough breathing and the sound of rain; he hadn't dreamt that much, at least.

Slowly, holding his breath and trying not to whimper, he put both hands under him, palms flat to the floor, and levered himself halfway upright. He turned over, grabbed the bottom edge of his bedframe, and used it to sit upright. "La-Laghu?" he mumbled; his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, like that time he'd gone to the dentist and had to get Novocain and slurred like a drunk for the next two hours.

He found his dæmon, hiding beneath the dresser, so small that he was almost indistinguishable from a dust bunny or a hairball from the brush. Jacob scooped Laghu in one hand and held the small, silky, fuzzy bundle against his cheek. Stirring weakly, Laghu crawled up into his hair and lay atop his head.

For a moment, he leant back against the side of his bed, focusing on making his lungs work. He rolled his eyes up to look at his alarm clock, blinking little red eyes at him – 11:08. He had been out of it for nearly three hours. Didn't feel like it. Only four hours ago, he'd been asleep on a chaise lounge in the stall of a cluttered old carriage house with the only friends he'd ever had. For a moment, he wanted his mama back so much that it hurt, that ache he'd almost gotten used to carrying now a sharp, burning, throbbing thing snarling in his chest, and he had to cover his mouth with one hand to keep from screaming in frustration at the unfairness of it all.

He could hear his sisters' bright, piping voices downstairs, gales of laughter floating up the stairs, his father's voice carrying after theirs, probably asking them not to run around the house.

A buzzing noise made his head turn, though that made a sharp twinge run through his shoulders and down his back. His phone was on the desk, and taking his hand from his mouth, he reached up to grab it, almost knocking it off the desk. It was Cassandra texting him: You going to the mall? She was the only person he knew that actually typed out whole words and sentences, like a normal person. His throat burred up with wet cotton.

Jacob rose to his feet stiffly, achingly, and hobbled out of his room into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw his face was unmarked. At least he wouldn't have to explain another shiner to Cassandra; Isaac was aware enough to know not to hit where the bruises showed. Slowly, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head. Laghu clung tightly to his hair, refusing to let go of him.

His ribs were varying shades of blue-black, which explained why breathing hurt so much. When he turned around and peered over his shoulder to look at his reflection, his back was crossed with long welts, which he knew were from Isaac's belt. He didn't remember it all clearly, not after smacking his head. He reached up and touched the top of his head, fingers gently probing under Laghu's tiny form. There was a sore, achy spot, but no obvious lumps, no blood. Holding his shirt in one hand, he shuffled back into his room and changed his clothes; everything hurt, so he did it slowly and stiffly. He dry swallowed two Advil from the bottle he kept on his dresser and hoped that they'd kick in fast.

Laghu crawled down under his shirt collar, refusing to break direct contact with his skin, and Jacob ran one fingertip down the small dæmon's back. He went downstairs. Each step made fresh aching wash up his frame. Dinah and Rachel were playing some kind of game on the rug in the living room and giggling together as Aadar and Mahaan flitted from shape to shape; he didn't see Leah at all, but she'd been making friends with the girl two houses down and was probably over there. They didn't pay attention to him beyond a reflexive, "Hey, Jake," as he walked over them to the kitchen.

Isaac was in the dining room, sitting at the table with papers spread out in front of him. Geri was sitting in a chair next to him, and Jacob could see the company heading at the tops of several pages. There was a glass next to his elbow, but the liquid in it was clear, just water – Isaac didn't drink vodka.

"Hey, Pop?" he asked hoarsely, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hm?"

"Some friends of mine are goin' out. Is it alright that I go with?"

"I expect you back in this house by six."

"Yessir. Thank you, sir." He turned away and went to put on his shoes; with his free hand, he took out his phone and answered Cassandra: Sure. Food court?

See you there.

He was surprised to see Cassandra sitting by herself at one of the cheap plastic tables, her eyes downcast and one hand stroking Mel's ears. "Hey," he greeted, and she lifted her head to look at him with a smile, though it wasn't nearly as bright as he was used to seeing.

"Hey, Jake," she replied, moving her hand as Laghu fluttered over to take up his usual place perched on Mel's head between her ears.

"Where's the rest of the geek squad? As I'm to understand it, this is the usual territory in which to find a wild Ezekiel," Jacob said as he pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down as casually as he could, despite the fact that his back and ribs protested that very much. Advil could only do so much.

Cassandra shrugged one shoulder. "Apparently, everyone else's parents weren't too pleased with them staying out all night without permission," she replied, and he didn't need to fake his wince.

"I told you guys, ya didn't have to – "

"Drop it," she cut him off, but not unkindly. "We're your friends, and we aren't just going to leave you."

That made him feel itchy in his own skin, an unfamiliar, comfortable warmth that prickled over his nerve endings, and he shifted in his chair, biting back another wince. "What about you?" he asked at last, deciding to leave that subject where it was and not poke it with a stick anymore.

One shoulder moved again, but this time Mel shifted her spotted bulk as well, like she was uneasy. "I don't think they even noticed I was gone," she replied, and though her voice sounded perfectly nonchalant, there was an undercurrent of ache to it that made him want to lean across the table and hug her or something. But then she sat up a little straighter and the moment was gone. "So, what do you want to do today? I mean, we've got the weekend. Hopefully it'll go better than the rest of our week has gone, right?"

Jacob sat back a little in his chair. "I was thinking about Lamia, actually," he said.

"Really?" Mel asked, sitting upright so quickly that Laghu wobbled a little on her head, like some kind of strange dæmon hat. "Because – "

"Shut up," Cassandra hissed down at her dæmon.

Mel snorted. "Why? You know as well as I do that – "

"Melpomene," the redhead warned.

"What?" Jacob demanded. "Tell me. What is it?"

Girl and dæmon had a silent staring contest for a moment, but then Cassandra sighed defeat and grabbed her bag, which had been on the floor next to her chair. "We found this in our mailbox this morning," she said, pulling out a doll. It had on a frilly blue dress and shiny red hair tied in a ribbon. Someone had dislocated the doll's head out of the socket so it flopped brokenly. Like it had a broken neck.

Someone might find you at the bottom of those steps with a broken neck. A chill dragged one sharp fingernail down his backbone, and Laghu fluffed himself up, baring small fangs in an angry hiss. "That...crazy, insane, psychopath," he muttered. Anger began to curl up in his chest like a venomous serpent, chasing away the brief chill with its heat, and he clenched both hands in fists. Forget about just 'thinking' about it, he was going to do it. "I'm going to get that bitch. I don't care if she wants to fuck with me, but you didn't do anything to her."

Cassandra stared at him. "Jake, what are you talking about? What do you mean? We already know that Dulaque won't do anything, and she hasn't done anything illegal. What are you going to do?" she asked, wariness creeping into her voice.

"We've said it before that there's no way that she can do all this shit and nobody ever have proof of it. Guess I'll just have to find some, then. See how much she likes it when somebody leaves her a gift in her locker," he answered.

She blinked rapidly, staring at him in disbelief. "I-I'm sorry, I must've had some common sense in my ear. Did you actually just suggest that we try to blackmail Lamia Aberforth? You – you really do have a death wish, don't you? We do that, and the next thing she leaves in your locker isn't going to be hamburger."

"We have to do something," he insisted. "If we don't, then nobody else is going to. Dulaque is in her back pocket thanks to her parents' money. No teacher can do anything because he'd probably find a way to get them fired. And everybody else is scared of her."

"For a good reason. Dead rat, locker?" Cassandra repeated, then held up the doll; its head flopped the wrong way in a decidedly grotesque way. "Creepy doll in mailbox? If she catches us, she's gonna do worse than this."

"If. That's the key word, Cassie. If she catches us. Which she won't. You, me, and Flynn, we're the probably the smartest people in the school. Eve can kick anybody's ass, and if anything goes wrong, hell, we can just blame it on Jones. Between the five of us, who's to say that we couldn't bring that bitch down a peg or two?" Jacob demanded, leaning forward slightly. He'd been longing to get back at Lamia somehow after the locker stunt, after what she'd said to Cassandra, and now for this, too. Somebody needed to snub her close before she did somebody actual damage, and he felt like they were just the people for the job.

Cassandra stared at him for a long moment across the table with her poker face on, but then the corner of her mouth began to inch upwards. Mel's stubby tail was flicking double-time, grinning and starting to chuckle softly in her throat. "I can't decide if you're a madman or a genius," she sighed at last.

Jacob grinned and settled back in his chair, his aching suddenly not as bad as before. "Don't they kind of go hand-in-hand?"