TWO days later, Lily was called to Croft’s office to “discuss the results of the administrative hearing.” The sound of his voice told her it was good news, so she was hopeful, really hopeful, that she was going to get to keep her job. Maybe there’d be a black mark on her record, but she could live with that.

“They want to what?” she said, dumbfounded.

“It’s a great honor. The Presidential Citizens Medal is the second-highest civilian award in the country. The president will, of course, present it herself.”

It made her furious. “I’m no hero. I showed up. That’s about it. Oh, and I did manage to give Chittenden a skull fracture, which makes me personally very happy. But if the president wants to hand out medals, I can name a dozen who deserve it more. Harry and his troop. Chris, Mike, Scott, Rule, Isen—” She had to stop, her breath hitching. Not everyone she spoke of was still around to receive a stupid medal. “That old woman with her handbag—now, there’s a hero! It’s not right to single me out this way. It’s not right.”

“Sometimes showing up is what it takes. Showing up over and over and over in spite of how hard it gets.”

She shook her head, out of words.

“Besides, I disagree about you not doing much. There are twenty-two other people alive today who’d disagree, too. And if you hadn’t acted on that tip . . .” Croft paused a moment, clearly uncomfortable. He knew who had tipped Lily about Chittenden’s possession of the amulet, though it wasn’t in her official report. He always avoided mentioning it, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of ghostly tips. “If you hadn’t acted, the brownies couldn’t have done what they did.”

“So give the brownies a medal.”

“The president wanted to. Their spokesperson said they respectfully declined to receive any sort of award, and besides, they never leave their reservation, so what were we talking about?”

That startled a laugh out of her. “I’m told they don’t like to have a fuss made about bravery.”

He smiled. “Apparently not.” The smile faded. “As for publically honoring the heroism and sacrifice of the lupi . . . I hope that happens eventually, but right now the country is too divided. There’s a great uneasiness, even among some who agree that they were heroes—a feeling that if the country didn’t harbor lupi in the first place, none of this would have happened. And, of course, there’s that vocal minority that believes the government is engaged in a massive cover-up and the lupi really were behind it all, not Paul Chittenden.”

Lily grimaced. The Humans First movement hadn’t died. It was diminished, but not dead.

“Lily.” Croft leaned forward earnestly. “People need heroes. Let them have one.”

“Yeah, don’t be a dick,” Al Drummond said. He was sitting in the other visitor chair, looking his usual pallid self. “Take the damn medal.”

She wanted to tell him it was physically impossible for her to be a dick. She wanted to tell him to go away—which he had so far refused to do. Not that he was around every minute, but every so often, he popped up, usually with unwanted advice.

But people look at you funny if you start talking to your invisible friends, so she didn’t. And in the end, Lily agreed to accept the medal. It would be months, maybe a year, before they did the big presentation ceremony. Who knows? She might still end up dismissed and disgraced and not have to go through with it.

THREE days after that, on the night before Lily and Rule were scheduled to fly home—at last—they were in their bedroom at the Georgetown house, getting ready.

Rule sat on the bed as he slipped on his shirt. He could stand without using the crutches; it had taken some insistence on his part, but they’d casted the leg as soon as the outer wound closed, and having it casted helped. But standing hurt more than he liked to admit, so he stayed seated as much as possible.

The femur had barely begun healing; his eye hadn’t started. He kept a square of gauze taped over it, knowing it was an ugly sight. His healing had prioritized the internal injuries. That was normal. But it was taking forever for him to feel normal.

So many dead. Too many, and the war had only begun.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s just weird to be going to a dinner party?” Lily asked as she turned away from the closet, a necklace in one hand. “Or for Deborah and Ruben to be giving one, for that matter.”

“Deborah wants to feel normal. And it’s just us and Isen, not really a party.”

“Fasten this for me?” Lily said, and held out a necklace. The one he’d given her . . . gods, was it only two weeks ago? “No, don’t stand up.” She huffed out an impatient breath and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Here.” She pulled her hair aside. “I’m hoping Fagin’s right about those white stones.”

He took his time fastening the necklace, enjoying the slight, involuntary shiver his touch gave her. He’d been too damaged for them to make love, but his guts were healed now, so tonight, that would change. He promised himself that. “What about the stones? They’re agates, by the way.”

“That’s what he said. He also said that white agates are supposed to offer protection against malign or confused spirits.”

That made him grin. “You’re hoping to keep Drummond from dropping in while we eat our steaks?” Lily said the ghost wasn’t around constantly. Just now and then—usually with some sort of unwanted advice.

“Damn right. If it works, I’ll wear this all the time.” She stood. “I’ll get your shoes. No, stay there,” she told him firmly. “Why was it okay for you to help me constantly when my arm was messed up, but you don’t want to let me help you?”

That was apparently a rhetorical question, for she went back to the closet without waiting for an answer. Rule finished buttoning his shirt and waited obediently.

Coming to First Change as an adult had made a big difference in Ruben’s adjustment. He’d returned to Washington yesterday in his two-legged form—but only temporarily, and not alone. In addition to Isen, he’d brought five Wythe guards. Isen had judged that Ruben’s control was good enough for him to make an appearance around the two-legged crowd, as long as he was with Ruben. Ruben still had trouble with speech sometimes when the wolf was too much present, but he could hold it together pretty well.

They’d decided to keep Ruben’s transformation as much of a secret as possible. The president knew. Croft knew. But even the head of the Bureau was unaware that his briefly disgraced, newly reinstated head of Unit 12 was the werewolf who’d helped lead the fight against the demon dopplegängers in Albany.

The charges against Ruben had been dropped. He would remain in command of Unit 12 . . . but Croft didn’t get to give up his desk job. Ruben wasn’t close to being ready to resume hands-on control of the Unit. He and Deborah and Isen would be leaving for Wythe Clanhome tomorrow.

The story was that they were going to a secret location where the privacy-obsessed healer who’d helped Ruben right after his heart attack could continue treatment. That treatment would be seen to have worked in another few weeks when the Brookses returned home. Their swimming pool would have been filled in by then and construction finished on the two-story “guesthouse” they were going to add . . . which would in fact be a barracks for Wythe guards.

The Brookses would be spending a great deal of time in upper New York State, of course. But Ruben should be able to resume control of Unit 12.

Lily returned from the closet carrying Rule’s favorite loafers in one hand ... and a small box wrapped in shiny white paper in the other.

“What’s that? My birthday’s not for another four days.” And he would spend it with Lily and Toby. His heart lifted slightly. This was the first time he’d have his son with him on his birthday—and Lily to share that with.