He looked up at the ceiling. "Mimi's awake now," he said. "Better introduce me." Mimi kept her own schedule, mostly nocturnal, padding quietly around his house while he slept, coming silently to bed after he rose, while he was in the bathroom. She hadn't spoken a word to him in more than a week, and he had said nothing to her. But for the snores and the warmth of the bed when he lay down and the morning dishes in the sink, she might not have been living with him at all. But for his constant awareness of her presence in his house and but for the shirts with cut-away backs in the laundry hamper, he might be living all on his own. But for the knife that he found under the mattress, compass set into the handle, serrated edge glinting, he might have forgotten those wings, which drooped near to the floor now. Footsteps crossing between the master bedroom and the bathroom. Pausing at the top of the stairs. A soft cough. "Alan?" "It's okay, Mimi," he said. She came down in a pair of his boxer shorts, with the topsheet complicatedly draped over her chest in a way that left her wings free. Their tips touched the ground. "This is my brother Bentley," Adam said. "I told you about him." "You can see the future," she said reproachfully. "You have wings," he said. She held out her hand and he shook it. "I want breakfast," she said. "Sounds good to me," Brent said. Alan nodded. "I'll cook." # He made pancakes and cut up pears and peaches and apples and bananas for fruit salad. "This reminds me of the pancake house in town," Bart said. "Remember?" Adam nodded. It had been Ed-Fred-George's favorite Sunday dinner place. "Do you live here now?" Mimi said. Alan said, "Yes." She slipped her hand into his and squeezed his thumb. It felt good and unexpected. "Are you going to tell her?" Billy said. She withdrew her hand. "What is it." Her voice was cold. Billy said, "There's no good comes of keeping secrets. Krishna and Davey are planning to attack Kurt. Krishna says he owns you. He'll probably come for you." "Did you see that?" Adam said. "Him coming for her?" "Not that kind of seeing. I just understand enough about people to know what that means." Trey met her at six, and he was paunchier than she'd remembered, his high school brawn run to a little fat. He shoved a gift into her hand, a brown paper bag with a quart of cheap vodka in it. She thanked him simperingly and tucked it in her knapsack. "It's a nice night. Let's get takeout and eat it in High Park." She saw the wheels turn in his head, meal plus booze plus secluded park equals pussy, pussy, pussy, and she let the tip of her tongue touch her lips. This would be even easier than she'd thought. "How can you tell the difference?" Arthur said. "Between seeing and understanding?"