He looked at me with solemn gray-blue eyes — they were my eyes, my father’s eyes, and with a sudden pang I was reminded of just how similar they were. Before, they could have been mistaken for twins, but not anymore. Prison life had been unkind to my father’s appearance, while my uncle’s face remained mostly unlined, his hair neat and his skin lightly tanned from being out in the sun.

“What do you want to talk about?” I backed up against the counter and gripped it a lot harder than I meant to, sensing something was wrong. This was what they were arguing about. My mother continued to drum her fingernails on the table.

“A new family have moved into the neighborhood, and I need you to be careful of them.”

I felt alarm spread across my face. “What?”

He surveyed me warily. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

I nodded slowly, trying to figure out where this was coming from and why it was making me feel panicky all over again. “What’s wrong with the Priestlys?”

I watched my mother’s reaction for more clues.

“Theatrics,” she murmured, with a dismissive flick of the wrist. Still, she stayed where she was, monitoring our exchange.

“Persephone” — I grimaced on instinct. I hated when Jack full-named me. “I’m not going to get into it,” he said. My uncle’s stern voice was so like my father’s, it sent a shudder down my spine. For a second I wanted to close my eyes and pretend he was there, that everything was back to the way it should be — that we hadn’t just discussed somebody drowning in their own tub, and that we weren’t about to slap a big fat warning sign over the hottest boys in the neighborhood. “Just do as I ask.”

I couldn’t help but feel skeptical. Even with his bruised hand, there had been something so soothing about Nic’s presence.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Cagey as ever. I wished Millie the High Inquisitor were here. She could get answers from a mute. And she’d enjoy it, too.

“So that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all there is.” Jack looked away from me, out the window and into the darkness behind our house. “Do you understand?”

I was about to answer that I didn’t really understand anything about it, but then the most peculiar thing happened. He sprang to his feet like something had bitten him. The chair tumbled backward and he darted across the kitchen.

“What on earth?” My mother’s chair screeched against the floor.

Jack lunged at the kitchen sink and shot out his hand. I thought he was going to punch through the window, but instead he grabbed the jar of honey from the sill. When he looked at me again, his eyes were red and bulging.

“Where did this come from?”

“The h-honey?” I stuttered. I had never seen someone so freaked out by something so benign. “I found it.”

He pinched the black ribbon between his fingers, rubbing it. “Where?”

I shrugged. “Someone left it at the diner. I found it when I was closing up.”

The color drained from his face, turning his usually red-tinged cheeks an eerie paper white. “If you find one of these again, I want you to leave it where it is and call me immediately.”

“Jack, it’s just honey,” I pointed out.

Why was everyone acting so strangely lately? I had already tasted it and lived to tell the tale, so it’s not like it was poisoned.

“Just do it,” he said quietly. “OK?”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a phone,” I reminded him.

“I’ll call you when I get a new one.”

“Jack?” In all the strangeness, I had forgotten my mother was still there. “I think you should go now. You’re acting erratically and it’s making me very uncomfortable. Sophie probably wants to go to bed.”

I opened my mouth to protest — I wasn’t tired — but then I stopped myself. My mother was right.

“OK.” Jack looked at the ground, shaking his head. “Sorry, Sophie. I’ve had a very long day.”

“It’s fine.” I offered him an encouraging smile. Between managing the diner and taking care of his investments in the city, Jack always worked himself into the ground, but lately he had been more unlike himself than ever; he was exhausted and jittery, and now that Luis had died, his behavior was stranger than ever.

“Good night, Sophie.”

“Night,” I returned.

Honey still in hand, Jack trudged toward the back door.

A half second later, the motion sensor in our backyard flickered to life, illuminating my uncle’s shadow as it faced away from us, staring at the broken patio squares and the overgrown grass.

“What on earth is he — ”

The rest of my mother’s question was drowned out by an earsplitting crash. I pressed my nose up to the window, but Jack was already disappearing from view. I looked down, where the light was winking off a hundred shards of shattered glass.

“That man!” my mother shrieked, coming to stand beside me at the window. “This is exactly why I don’t want him around. Your uncle’s behavior is completely irrational. He’s been drinking again, and if he doesn’t stop, he’s going to wind up doing something he’ll really regret …” She trailed off and started to rub my arm. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, pinning my hand against the window to stop it from shaking.