Someone could cut through the mess in our house and look at it like one might look at rings on a tree or layers of sediment. They'd find the black-and-white hairs of a dog we had when I was six, the acid-washed jeans my mother once wore, the seven blood-soaked pillowcases from the time I skinned my knee. All our family secrets rest in endless piles.

I thought of how proud he was when he took the marks- cutting the skin of his throat in a long slash and then packing it with ashes until keloid scars rose up.He called it his second smile.

I guess it’s true; no one will ever love you like your family.

I raise a plastic glass. “To family.”“And Faerieland,” says Taryn, raising hers.“And pizza,” says Oak.“And stories,” says Heather.“And new beginnings,” says Vivi.Cardan smiles, his gaze on me. “And scheming great schemes.”To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.

You can always count on your family to love you. And to betray you. And then to feel guilty about it.

You and your sister are very dear to each other. To show your regard, you give each other lovely bouquets of lies.