I rose slowly, staring at them. Hardly daring to hope, I opened the door to the garage…and there, like a present for a lucky high school graduate, stood a midnight-blue Ford 4 × 4.

I swallowed, positive that this was all about to go spectacularly wrong. But when I pressed the button on the keys, the truck’s locks snicked obediently open.

Yes! My worries about the snow vanished. There were even snow chains on the wall and a real fuel can sitting on a counter. Grinning like a loon, I loaded up the truck; it still had that new-car smell. But hanging from the rear-view mirror was a laminated school photo of a boy with a brown cowlick…along with a tiny plastic angel.

“You can stay, Timmy,” I said to the boy. He looked like a “Timmy”, as if Lassie were lurking just out of view. “Not you, though,” I went on, detaching the angel – and wondering if this was the answer to what had happened here.

I went back in and set the angel gently on the table. I was just about to leave when I glanced down the hallway. Wait, the bathroom – I hadn’t seen so much as a box of Band-Aids in the abandoned stores.

I found a lot more than that. New packets of toothbrushes, toothpaste – oh, yes; I’d hadn’t brushed my teeth in days. Suddenly very aware of the silence in the house, I quickly bagged up everything that might be useful. Then I glanced under the sink, and found a glossy cardboard box.

My pulse started pounding. It was even the right colour. Maybe I shouldn’t; maybe it was a stupid, dangerous idea. Yet I knew there was no way I was leaving the box behind.

Definitely, I thought, adding it to my bag. But not here.

On my way out, I checked a hall closet and was rewarded with a sleeping bag in a nylon case; I tucked it gratefully under one arm. Okay, time to go. If I were smart I’d probably start looting through all the closets for warmer clothes, but that seemed way too personal – and I had enough.

The garage door swung open when I tugged at it, and the 4 × 4 started on the first try. I backed it down the drive and grabbed what I needed from the Toyota. “Thank you, whoever you were,” I murmured once I was back in the truck. The house gave no response.

I let out a breath and glanced at the boy in the photo. “Ready, Timmy?”

And Timmy said he was.

When the snow came an hour later it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared; the 4 × 4 took the inch or so of white easily. It was a relief to feel how solid and reliable it was as I travelled down the main street of the next dark town: Scottsbluff, Nebraska.

A Payless ShoeSource gaped vacantly. Festive Flowers had pots of dead plants in the window. I couldn’t sense any people – this time of year, they’d probably headed south, or given up and gone to Omaha Eden.

I knew exactly what I was looking for. When I saw it, I smiled and turned right onto First, and then right again. There was a small parking lot at the back; I pulled in.

Stray snowflakes fell softly in my hair as I swung open the truck’s rear door. I got out the cardboard box and one of the cartons of bottled water – and then, with my pistol safe in the pocket of my parka, I locked the truck and walked up the short flight of concrete steps to the back door.

The fading gold letters read: IMAGES SALON.

The door was locked, but this time I had no compunction about sending my angel in. In seconds, I was standing inside a supply room; through an open door was a room filled with mirrors and black curving sinks.

I found a bottle on one of the shelves: Peroxide for hair. The memory of Alex’s reaction when I’d dressed his gunshot wound came back, and I almost smiled. “Different peroxide,” I told his ghost in my head. “And it was the right thing to do, you know.”

I stripped off my parka and V-necked top, and put on a black plastic cape. Then I settled into one of the swivelling chairs and started applying peroxide to my long, dyed brown hair, combing it through. My angel hovered overhead, casting a gentle light.

Twenty minutes, the bottle said. I watched in the mirror, observing with satisfaction as my hair grew lighter by the second. I’d hated the brown so much – it had never felt like me. When the timer went off, I rinsed out the peroxide with bottled water in one of the sinks, and then opened up the box of Clairol Summer Blonde.

Less than an hour later, I was a blonde again.

I smiled at myself in the mirror as I combed my hair out. A little darker than my natural shade, but only slightly. Oh god, the relief – I felt like myself again. This was how I wanted to be when I faced Raziel: exactly who I really was. No more hiding.

“Welcome back, Willow,” I murmured.

Still smiling, I took off the plastic cape and started to fold it…and then froze at the sound of the back door opening.

Footsteps started heading through the office. I leaped to the wall and pressed flat against it. My eyes flew to my parka draped over a chair, with my pistol still in its pocket. Damn it, what had I been thinking? I reached for my angel, ready to send her out to grab it – and then the intruder’s energy hit my senses, and my jaw dropped.

Thoughts tumbling, I stepped away from the wall just as Seb entered the room.

We stood staring at each other. Seb had on faded jeans, a grey sweater, a forest-green leather jacket. His chestnut hair was slightly damp, curling more than usual with the snow. There were flakes melting in it even now, as I watched.

Finally I cleared my throat. “I, um…thought you’d go to Idaho.”

Seb’s eyebrows flew up, and suddenly I realized how angry he was. “Idaho,” he repeated mildly, as if considering the idea. “Yes, of course – that is exactly what I would do, when I wake up and find you gone, and Kara lying about not knowing where – and her mind full of thoughts about you facing Raziel and having to shoot yourself if you’re caught. Yes, I’d go to Idaho. It’s so obvious.”

“Seb—” I broke off as it hit me that I was standing there in only my jeans and bra. My cheeks burned; I pushed past him to grab up my shirt and yank it on again. “You didn’t have to come after me,” I said as I flipped my wet hair out from under the collar.

“No?”

“No. This is something I have to do alone. I don’t need your help.”

“Did I say—” Seb stopped himself and shoved his damp curls back; he sank down onto one of the chairs with a laugh that held no humour at all. “Yes, I know you don’t need my help. Do you think I see you like some delicate flower?”

“Fine, so why are you here?”

He made a strangled noise, his knuckles white as he pressed them against his eyes. I could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. “Do you really have to ask me that? Really? Willow, no matter what, I am not capable of going to Idaho when you’re planning to get yourself killed. Stupid, I know.”

“I’m not planning…” I sighed and sat down in the chair next to him. “That’s not what I’m planning.”

“You’re planning to go face your father. In your case, I think it’s the same thing.”

That one was kind of hard to argue with. “Look, this is just something I have to do, all right?” I said. “I’m not going to let Raziel destroy my hometown.”

“I know.” Seb’s voice was quiet. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it.”

And he wasn’t, I realized in surprise. I don’t actually want to die, you know, I thought of telling him…but despite my moment of peace as I’d gazed out over the plains, I wasn’t totally sure that was true. Disturbed, I crossed my arms over my chest.

As if in reply, Seb’s gaze went to my hair. “Very pretty,” he said dryly. I could tell he knew exactly why I’d done it.

I gave him a look. “So anyway, thanks for coming, but I’m fine on my own.”

Seb’s eyes flashed. “You haven’t been listening to a word I say, have you? Please, tell me: are you trying to drive me crazy?”