my help. That he’d have to tend to their wounds while I drove. I wish he’d been right. It would have been—” She cleared her throat. “We arrived first. The two came running around the corner.”
She was. She was going to say it. “Nana, stop. Just don’t.” If she didn’t say it, and I didn’t hear it, it wouldn’t be real.
More sniffles, before she added, “Ankh tried. He tried so hard to kill their pursuers. And he did. But not before both kids were gunned down. They never made it to the car. I’m so sorry, dear. So very sorry.”
Not prepared.
Lucas and Trina. Dead.
Dead!
Two friends. Gone. Because Anima had decided to stop watching us, stop threatening us, and act. Because we’d become so caught up in our own little world, we hadn’t realized someone was about to unleash a maelstrom of pain.
I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.
Just like that, the compartments burst at the seams and every emotion I’d managed to stave off came rising to the surface. Regret, worry and guilt, now mixed with grief, anguish and fury, created a tidal wave and flooded me.
Drowning...
I fell to my knees and sobbed.
BRAINS ARE OVERRATED
(AND SALTY)
I had the strangest dream. A little girl, probably three, maybe four, was strapped to a chair, a plain but elegant woman sitting at her side, holding her hand. The woman had such a slender bone structure she looked like some kind of fairy princess from a storybook. She had wavy, shoulder-length hair the color of wheat and eyes so pale they were freaky.
I’d seen those eyes before. Many times before.
Like, every time I’d looked in a mirror.
They were rare. And yet, the little girl had those eyes, too.
Were they mother and daughter? Relatives I’d never met?
It was possible, I supposed. But why was I dreaming about them?
And why was I assuming this was real, just because it felt that way? Dreams were just that. Dreams. They weren’t fact.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said with a quaver. “Once they finish, I’ll take you home and make your favorite cookies.”
“I want to go home now. I don’t care about cookies.”
“I know you want to go, sweetie, I know. But you can’t. Not yet. This is necessary.”
“Why?” Tears fell in earnest. “They hurt me, Momma.”
The mother began to cry, as well. “You’re such a special little girl. You can do things no one else can. Through you, they can help other people. Save other people.”
They? Who were they?
“—not leaving her.” Nana’s voice registered, as did her concern.
The dream vanished in a puff of smoke.
I tried to open my eyes, didn’t have the strength. Lethargy made my skull feel as if it had been hollowed out and stuffed with boulders.
“You are.”
Mr. Holland’s voice now. He said something else, but a high-pitched ring invaded my ears, distorting the rest of the conversation. “—bry mand take see.”
“Moo bought I cast soon loo.”
I bit the side of my tongue, tasted the copper tang of blood. The ensuing pain must have set off a chemical reaction, releasing all kinds of goodies, because I received the boost I needed. The ringing faded, and tendrils of strength wound through me.
“—at war right now, and that makes you a target. Ali won’t be the fighter I know she can be, needs to be, if she’s worried about you.” Mr. Holland possessed the same iron-hard determination as his son, making the words sound as though they’d been chiseled from ice. “You’re going and that’s final.”
I cracked open my eyelids, then blinked rapidly to clear the blur. Meanwhile, memories banged at the door of my mind, demanding entrance. Before I could decide whether to accept or decline, the door splintered and I was bombarded. Cole, shot. Gavin, missing. Kat and Reeve, sedated. Trina and Lucas—
No.
No!
But there was no erasing the knowledge. They were dead. Shot and killed. Gone forever.
My mind shied away from the devastation. I couldn’t allow myself to grieve. Not now. Later, though...
Yes, later.
Right now, it was time to start compartmentalizing again. Nine of my friends were out there, targets to the madmen running Anima, and they had to be found.
Moaning, I sat up. Dizziness struck, as if it had been waiting for me.
Another memory took root. I’d broken down and cried. Mr. Ankh had approached my side and, while cooing comforting words at me, withdrew a syringe from his pocket and injected me with something. A sedative, I thought now, my jaw clenching with irritation.
“Easy, dear.” The sweet scent of Nana’s perfume teased me as a gentle arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me upright.
My hands quaked as I rubbed my gritty eyes. The dizziness faded, the room and the people in it coming into perfect view. Nana, with her black bob brushed and gleaming, her nightgown replaced by an oversize T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Mr. Holland, standing beside her, his face cleaned and bandaged.
Beyond them, Kat and Reeve paced inside a small room surrounded by glass. Probably two-way mirrors. I met Kat’s gaze, but she looked away, as if she had no idea I was there.
“Are they confined?” I asked, and a second later Reeve beat at one of the walls.
“Yes. Frosty and Bronx have yet to be found, and the girls are determined to hunt them,” Mr. Holland said. “They tried to sneak out.”
Of course they did. “Release them,” I commanded. “Now. Kat’s not even a target. We can send her home.” Where she’d stay safe.
He gave a single shake of his head. “She is Frosty’s biggest weakness and one of yours. Of course she’s a target. And we both know she won’t go home. She’ll go after her boyfriend, no matter what we tell her. Reeve, too. And while both girls have had some training in self-defense, they aren’t ready for an all-out war, which is exactly what they’ll get. They stay.”
Stay, yes, I conceded. Locked away? No. But we’d come back to that. “Where’s Cole?”
Nana squeezed me tight. “Don’t you worry about him. He’s doing well. Better
