you read them?” Dreya asked.
Tenn stepped back and looked away. “No. I just... No.”
He caught the twins looking at Jarrett. He caught Jarrett’s furrowed brow. He caught the slightly stronger glow coming from within the jar. Or maybe it was just the sun.
“It sounded like you were reading it,” Jarrett ventured.
“No. I was just making it up.”
Jarrett’s next words were slow. Confused. “Are you—”
“We should be moving,” Dreya interrupted.
Jarrett seemed to snap back to reality. He looked to Dreya, shoving the jar back inside his pocket.
The moment it was hidden, the whispers in Tenn’s mind quieted. He hadn’t even realized they were still there.
“Are you recharged?” Jarrett asked.
“Not fully,” she said. “But we do not have time to waste. Especially if you are carrying that.”
“Where are we going?” Tenn asked. Jarrett was still looking at him curiously, like he wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Questions, he knew, that had nothing to do with the symbol-covered jar.
“Outer Chicago,” Jarrett replied. His words were still guarded.
Tenn looked to Dreya. He could feel the warmth of Jarrett’s gaze. It lingered in his chest, thawing the cold places. And sending a dozen more questions racing through his brain.
“Why?” he asked.
Dreya sighed. She kept looking to the horizon, to the way they’d come from. “Outer Chicago is safe. Mostly.”
Did she mean that he would be safe there? Or that keeping him there would make it safe for others? Either way, Tenn knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t turn them down even if he wanted to. But the truth was, he didn’t want to fight them, and not just because of Jarrett. Tenn had planned to spend the rest of his short life wandering between outposts, fighting the undead until he died for a cause. But now, knowing that he was a danger to those around him...
Or were they just bringing him back so they could experiment on him? He looked from Jarrett to Dreya to her silent brother, Devon. Tenn wanted to believe they were on his side. He couldn’t afford that luxury.
The truth was, though, it didn’t matter what their motives were: he had one of his own. He didn’t have anyone left to fight for, but what he did have was an ax to grind. If what was happening to him—the strangeness of Water, the attraction of the Kin—could be used against the Howls, he would embrace it. If only so he could use it against those who had destroyed his life.
“Let’s go, then,” he said. He opened to Water. Memories flooded to the surface—Derrick, curling into flame; his bedroom, dripping blood—but he was ready for them. He grappled them down with a well-practiced hand. “But I’m not letting you drag me there.”
“He has spark,” Jarrett mused.
“And you have no tact,” Dreya replied.
She opened to Water. Devon opened at the same time. He felt the twins wrap their power around Jarrett, the barest flicker of blue in the sun.
Jarrett just chuckled and leaped over the building, swan-diving into the lake. Dreya followed close behind.
Devon, however, stood there for a moment, hands crossed at his chest and his eyebrows furrowed.
“You still hear them, don’t you?” His voice was gruffer than Tenn expected.
“Who?”
“The dead.”
Tenn’s blood went cold. He could only nod.
“I hear them, too. Every day. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore. Or just all the dead I carry around.”
Devon shook his head, then tightened the scarf around his face and leaped into the water.
Tenn walked over to the edge. Stared down into the waves. They were already jetting off, cutting beneath the waves like spears of light. Devon’s words lingered, curled around the base of his skull. The last thing he wondered before jumping in was if Jarrett and the rest would save him, or if they’d just be three more names on the list of the dead he carried on his soul.
IT WAS LATE afternoon by the time they reached the shores of Outer Chicago. The water grew shallower, until they were able to trudge up through the waves toward the shore. The lake lapped at the highway stretching before them, slowly eating at the asphalt, turning it to sand and stone. He wondered if the destruction had been intentional—some necromancer trying to drown the whole city—or if it was just the Earth rebelling, eating itself alive to escape the madness magic had wrought. The aftershocks of the Resurrection had struck deep, and humans weren’t the only ones to receive the blowback.
Dreya slumped heavily against Jarrett as they made their way into the sprawling suburb. She had used the last of her magic to drain the water from their clothes. Devon held her hand.
Both of them were crying.
Gray clouds streaked through the slate blue sky, and the horizon was heavy with the promise of rain. Tenn glanced up and shuddered. Late December in the Midwest and still no snow—another reminder of how much they’d fucked everything up. The summer had been unbearably hot and dry, and it seemed to be continuing into the winter here, too.
If the servants of the Dark Lady didn’t kill them all, then Mother Nature would pick up the slack.
None of them spoke as they made their way through the abandoned streets. The air was still and perfectly silent, save for the twins’ occasional muffled sobs. After the roar of battle and water in his ears, the hush made Tenn’s head ring, like he’d stepped from a crowded school dance into the night air. This was the type of silence that always, always, foretold disaster.
He focused instead on the city, or what was left of it. They’d already passed over the ruins of Chicago, and this was all that remained of the once-thriving metropolis. Countless streets of empty houses, broken and gaping like corpses, all stretched out in a disrupted grid. The place looked like something out of a disaster movie: browned yards tangled with faded clothes and toys, overturned cars and pileups at every intersection, charred houses, and craters carved into the concrete. Even three years later, death and absence hung in the place like a ghost. He expected to hear the wails of the dead, to smell the smoke of burning bodies, a scent other than rain. Hundreds of thousands of people had tried to escape the city during the Resurrection.
Hundreds of thousands of people had failed.
But even here, there were no bodies. The necromancers had turned those they could into Howls, while the rest were devoured by the loved ones that had been turned. The cities were always the worst.
He shuddered and forced down the bile in the back of his throat.
“Did
