Текст книги "A Mad Zombie Party"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Run? Moaning, I set the empty water jug on the bench next to the row of lockers. My legs scream in protest as I climb over the ropes to join Gavin inside.

“Shouldn’t we take a cookie break first?”

“What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” He waves his fingers at me. “Let’s do this.”

“Stop using words. Mindless grunts only,” Ali calls.

“Bra-a-a-ains,” he says in a singsong voice.

“Better.” I jog toward him—it’s all my thousand-pound limbs can manage—and push my spirit out of my body at the halfway point. I summon dýnamis, something I’ve done a million times, even while exhausted, but nothing happens. Not even a flicker.

He tsks. “If I was a zombie, you’d already be dinner.”

I check my internal faith-o-meter. It’s full. I know I can do this. So...what’s the prob?

“Come on. Do it again,” Ali commands.

I turn my hands over in the light, part of me expecting to see the flames I don’t feel. If I can’t fire up, I can’t kill zombies. If I can’t kill zombies, I might as well curl up and die. It’s all I’m good at—all I’m good for.

Okay, so maybe my faith-o-meter isn’t actually full. Fear is a drain and it can empty an ocean of faith in seconds.

“Again,” Ali repeats.

I’m fighting for breath as I backtrack. Calm. Steady. I can do this. I know I can do this.

Again, Gavin waves his fingers. I jog toward him, every cell in my body willing dýnamis to come...but once again the flames fail to appear.

“Again.”

I remain in place. What’s wrong with me? Why is this happening? I’m the same girl I’ve always been. The only difference is the toxin now swimming through my—

The toxin!

“Tiffany!” A bomb of rage detonates inside me, just boom, and bolts of emotion explode out of me. I stumble back as if I’ve been pushed, heat consuming me in an instant.

“Milla,” Gavin shouts. “Enough! You have to stop.”

His voice sounds as if it’s being filtered through a long tunnel. I turn toward him, but he’s not standing where he was—because he’s not standing at all. He’s floating in the freaking air. I can’t make out his features; his image is too distorted through the flames. Red flames. Deep, angry red. The color of congealing blood. The color of my dreams.

Only, this is real and I’m not dying.

Am I? I’m weak, so weak, and only growing weaker.

Crap! Crap, crap, crap. What did the journal passage say before? Two kinds of fire. One destroys, one purifies. Obviously, the red destroys. But what else, what else?

Covered, covered, covered. Yes. Right. Darkness can only cover light. So, if red represents dark and white represents light, dýnamis might still be inside me, simply covered. If I can uncover it, I can stop this.

My limbs shake as more and more energy seeps out of me. Just how am I supposed to uncover the white flames?

Frantic, I try dismissing thánatos...it crackles, spreads and sings, soon blistering every inch of me.

“Milla!” Ali’s voice is filtered through the same tunnel. And like Gavin, she’s floating several feet in the air. She’s curled into herself and clutching at her ears, as if she’s battling the worst kind of pain.

I’m doing this? I’m hurting her? Hurting Gavin?

Crap! There’s a third body in the air. I’m hurting Bronx, too?

I have to stop, now, now, freaking now, but the more I fight the flames, willing them to go away, the hotter and higher they grow. What should I do? What the hell should I do? I stumble to my body to brush spirit against flesh. In an instant, the two halves of me are joined—but it only makes things worse. My body goes up in flames, too. My skin remains unharmed but my clothes burn to ash, leaving me bare-ass naked.

The cell phone flops to the ground, the plastic already charred, the screen melted. I whimper. Now I’ll die without knowing what Frosty said in his message.

And oh, wow, that’s my first thought? Really? I’m freaking naked! Hurting people.

I’m so messed up. A menace of the highest order. “Help,” I shout. “Help!”

Wait. What if other slayers come in here, and I hurt them, too?

“No! Don’t help!”

“What’s going on?” a new voice proclaims. Jaclyn maybe.

“You have to leave,” I scream at her. “Please. I can’t control it.”

Bees sting my neck. No, not bees. More darts? A cool rush of liquid spills through me, fatigue fast on its heels. My knees tremble and collapse, but even when I land, I don’t have the strength to remain upright, so I pitch forward.

Three heavy thuds echo, followed by three grunts of pain.

“How did she do that?” Gavin demands through panting breaths. “What did she do?”

My eyelids weigh ten thousand pounds and I can’t open them.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Ali says, sounding worried. “I lift zombies with my energy. No one has ever lifted slayers.”

“I’ll get Cole,” Bronx says.

“Gavin,” Jaclyn gasps. “You’re bleeding from your eyes, ears and nose!”

“This is bad,” Ali says. “This is beyond bad.”

I did hurt them. And I did it while I was exhausted. What would have happened if I’d been at full strength? Would they have ended up in bits and pieces? Would I have made them explode the way Ali has made zombies explode?

I can’t stay here, I realize. I can’t stay with Frosty. He’ll be safer without me. They all will.

Something I learned last night: another name for stakeout is torture in a hot box.

We don’t have Tiffany’s GPS coordinates, but we have her home address, so River and I parked our car down the street to watch the house...and watch and watch as nothing happened.

Tiffany is still MIA. But the would-be murderer is only seventeen with a worried mother who’s placed missing-person posters throughout town. If the girl hasn’t left town—hell, even if she has—she’ll return sooner or later. Or, at the very least, call.

One call. That’s all we need.

River slams his fist into the steering wheel of the old beater that blends in well with the rusty death traps parked in front of the dilapidated houses along the pothole-infested street. Graffiti decorates many of the curbs, and most of the streetlamps have been busted.

“The longer this girl makes me wait,” he says, “the worse it’s going to be for her.”

I agree. “For someone who disowned his sister, you sure do seem upset that someone hurt her.”

“Back to this?” He flicks me a narrowed glance. “I love her. I’ve never stopped loving her, never will.”

“And yet you abandoned her.”

“Did I?” His eyes narrow. “I’ve kept tabs on her this entire time. I’ve seen her trailing you. At first I thought the two of you were dating, but the way you treated her... I’ve wanted to kill you a thousand times over. So don’t try to tell me you give a shit about her.”

“What I give or don’t give is my business. She’s under my protection.” I say the words, and I mean them. I’ll protect her with my life, if necessary. Because it’s the right thing to do.

He turns in his seat to face me head-on. “Since when?”

“Since Ali’s vision.”

“A vision no one will talk about with any kind of detail. When is Milla supposed to save your miserable hide?”

“Visions never come with a ‘save the date’ card.” I should know. Before Kat’s death, I’d begun having visions with Bronx. Visions of battles and blood and pain. After Kat’s death, I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing a future without her. Thankfully Ali and Cole had learned how to control their visions by that point; they taught me. Mind over matter. I haven’t had a vision since.

River runs his tongue over his teeth. “My sister’s actions led to your girlfriend’s death. You’re not the kind of guy who forgives and forgets, even to save his own skin. You’re the type who will go down with a ship if it means you can hold your enemy’s head under water.”

He’s right. “Milla isn’t my enemy. Not anymore.”

“What is she then?”

“A friend.” On a trial basis. At least, that’s what I told her. But I think we’re already past that. I trust her to have my back.

“A friend. Please.” River grabs my collar and yanks me nose-to-nose with him. “She’s had a shit life, and the few times she’s lowered her guard and allowed someone in, they’ve cut and run. She doesn’t need you to make everything worse.”

I wrap my fingers around his wrist and shove him back. “I won’t touch her. I don’t think of her that way.”

That’s a lie. I know it the moment the words leave me. I’ve thought about her that way plenty of times.

A growl rises from low in River’s chest. He knows it, too.

“I won’t touch her,” I repeat. Trying for more than friendship...a romantic relationship, or even just sleeping together...no. Not gonna happen. No matter how many times I picture her naked.

The briiing-briiing of a phone drifts through the speakers of one of the many devices River has stored in the car, a welcome distraction. The dude is no newbie to hunting humans and somehow hacked into the mother’s phone, allowing him to listen to every ingoing and outgoing call from a distance. This is the eighth call of the day, and I’m losing hope.

“Hello,” the mother says.

“Missing-person posters, Mom? Really?”

“Tiffany?” A whimper of relief crackles over the line. “You’re alive!”

River and I go still. Finally!

He works his fingers over a small keyboard connected to the device.

“Where are you?” the mother demands. “Where have you been?”

“That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I’m fine, and you can call off the pigs.”

“Must you be so disrespectful? And you’re fine? Really? You’re fine? That’s what you have to say to me, after all this time? Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just not good enough. I’ve been worried sick about you. My ulcer has flared up.”

“Your ulcer always flares up. Don’t pretend you care about me,” Tiffany snaps. “You think I’m crazy. Well, guess what? I’m not. Zombies are real, and I’m not the only one who sees them.”

The two argue about truth versus fantasy—mental instability—about Tiffany going to see her shrink, about the bag of money the mom found in the girl’s room, before the mother finally begs her to come home.

“She’s not even trying to jack her signal,” River says. “I’ll have her location in three...two....bingo.” He tosses the little machine on the floor and starts the car. We’re flying down the road a few seconds later.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“A Taco Bell about five minutes away.”

A public place. We’ll have to be careful. Nowadays everyone has a camera on their phone. If we’re filmed grabbing a teenage girl, we’ll be sent to prison on kidnapping charges.

Or maybe not. There’s a detective who might step up and help us. She’s a civilian and she can’t see zombies, but when she investigated the deaths of six of my friends, including Kat, she had to accept the fact that there’s an unseen evil out there and slayers protect the rest of the world from it.

Our tires squeal as River parks like a stunt man in an action movie, the car spinning into an open corner slot in front of Taco Bell. I’m racing inside the building before he’s even opened his door. I’ve seen Tiffany’s picture. Black hair, brown eyes. Freckles. I’ve read her stats. Five foot six. One hundred and sixteen pounds. I scan the faces before me. An older couple. A teenage girl—a blonde with too much makeup, zero freckles and a red, angry gash across her jawline. A group of construction workers.

My gaze flips back to the blonde. I compare her face to the picture of Tiffany stored inside my mind. The two have the same bone structure.

Makeup can hide freckles. Bleach can lighten hair.

It’s her. Has to be.

Rage takes a few swings at me. This girl callously and coldly sliced open Milla’s neck and left her to die.

This girl will pay.

Tiffany spots me and gasps. As she jumps to her feet, her chair skids behind her, its legs scraping over the tile like fingers over a chalkboard. The rest of the diners grimace and either glare or frown at her.

If she was smart, she’d tell everyone the boyfriend who hurt her is back to finish the job. In seconds, she’d have a roomful of rescuers. And maybe that’s exactly what she plans as she opens her mouth. But a slight whistle of wind passes me, and she snaps her mouth closed. Her eyes go wide, and she pats at her neck.

Satisfaction cools my rage. River just darted her the way she once darted Milla. Only he used a tranq.

As her knees give out, he rushes over to catch her before she falls. He eases her into the booth and slides in to sit beside her. Her head rests against his shoulder as he casually eats the rest of her burrito.

“I’m so happy to see you again, sugar.” He kisses her temple. “Hungry?” he asks me.

Why not? I take a seat across from the pair and select an unwrapped taco. “You came prepared.”

“Always do. Now we need to figure out how to get her to the car without looking like we’re planning a gang bang or date-rape.”

“Please. That’ll be easy.” I finish the taco, drain what’s left of her soda. “Watch and learn.” I reach out and rip out a row of Tiffany’s stitches. Her wound opens, blood pouring down her chin. “She’s bleeding,” I announce. Too gleeful? I try for a more concerned tone. “We have to rush her to the emergency room, like, now.”

I stand. River is fighting a grin as he follows suit and gathers Tiffany in his arms.

“Poor girl,” someone says.

“I hope she’s okay,” another whispers.

River climbs in back of the car, keeping Tiffany in his arms. As I settle in the driver’s seat, he tosses me the keys.

“Way to keep us under the radar,” he says.

“Hey. We’re not potential date-rapers right now. We’re heroes.”

“Yeah, but what you did was pretty cold.”

“You complaining?”

“Hell, no. I’m impressed.”

I snort.

At the first red light, I whip out my phone to text Cole and let him know we’re on our way. I expect to see a message from Milla. Earlier, she told me she would break my face if I showed her my wrath and for some dumb reason, I thought it would be a good idea to tell her she needs my face intact more than I do, that she’s the lucky one who gets to stare at it. In other words, I flirted. But she hasn’t responded, and I’m glad. Really.

Caught Tiff. On way. Need room 4 interrogation.

His response arrives after the light turns green, so I have to wait until I hit the next red to read it. Yeah, I’m responsible like that.

Room ready. But U should know—we had prob w/Milla. Get here ASAP.

The light turns green. I don’t care. I type, What kind of prob?? Is she hurt?

I press Send and stomp the pedal to the metal, breaking speed records.

“Slow down,” River snaps. “We get pulled over, we’ll lose our prize. Not to mention the stint we’ll do behind bars.”

“Something happened to Milla. A problem.”

He sucks in a ragged breath. “Hell. Why are you driving like my grandmother? Go faster.”

I take the next few corners so fast, I leave rubber and smoke in my wake. Eight minutes and thirty-three seconds later, we’re parked in front of the mansion and running inside. When we pass the door, I notice Gavin coming down the stairs.

“Milla,” I say.

“Back in her room. But I don’t recommend going inside.”

River tosses Tiffany at him. “Do me a solid. Tie her down and lock her up. Put a guard at her door.”

Gavin doesn’t catch her, but then, he doesn’t really try. “Oops.” He picks her up none too gently. “Consider her restrained,” he says, relish in his tone.

I take the stairs two at a time and rush around the corner. Ali and Cole are standing in front of Milla’s door, arguing about what to do.

“—need to put another tranq in her,” Cole says. “She shouldn’t have recovered so quickly from the first one.”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t hurt us on purpose. Trust me on this. We all just need to sit down and talk about what happened. Okay? While we do, Reeve and Weber can run some tests.”

“Talking isn’t going to solve this, Ali-gator. And how many tests has Reeve already run? And how the hell do you know Camilla didn’t hurt you on purpose? For all we know, she and Tiffany are working together.”

“But why would she allow her throat to be slit?”

“Because she knew we would use dýnamis on her, sharing our abilities with her. Because she plans to wipe us out by using our strengths against us.”

“She can hear you,” Milla screams through the door. “FYI, she thinks you’re an idiot!”

My hands fist. “You are an idiot,” I say to Cole. “She couldn’t have known we’d reach her in time to save her. And there were better, far less painful ways to hurt herself and gain our sympathy.”

“And,” Ali says, “none of us knew how she’d react to our fire and our abilities.”

“How did she react?” River demands. “Is that the problem?”

“She hurt slayers rather than zombies. Me, Gavin and Bronx.” Ali chews on her bottom lip. “She somehow tossed us in the air and held us there while squeezing us as if we were inside a trash compactor. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

And now, knowing Milla, she fears she’ll hurt others and become an outcast all over again.

“Milla...we have to know. When you worked for Anima,” Ali calls, “did they do anything to you? Experiment on you?”

“No. Never.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! That’s something I’d remember. This is Tiffany’s fault. Her toxin somehow screwed me up and now I can’t be fixed. If I could, your fire would have done it already.”

River knocks on the door. “Let me in.”

“No. Stay out. Stay the hell out. Don’t you dare come into this room. You do, and I will shove my dagger so far down your throat you’ll be shitting metal for days.”

Creative.

He hesitates and I push him out of the way. “I’m coming in, Milla. Just remember you’re supposed to save me, not kill me.”

“No! Don’t you dare come in.” She’s even more frantic now. “Stay out, Frosty. I mean it. Stay away from me.”

I pick the lock and twist the dooknob.

I’m cramming my weapons into a black duffel bag when Frosty enters the room. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that much,” I snap. I don’t turn to look at him. The thought of harming him or my brother—or anyone!—scares the pee out of me. Staying in the mansion is no longer an option.

“Well, you are a coward,” he says. “You had a bad experience with your new abilities—your first time, no less—and you’re throwing in the towel?”

“Yes! You weren’t there. You didn’t see the damage I did to your friends.” Humiliating tears leak from my eyes.

He’s in front of me a second later, cupping my face in his big, rough hands. His thumbs tenderly brush the tears away. “You’re crying,” he says, and he sounds amazed. Something changes in his expression, a lingering hardness finally going soft. “You care about us.”

“Of course I do.” I wrench free of him, his kindness more than I can bear. “You guys are great.”

Gently, so gently, he says, “You’ll practice. You’ll get better. I’ll help you.”

“You don’t get it. If I practice, I hurt people.” There’s a minicrossbow in the pile I’ve created, but it’s not mine. It’s something Cole favors, which means it’s most likely his. Whatever. I pack it anyway. I’m going to be on my own. I’ll need all the help I can get.

“What about Ali’s vision?” Frosty asks.

Argh! Why isn’t he yelling at me for harming his friends? Why isn’t he grabbing my arm and dragging me to the front entrance, giving my ass a kick for good measure before slamming the door in my face?

“Maybe Ali got things wrong. I mean, I’ve been with you for a month and nothing’s happened. Maybe the vision is merely symbolic. Maybe I save you by not being near you.”

“Symbolic? Really?”

“What? I’m dangerous now.”

“You’ve always been dangerous.”

“To zombies, yes, but not to other slayers.”

He barks out a laugh.

Yeah. Okay. I was dangerous to other slayers before this. And not just because of my ties to Anima.

“I couldn’t control the ability, or whatever the hell it was. The disability.” I’d been hoping for something great to happen to me. The break I so desperately wanted. Instead, I got this. Something worse. My shoulders sag. “Red flames consumed me, just like they do in my nightmares, and I tossed three powerful slayers into the air without lifting a finger. Energy poured from me, wrapped around them and squeezed. They bled from their eyes, nose and ears. I wanted so badly to stop, but I couldn’t.”

“You’ll practice,” he says again.

He still doesn’t get it. “No. I’ll put others in danger. I’d rather die.” Lack of control is an excuse I can’t abide.

I’m sorry I hit you, honey. Daddy lost control of his temper.

“Milla,” Frosty says, realization suddenly as sweet as it is shocking.

Ever since I woke up from the attack, he’s been calling me Milla. Not Camilla. Not “hey, you.” Not “bitch.” But Milla. As if I’m his friend rather than his enemy. My eyes go wide, and I pivot on my heel to face him—

–in a blink, the entire world stops spinning. The walls of the house fall away, and I’m running as fast as I can, Kat clutched close to my chest. Her collarbone is broken, the edge peeking out of her skin. She’s cut everywhere and bleeding. Judging by the way Kat is wheezing, I know one of her lungs has collapsed. She’ll die if she doesn’t get help.

But she needs antidote more. She’s been bitten by a zombie, and the clock is ticking. Damn it! She can’t die, can’t die, can’t fucking die. She’s my life. My everything. But shit, shit, there are zombies hot on our trail, and each one has a bomb strapped to his neck.

I veer to the right—a mistake. More zombies glide from between the trees.

Boom!

The ground shakes. I lose control of my left arm, which was broken when the house collapsed, but somehow I maintain my grip on my girl. Can’t drop her, can’t drop her.

Shadows twist at my left, so I make another right turn and catch sight of a dozen Anima agents plowing my way. Damn it! Where can I go? The agent at the helm raises a pistol, aims at me—at Kat. I have no other choice. I go left.

Pop! Pop!

I curl inward as best I can, trying to wrap myself around my girl, and I end up taking the bullets in my upper arm. My broken arm. The increase in pain is incredible, but it’s nothing compared to my determination. Except I’ve turned us into another hail of bullets.

Pop, pop, pop!

Kat is hit, hit, her body jerking. No. Hell, no. Rage, frustration, desperation—each chokes me.

“Go!” Cole shouts. “I’ll hold them off.” He’s got two semiautomatics in hand and as he sprays the agents with metal I beat feet in the opposite direction, going back the way I came. He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. “I’m sorry, kitten. I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of here, I promise. I’ll get you somewhere safe, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll heal. You have to heal.”

Pop, pop, pop!

More gunfire sounds in the distance, and panic infuses every cell in my body. Agents race from the left and right, their weapons already trained on me. I have nowhere to go.

Damn it! I have a split second to decide what to do. Keep running and pray they miss, or set Kat down and fight, wasting precious time.

Ali rushes around the bend, and she’s headed straight for me. Her eyes are wide, and I know. It’s already far too late for option two. I’m going to have to take the gunfire—risk Kat taking the gunfire.

I pick up the pace and once again contort my body around Kat’s in an attempt to shield her.

Pop, pop, pop!

A bullet slams into my thigh, followed by another, and my leg just...stops...working. As I stumble forward, the rest of my limbs go lax. I can’t right myself, can only fall, fall. I twist midway to absorb the brunt of impact, but when we hit, Kat rolls from my arms.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I somehow crawl to my feet, the pain, the pain. But it’s nothing. She’s everything. As I reach for her, another stream of bullets sprays, and I’m nailed in the chest. I fly backward, away from her.

“No! Kat!”

Her gaze finds me. She offers me a sad smile. As I stretch out my hand, her lips part. I think...I think she just took her final breath. Her chest stops rising and falling. Her eyes dull.

“No! No, no, no.”

Darkness descends over my mind, but only for a moment. Light returns, and with it, a new scene takes shape.

I’m lying on a tiled floor, surrounded by a pool of blood—mine, River’s and Caro’s. I hurt. I hurt so bad. I’m certain death has sunk his claws deep, deep inside me, determined to rip my spirit out of my body. I’m having trouble breathing. Every time I try to call for help, blood trickles from the corners of my mouth, choking me.

Though my vision is hazy, I know my father looms above me. He’s hit me so many times I’ve already lost count—but he isn’t done.

Right now, I have a reprieve as he screams at me. My ears are ringing, but I can make out most of the words. You’re useless. You’re worthless. I wish you were never born. You can’t possibly be my kid. Your mother must have slept with someone else, the whore. I busted my knuckles, and now I’m going to use a baseball bat.

All this, because I refuse to accept blame for Caro’s death. Caro, my other half. My better half.

I never should have kept her out so long. I should have returned her hours before. But I didn’t, and Daddy’s dinner wasn’t ready on time. I took full responsibility, but he blamed her. You’re crying. Only guilty girls cry.

I tried to shield her, to take her blows for her, but he just kept shoving me aside. By the time River got home, it was too late. Caro’s body...motionless...

Me, broken and bloody.

At least River was able to rip the baseball bat from Daddy’s hands.

Daddy turned on him, hitting him in the stomach until he vomited blood. Even still, River was able to push me into the closet and lock the door. But it wasn’t long before Daddy killed River, just like Caro, and busted down the door.

He’s yelling at me again. It’s my turn to die, and I’m glad, but I don’t want to go without taking him with me. I crawl to the stove, where pots have fallen.

I swipe up a cast-iron skillet and slam it into his leg with what little strength I have left. I only make him madder. For once, he isn’t concerned about hitting me in places no one will notice. It’s open season.

Daddy kicks me in the stomach. I curl into myself, gasping for breath I can’t catch. He kicks me again, and stars burst over what little of my vision remains. My lungs burn as if they’ve been bathed in acid, that acid rising...rising...spewing out of my mouth.

Blood. So much blood. I’m not going to be able to take Daddy with me, am I?

I’m so sorry, Caro. I’m so sorry, Riv.

I’ll be with them soon. The pain will end, and we’ll be together again. That will have to be enough.

Black spiderwebs weave through my mind, but I fight to stay awake. Gotta prepare for the next blow. But...it never comes.

I’m not sure how much time passes before the spiderwebs thin and I’m able to blink open my swollen eyes. My father lies on the floor in front of me, his face turned in my direction, his eyes wide and glassed over, his mouth hanging open. River stands beside him, a bloody kitchen knife clutched in his hand. He stares at the weapon as if he isn’t sure how it ended up in his possession.

“River,” I gasp, but no sound emerges. My ribs are broken, muscle torn—

–a knock echoes, and the scene vanishes. I blink, and I’m back inside the bedroom at Reeve’s, standing in front of Frosty.

He’s pale, waxen, and he’s staring at me with horror.

“Wh-what just happened?” I ask.

“I think we had a vision,” he rasps. “Two of them.”

Another ability passed on to me? Yes, of course. Only, I didn’t see the future, like Ali. I saw the past.

And Frosty saw it, too.

Oh...no, no, no. He knows my deepest, darkest secret now. He’ll treat me differently. He’ll feel sorry for me. But I don’t want his pity. Yes, I’ve suffered. But we’ve all suffered.

“I didn’t... I don’t... Milla, I’m so sorry.”

That. I don’t want that. He owes me nothing. I owe him everything.

I turn away, not wanting him to see the emotion in my eyes—or the fresh flood of tears.

I suppose I should be glad that I saw into his past, the way he saw into mine. The very moments that define the people we are today. And maybe I would be glad, if I’d seen something else. But Kat’s death? Feeling his desperation and pain? His unending agony? Agony I helped cause. No. Guilt eats me up, the bites bigger than ever before.

The knock comes again, and River steps inside the room. I’m emotionally raw right now, and seeing him pushes me over the edge. The tears trickle down my cheeks, burning my skin.

“You guys have been quiet for a while.” He looks between us and frowns. “What’s going on?”

Frosty shakes his head and backs out of the room. He kicks the door shut behind him, the loud thud jolting me. I stumble back as if pushed, my knees catching on the mattress. I land, bouncing up and down until finally stilling.

“Milla.” River strides across the room to crouch in front of me. “What happened? Talk to me.”

I begin to shake. “I didn’t...I didn’t know Anima would do what they did. I thought they would do as promised and sneak in, grab Ali and leave. But that’s no excuse. I’m at fault. I knew Anima lied and tricked. I should have been prepared. I should have double-crossed them. But I didn’t, and I ended up hurting Frosty so deeply he’ll never recover. I took the most precious part of his life, the treasure he cherished above all others, and I’m a horrible person.”

Torment ravages my brother’s eyes. “Milla, don’t do this to yourself. You can’t—”

A sob splits my lips, and I fall against his chest. After that, the sobs just keep coming, until I’m practically dry heaving. I am a horrible person, and these new abilities are my final punishment. Exactly what I deserve.

“I’ve been following you off and on for weeks,” River admits when I at last go quiet.

A few times I’d felt someone was watching me, but... “If that’s true, why didn’t you help me the night hordes of zombies attacked me? I would have died if Frosty hadn’t stepped in.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “That was one of my nights off, and I’m sorry for it. I had no idea—” He goes quiet, as if he can’t bear to finish.

So...who had watched me that night? Tiffany?

“I love you,” he says, “and I couldn’t stay away. Even as furious as I was, I couldn’t not check on you. I know you only did what you did because you love me, too, and you hoped to protect me the way we failed to protect Caro.” He strokes a hand down my back, the way he used to do when we were children, gentle, so gentle, always careful of my bruises. “You’re carrying a lot of blame around. What you did for me. Kat. Even Caro. But it’s time for you to let everything go.”