2. Allie

Allie wondered if every girl wanted to throttle her boyfriend. Maybe it was just her.
The taxi dipped into a pothole and jostled the car, forcing Allie to brace her hands against the roof to keep from tumbling into Kai’s lap.
“We should have just taken my car,” she said.
“It would have taken forever to get to Central Park if you drove,” said Kai, glaring out his window. “You just don’t understand how the city works, Allie.”
She glowered at the back of his head, his strawberry blonde hair messy and uneven, his condescending words stinging in her chest. She swallowed the urge to twist the strands around her knuckles and yank as hard as she could. Why was he so moody today? He could never tell her what was bothering him anymore. Everything was so cryptic, so infuriating.
“But this cab is going to cost a fortune,” Allie said, trying—and failing—to keep the impatience from her voice.
“I offered to pay half.”
“How chivalrous of you.”
Kai turned his attention to the cabbie. “How much longer?”
The driver made an ugly, irritated sound in the back of his throat. “A few blocks away.”
“Just let us out here.” Kai threw a handful of cash onto the front passenger seat.
“Kai!” Allie objected.
He glanced at her sideways. “We can walk.”
“It’s like a million degrees outside.” Allie wiped the sweat from her forehead. The thought of trudging through the crowds to the bike stand in record-breaking heat made her nauseous. She already felt faint. “Why are we biking through Central Park, on the hottest day of the year, anyway?”
Kai rolled his eyes and threw the door open before the cab came to a complete stop. The cabbie yelled in protest, but Kai ignored it. He jumped onto the sidewalk and offered Allie his hand. “You were complaining about how we never go on dates, so I’m taking you on a damn date.”
It was all so romantic. Allie could barely stand it.
She took his hand and allowed him to pull her across the seats of the cab, pain searing up the backs of her legs as they ripped free from the pleather. Kai slammed the door a moment before her feet collided with the ground, and her loose shirt suddenly felt restricting, as if it were a couple of sizes too small. She tried to take a step forward, but was jerked back, the fabric caught in the door. Through the window, she saw the cabbie shift back into drive.
“Wait!”
But he had already taken off, dragging her with him.
#
Allie woke to a bright room, the ugliest eggshell ceiling tiles she’d ever seen coming into focus overhead. The room brimmed with the stench of hand sanitizer, burning the back of her nose. The consistent beeps sounding somewhere to her left explained the knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. She was in the hospital.
“Nice of you to join us,” a familiar voice said.
Allie’s best friend Maeve stood at the foot of her bed, her shiny blonde hair piled atop her head in a messy bun, an over sized tank top hanging from her delicate shoulders. Leave it to Maeve to make anything look fabulous.
“How are you feeling?” Zeke, Maeve’s boyfriend, asked. He stood beside Maeve, towering over her with his lanky stature. A mop of black hair fell into his eyes, a white T-shirt loose on his bony frame.
Disappointment dropped into Allie’s stomach as she realized Zeke and Maeve were the only people in the hospital room. She focused her attention on the ancient television set mounted on the far wall so Maeve couldn’t see it in her eyes.
“There aren’t any broken bones. You hit your head, but they said you’ll be fine. No concussion or anything,” Maeve said quickly, misinterpreting Allie’s expression.
“What happened?” she croaked.
Zeke snorted, saw Maeve’s glare, then proceeded to disguise his laugh as a coughing fit. “Your clothes got stuck in a cab door,” he explained once he managed to compose himself. “The guy dragged you half a block before he realized.” His face cracked on the last word, his lips quivering into a small smile.
Maeve shot him another warning glare. “Don’t you remember?”
“I guess you took the whole ‘school year going out with bang’ thing a little too seriously, huh?” Zeke teased.
“He dragged me half a block,” Allie echoed.
“On the bright side, someone caught it on film. You’ve already got like half a million hits on YouTube. You’re pretty much famous.” Zeke slipped his phone from his pocket. “Wanna see it?”
“No she does not want to see it!” Maeve swatted at his arm. “Honestly, Zeke, can’t you have a sliver of sensitivity?”
“Nope. That would require a soul.”
It was almost as funny as it was tragic. She had never been the most graceful person, but usually managed to exit cabs without gravely endangering herself. “How—” She strained to remember the past couple of hours, but drew a blank. “Kai?”
“You were knocked unconscious. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think you hit your head against the cab or ground or something. Kai called 911 and—” Zeke froze mid-sentence and rocked back on his heels.
“What? And what?” Allie demanded.
“He took off as soon as the ambulance showed,” Maeve finished for him, her gaze refusing to stray from her feet.
At first, Allie felt a rush of rage. But really, what else would she expect from modern Kai? She’d suppressed the thought long enough, submerged herself in her own denial, stupidly trusting it would go back to the way it was. Back to the way Kai was. The scratchy, strangling feeling boiled in her stomach, but Cindy strode into the room before it could erupt.
Cindy walked in the same way she always walked, as if a dog leash was yanking her forward. Something about the slight arch in her back and abnormal lean of her body made her look ridiculous. She wiggled her way between Zeke and Maeve at the foot of the bed, an artificial smile on her face.
“Allie. How are you doing?” she asked, her words robotic and insincere.
“Cindy. What are you doing here?” Allie mimicked her tone.
“As president of the student body, I brought you these.” Cindy thrust a small bouquet of yellow flowers forward. When Allie didn’t move to take them from her, Cindy’s grip tightened around the stems, her eyes challenging.
Zeke looked at the ground, his eyebrows arched in amusement. Red crept up Cindy’s neck, accompanied by an unnatural tick above her left eye. Between her schedule chocked full of APs, being president of half a dozen extra circular clubs, and seeking out lesser students to belittle, Cindy always looked as if she were on the verge of a breakdown. Allie could only hope to bear witness when it finally happened.
To Allie’s dismay, Maeve sighed and took the flowers before Cindy could explode. The petals looked as if Cindy had invested a remarkable amount of effort in destroying them on the way over here; more than half were already crumpled and dead.
“Oh behalf of the entire school,” said Cindy. “I hope you have a full recovery and make it back soon.”
Allie didn’t bother reminding her today was the last day of the year.
With a short, terse nod, Cindy turned on her heel, sending her black hair into Maeve’s face, and disappeared down the hall.
“Someone’s got their collar a tad tight.” Zeke tugged on his shirt collar as Maeve coughed and plucked a piece of Cindy’s hair from her mouth.
“Ew.” She flung the hair to the floor, her face squished together. “These flowers smell awful.”
“Probably poisonous,” Zeke said helpfully as Maeve set them on the table beside the bed. It took Allie all of two seconds to decide she couldn’t stay here a moment longer. Sure, her head pounded, and trying to stand could trigger some kind of vomiting fit, but something about hospitals was always unnerving to her. Besides the scrapes along her elbows and bruising along her back, she was in one piece. She’d received worse damage from kickboxing class.
“Where are you going?” said Maeve, coming over to the side of the bed as Allie’s feet hit the floor.
“I’m getting out of here,” she replied. “I’m going to find Kai and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Are you sure you can spare it?” Zeke snorted.
“Allie, you’re sixteen.” Maeve waved Zeke off with a flick of her wrist. “You can’t just discharge yourself.”
Allie clenched her fists and watched through the window as a nurse rushed by, blood splattered across her chest. Whoever she’d been tending to must have been seriously hurt. What if that had been her? And Kai would have no idea because he didn’t even have the decency to call and make sure she was okay. “Watch me.”
Maeve forced her face into Allie’s line of sight. “Allie, look around you. You’re in a hospital. You were just in a serious accident. You need to take it easy, get some rest. Beating Kai to a pulp can wait until a doctor clears you, can’t it?”
She wasn’t getting it. Every second sitting here felt like running a cheese grater over her skin. “No, Maeve, it can’t wait. I need to talk to him. Now.”
Maeve sighed and hugged her arms to her chest. She exchanged a look with Zeke, who was watching Allie with a concerned expression, but only shrugged in response. “Need some backup?” she conceded. “Talking to Kai, I mean.”
“Trust me.” Allie yanked her dark brown hair from its restraint. “You won’t want to witness this.”
#
Allie peered through the window of Burgers and Things, the football team’s usual hangout, to see Kai and his friends crowded around a table meant for two. They pounded their fists on the surface and cheered as one of the broader guys chugged some brown condiment concoction. Maeve stood hunched beside her, squinting around an overweight man sitting beside the window. No matter what Allie said, she had insisted on coming. For moral support, Maeve had said, but Allie knew it was just to make sure she didn’t collapse or get hit by a cab.
Slipping out of the hospital hadn’t been easy, and she’d probably have hell to pay for it later, but sitting helplessly in a hospital bed while Kai shook off the accident like she meant nothing to him made her want to slam her head against a brick wall.
She shoved the door open and the bells chimed overhead. Maeve hesitated by the door as Allie approached the table of applauding teenage boys, giving her space. A desire to hurt Kai burned in Allie’s chest, to make him feel how she felt waking up in the hospital without him—how she felt after his condescending comments in every conversation they had lately.
He sat with his back to her. His pale hair was disheveled, something she used to find endearing, but now it only made her angrier. He turned as she reached him, his smile faltering. Adequate words failing to come to mind, Allie opted for the next best thing. She slapped him.
Kai fell out of his chair with a gasp. The applauding and shouting stopped. Kai’s friends looked up, the broad one’s face stained red and yellow from whatever they were making him eat.
“How dare you!” Allie growled as Kai scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide, a deeply satisfying red mark on his cheek.
He laughed. He actually laughed. “How dare I? You’re the one that just slapped me!”
Maeve stepped forward at this, disgust in her eyes. “You worthless piece of—” Allie held out a hand to stop her from pouncing.
“I’ve spent all day in the hospital, Kai. The freaking hospital.”
“Well you seem fine now.” He gestured to Allie with a flick of his wrist.
“You could’ve killed her!” Maeve seethed, taking another step forward. “Honestly, aren’t you capable of looking away from the mirror for a second to think about someone other than yourself?”
“Maeve, it’s okay,” Allie murmured, placing her hand on her friend’s wrist.
“It is not okay!” Maeve’s eyes shot daggers at Kai, but she took a step back.
The rest of the customers stared, their interest sparked by the prospect of an entertaining fight. The teenager behind the counter, clad in an embarrassing paper hat and matching red polo, showed no intention of stopping them, his eyes alit with excitement.
“You two are being a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Kai smirked, followed by grunts of agreement from his buddies.
Allie clenched her fists at her sides.“What if I’d broken something? What if I’d hit my head so hard I’d gotten brain damage? And how would you know? It’s not like you showed up at the hospital to make sure I was okay or anything. You just handed me off and bailed.” Frustrated tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She angrily swiped them away before they had a chance to trail down her cheeks for everyone to see. Angry with Kai for not caring, at his friends for following him so vacuously, and herself for crying right now. She hated that she was crying right now.
“I find the whole thing pretty funny, actually.” Shane, one of Kai’s friends, smirked.
Allie glared at him.
“Please don’t hit me.” Shane pretended to recoil in fear, sending the others, including Kai, into a fit of laughter.
Maeve stomped over to the table, leaving Allie alone with Kai. “You losers think this is funny?” she demanded.
Allie stared at Kai, her heart heavy in her chest. Every time she looked at him, she saw a ghost, a reflection of the guy who used to be her boyfriend. It was clear that guy was long gone now. But why? “You’re unbelievable,” she growled.
“And you’re causing a scene. Why don’t you go home and call it a day, okay?” Kai lowered his voice, as if he cared about whether anyone overheard their fight. He was probably enjoying the attention. “We can talk about this tomorrow, once you’ve calmed down.”
“Don’t count on it.” Allie stormed toward the door.
Kai caught her arm, and she flinched away from his touch. “Oh come on, Allie, don’t be like that. I never wanted you to get hurt. It was a lapse of judgment. I’m sorry for leaving you.”
“Leaving me,” Allie repeated. “That’s not even a fraction of the reason I’m dumping you. In fact, I should’ve done this months ago.”
“Those hospital painkillers have you really amped up. You’re not thinking straight. I’ll tell you what, I’ll forget this little episode of yours, and we can go back to normal tomorrow.” His smile dripped of arrogance, a belittling gleam in his eyes. Allie wanted to slap him again. Slap that signature look right off his face. “Okay?”
Instead, she pushed him away by the chest. Everything about him—the uneven waves of his hair, the freckles on his hands, the torn collar of his shirt—was suddenly infuriating. Allie couldn’t stand to spend another second in the same room as him.
“Just stay away from me.” She grabbed Maeve by the elbow, who looked like she was about to go to blows with one of Kai’s friends, and exited the restaurant, surrounded by cheers and applause from the entertained crowd.

3. Candace

As if the Center’s weekly progress meetings weren’t bad enough, somehow Candace managed to get wedged between Grob and his overweight buddy, David Gretch, at the conference table. They sat in silence, Gretch and Grob as pleased about this seating arrangement as Candace, their close proximity enough to make her skin crawl.
Mcullough stood at the head of the table, his hands crossed in front of his body.
Her creepy first encounter with him aside, Candace had immense respect for the man. Her respect and fear of Mcullough, however, came in equal measure. Shadows always seemed to swallow his face regardless of the lighting, an essence of mystery trailing him. At nearly seven feet tall, he towered over everyone at the Center and exuded intimidation.
“Candace?” Mcullough asked.
She looked up to find all eyes boring down on her.
Mcullough raised his eyebrows.
What had he just asked her? “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Gretch and Grob snorted in unison.
“I asked if you would enlighten us on the happenings of last night,” Mcullough repeated.
“Well.” Candace wrung her hands together under the table. She had written about twenty speeches in anticipation for this day, but none of them seemed adequate anymore. She needed a way to communicate the purpose of her invention without the Members laughing her out of the room.
The damage done to her office posed questions she didn’t know how to answer. The gash in her palm from the broken glass had already healed, but that was expected. Exceptionally fast healing had always been something peculiar about herself that muddled everyone around her. Whenever she was harmed as a child—falling on the playground, getting her finger pricked at the doctor’s office—the wound healed itself at a rapid pace. She spent years of her life in and out of doctor’s offices and scientific labs being observed, but they had never been able to figure out why her body did what it did. Apparently, she was just a freak. Besides a faded red mark on her palm, she was fine. Her office, however, lay in shredded remains. And by now, everyone had their theories.
Tack Slater ran out before Candace could stop him. She went after him and searched the streets for hours, but he vanished, not a single trace left in his wake.
“I know you’ve all been wondering about the short power outage and the damage inflicted upon my office,” Candace said, surprised at how level and calm her voice sounded. She didn’t feel that way. Her palms were clammy, her ears throbbing with the violent panic of her heart. “The truth is, I was testing my invention, and I’m proud to say it was a success.”
“If it was such a success, then why does it look like someone was playing kickball in your office?” Gretch snorted.
“David,” Mcullough warned.
“Oh come on.” Gretch attempted to rise to his feet with difficulty, his round stomach catching on the table. “Don’t you think it’s strange she never tells anyone what she’s doing in that office of hers? Every week we all share our progress, but no one even knows what the hell she does for the Center!” He finished red in the face, staring around the table for support.
No one agreed with Gretch, but no one defended Candace, either.
“That’s enough—” Mcullough began, but Gretch swallowed a large gulp of air and started up again.
“Do you even know what she does?” He pointed a finger at Mcullough as everyone at the table sat back in their chairs, a mix of awe and horror on their faces. No one ever stood up to Mcullough. No one questioned his authority.
“For all we know she’s plotting some kind of terrorist attack!” Gretch continued. “You never should have let her into the Center. She’ll never be one of us.”
“Sit down.” Mcullough’s voice sent a chill straight to Candace’s bones.
Gretch didn’t move. “Don’t pretend we all don’t know she shouldn’t be here. You’re just too afraid to admit it and fire her because that would mean you were wrong. That would mean you made a mistake. While she’s been in there plotting God knows what, we’ve,” he gestured to Grob, who slunk back, his face red, “been transmitting data from dreams. We’re nearly able to record the brainwaves in the form of words and visuals, so it appears like a movie, the subject’s thoughts recorded like a book. I don’t see her creating anything like that.”
Candace leaned back in her chair. Gretch had been going on about this invention for months, but had yet to produce anything tangible. She guessed they hadn’t really completed the invention at all; they just liked how impressive they thought talking about it made them sound.
“David, sit down or you are dismissed,” Mcullough said in a chillingly calm voice. Gretch glared at Candace pointedly as he sunk back into his seat. “You were saying?”
Candace pulled Tack’s book from her bag, rose to her feet, and held it up so everyone could see. “Have any of you read this book?”
“I’m sorry, but didn’t anyone tell you book club is on Tuesdays?” Grob said with a laugh, which Gretch eagerly joined with a collection of throaty snorts.
At this Mcullough was on his feet, slapping his hands against the table. “If there is one more outburst from anyone in this room, there will be dire consequences. Am I understood?”
There were faint nods in the silence. “Please continue Miss Madoc.” He gestured to her with a smile.
“I’m not surprised. I didn’t expect any of you to be familiar with this particular book,” Candace continued, her voice shakier than when she started. “I read this book when I was sixteen. There is a character in here named Tack Slater.” She took a deep breath. How could she possibly explain this to a room full of skeptical alpha-male types? They already thought she was a joke. She glanced over at Mcullough, but his face was perfectly blank, like he was trying not to show any emotion. The vein protruding down his neck was the only indicator of his actual reaction. Candace shook her head and shifted her focus to the back wall, mustering all of her courage and stuffing it into her next words. “As of last night, there is now a sixteen-year-old boy named Tack Slater in New York.”
“Are you saying your invention brings fictional characters into the real world?” the man on Gretch’s left asked.
“Well…” she swallowed hard. Maybe this was something she should have kept to herself; maybe sharing this with the Center was a mistake. “Yes.”
The entire table, Mcullough included, stared at her in agonizing silence. She swept her eyes over their faces, desperate for someone to say something. She knew it sounded ridiculous, but she never would have gotten up in front of everyone and announced it if it wasn’t true. Despite how much they all hated her, they knew that. They also knew how valuable something like this could be.
The government was always looking for quiet solutions to their problems, and Candace’s invention would give them just that. If she could bring any fictional character to life with a press of a button, the possibilities were endless. She could summon scientists, doctors, geniuses from the future with knowledge well beyond our present comprehension. Hell, if the government needed a specific solution that badly, they could write up a character with the answers and Candace could create them.
Mcullough already smuggled the Center’s successful inventions to the government and other various organizations through the gray market, but this could be the Center’s greatest discovery to date. It could change everything.
“Where’s this Tack Slater now, then?” a man with a polka dot tie asked.
Candace released her held breath. “That’s the thing, he was slightly distressed when he arrived. Understandable, since I plucked him out of his world and thrust him into ours without warning. He panicked. That’s why my office is … well, destroyed.”

“Is he dangerous?” Mcullough demanded.
“No, no, it wasn’t his fault. I shouldn’t have put the glass containment box around the generator. He must have panicked being transported into something so restraining. He did what anyone else would have done.”
“So you have no idea where he is now?” a faceless voice asked.
“No,” Candace admitted. “He broke out of the box and ran off before I could do anything.”
The entire room erupted into a jumble of panicked voices.
“Yeah.” Gretch’s voice was easy to pick out over the others. “You know, when I’m panicked, I tend to throw violent tantrums and destroy everything I see.”
“I say we hunt him down and kill him before he hurts someone,” Grob added.
“Are you insane?” Candace demanded. “You’re not killing anyone.”
Mcullough was back on his feet. “That’s enough!”
The men cowered into their chairs at once. Candace remained standing. “We won’t be killing anyone. Madoc, your job is to retrieve the boy and bring him back here immediately. Then, I and only I will deem whether or not he is dangerous and needs to be dealt with as such. Until then, everyone will resume their own projects.” His gaze landed on Gretch and Grob. “Tack Slater and this invention are now the business of Candace Madoc and myself and no one else. If any of you get involved, you will be dismissed from the Center permanently.”
“But—” Gretch stuttered.
“Permanently,” Mcullough repeated through his teeth, his eyes blazing a deep black. Candace’s respect and fear for Mcullough had always come in equal measure, but now, as he stared at Gretch and Grob with predatory eyes, one finally surpassed the other.

4. Allie

Allie stumbled into the kitchen the next morning and found her mother Lauren waiting for her, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Natalie. We need to talk.”
There were twelve missed calls on Allie’s phone, which was strange because people never called her. When they did, it meant something was wrong. Maeve—though she had left Allie six of the twelve messages—wasn’t answering her phone, which meant something was really wrong. “Can it wait? I have to—”
“Sit.”
Allie hated when her mom used that intimidating tone, the one that seemed to strip away her layers and grab hold of her spine with icy fingers. She took a seat at the table in the center of the room.
“You didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t find out about the hospital, did you?” her mother demanded. “They do call your parents when you end up in the hospital, you know.”
“I know. But you and dad were still in California, so I figured—”
“That you could walk out of there without being treated—”
“They said I was fine—”
Allie’s phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down to see a text from Maeve.
Emergency. Why aren’t you answering your phone? Burgers and Things. NOW.
Allie’s stomach knotted. As much of a drama queen as Maeve could be, when she said something was urgent, she meant it.
“And then you didn’t even call. Your father and I came straight home when we heard, and imagine our surprise when we hurried to the hospital and our daughter wasn’t there.” Lauren, Allie’s mother, stood across the table, her hands clutched around the chair in front of her, turning her knuckles a concerning white color.
Allie’s phone buzzed again.
ALLIE?!?!? URGENT!
Allie jostled her leg beneath the table, staring at the screen. Maeve was the kind of person who stayed calm in a crisis. Allie couldn’t image what happened to make her this frantic. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to worry you—”
“You could have fooled me!” Lauren threw her hands up in the air. “Honestly, Allie, you’re sixteen years old. Why can’t you think before you act?”
Allie let out a long exhale. “I screwed up. I know. I’m sorry. And I’d love to talk about this more, but I can’t right now.” Allie darted from the kitchen, car keys in hand.
“Natalie Cross! Get back here!” Lauren shouted after her.
Cringing, Allie closed the front door behind her and hurried out to her car. Her mother would grill her alive for that later, but an impending crisis on her hands seemed more pressing than a mother-daughter heart to heart.
There was more traffic than usual, boundless lines of cars at a standstill on the roads. When Allie reached Burgers and Things, she could see why. Yellow police tape circled the perimeter of the burger joint, red and blue flashing lights streaming from the parking lot. Five police cars were parked out front, a crowd of people collecting, large officers holding a line of reporters back with impatient arms.
She spotted Maeve’s car parked beside the curb and pulled in a few spots down. It was undeniably Maeve’s Bug; it was the only car in town with hundreds of bumper stickers littered over the entire surface. Maeve said it gave the car character.
Allie spotted Zeke’s spiky hair in the parking lot—his height was always easy to pick out in crowds—and elbowed her way toward him.
As expected, Maeve was glued to Zeke’s side, her arms wound around one of his. The tears streaming down her face, however, were not expected. She detached herself from Zeke and threw her arms around Allie’s neck with so much force the two of them nearly toppled over.
“Allie!” she sobbed, her hot tears spilling down Allie’s neck. “I just—I can’t believe it! I’ve been trying to reach you all morning!”
Allie removed her friend’s arms from her neck. “Maeve, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Maeve covered her mouth with one of her tiny hands, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh my God, Al, I’m so sorry. No one will tell me how this—no one knows how it happened.” Zeke walked up to her side and folded her in his arms, making her sob again.
The second Allie met Zeke’s eyes over Maeve’s head, he looked away. Allie could’ve sworn they were damp. Zeke never cried.
“Zeke?” Allie raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but the yells of a police officer drowned out his words. “Everyone needs to stay back!” he shouted, his gaze shooting daggers at the persistent reporters. “The police are not ready to release any information on the victim at present time. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Victim?” Allie echoed. “Is someone hurt?”
Maeve looked up from Zeke’s shoulder, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “It’s Kai.”
“Kai?” Allie jerked her head back. As angry as she was with him, Maeve’s words still shot cold and burning fear through her. “What happened? Is he okay?”
“Allie…” Maeve sobbed again.
“He’s dead,” Zeke finished for her, his eyes trained on the ground.
“What?” The noise from the surrounding crowd morphed into an undistinguishable roar, the shock pressing around her chest as if it wanted to suffocate her. “You’re kidding, right? Is this all some kind of practical joke?” Tears escaped Allie’s eyes, but she didn’t stick around to hear Zeke’s response. There were irritated calls and yelps as she shoved her way toward the front of the crowd, not bothering to be polite about it. When she reached the front of the crowd, a policeman outstretched his arm to prevent her from advancing any further.
“You can’t go in there,” he said.
“I’m his girlfriend,” she sputtered. “And I need to get back there.” She knew they had broken up, but it was the only thing she could think to say.
The police officer gave her a strange, startled look, almost as if he was shocked to discover her in front of him. “You’re Natalie Cross?”
Allie blinked in surprise. “Yes, that’s me.”
He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and moved to bind her wrists. “You’ll need to come with me.”

5. Candace

Candace collapsed on the couch in the middle of her living room as James hunted through the mess on her coffee table for the remote. Her heels felt like someone took a hammer to them. Hours. They searched for Tack for hours and came up with nothing. Even with James’s assistance, who was one of the police force’s best detectives, she couldn’t find a single trace of him.
“Two beautiful ladies stand before me, but I only have one photo in my hands,” James said in his best Tyra Banks voice as he flipped the TV on and America’s Next Top Model filled the screen.
“Oh hell no.” Candace lunged at him for the remote. “We are not watching this.”
“One of you takes beautiful pictures, much better than the other, but doesn’t kiss my ass enough, so, you’re going home.” James grinned as Candace wrestled the remote from his hands. She pinned him to the floor, his sandy hair splayed out under him. Identically colored freckles dotted the outside of his cheekbones, framing his face.
“How dare you insult the integrity of Tyra Banks! She’s a model god.” Candace giggled and began to climb to her feet. James pulled on her legs, making her fall back on top of him with a gasp.
“She’s got nothing on you, baby,” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck as he pulled her face down to his. She kissed him for a moment, then pushed herself to her feet, her mind immediately darting back to Tack. Where he could be. What he might be doing. What would happen if someone else found him first.
She plopped back on the white leather couch with a hmph. James joined her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. “Still worried about Tack, huh?” he asked.
“I don’t know what to do,” she groaned and pressed her face into his shirt.
“If Mcullough said it was both of your business now, why isn’t he helping you?”
“Because he’s Mcullough and he can do whatever he wants,” Candace reminded him. “I don’t even know where else to look, and he basically told me to not bother coming back until I found Tack.” You’re just too afraid to admit it and fire her because that would mean you were wrong, Gretch had said. Mcullough had seemed calm, but what if he agreed with him? Candace pulled back to look at James’ face. She remembered six months ago when she explained the Slater’s purpose to him—how it had only taken a few moments of incredulity before he—the most logical person she knew—just accepted the impossible because he trusted her. That’s when she knew she loved him. “If you were randomly transported to a mysterious new world,” she asked. “Where would you go?”
He narrowed his eyes, considering, and then smiled. “Wherever you were.”
She made a sound in the back of her throat. “You are so cheesy. Just because I’ve gone from Mcullough’s prodigy to failure in twenty-four hours doesn’t mean you have to go all soft on me.”
“It’s all a part of the plan.” He grinned. “Lure you in with the nice guy act, then—”
Her phone vibrated along the coffee table, the brightly lit screen informing her Mcullough was calling. She hit ignore and nudged the phone away.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” James asked.
“Nope.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Candace rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “He’s going to ask if I’ve found Tack yet, and I don’t want to deal with it tonight. He doesn’t care that we were out there half the night. He’ll only care that I came up with nothing. I’ll call him once I find Tack.” She glanced at him sideways. “I’d much rather talk about what you planned to do with me after luring me in with your nice guy act.”
James grinned and kissed the hollow of her throat. When he pulled back, he held up the remote with a crooked smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night with Tyra?”
She laughed, snatched the remote from his hands, and changed the channel to the news. “I’d much rather learn about poverty and basket cases.”
The news’ background music made Candace jump, her gaze darting to the television just as a reporter flashed on the screen.
“Ten bodies have been found tonight across New York,” the reporter started, a grim on her face.
Candace stiffened.
“However, police report there are no injuries or signs of illegal substances in the victims’ blood. They currently have no leads. The deaths mirror that of seventeen-year-old Kai Johnson, who was found dead early this morning in a similar state. The police urge everyone to lock their doors tonight and call 911 at the sight of any strange activity. There seems to be a serial killer roaming the streets of New York, and he’s moving fast.”
James ran his hand over Candace’s hair and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You don’t think this is—”
“I don’t even want to think about it, James,” Candace whispered.
“What if it’s Tack? I mean, it’s sketchy, right? He shows up all panicked and violent—”
“He wasn’t violent.”
James gave her a sideways look. “He destroyed your office.”
“It was justified,” Candace insisted.
James held up his palms. “Regardless, we don’t know what he’s capable of. Jesus, he’s not even real. And the day after he shows up suddenly all of these people are dead? Ace, in my job, that’s more than enough justify a lead.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t suspicious,” Candace mumbled, occupying herself with the necklace at the hollow of her throat. It looked bad. She couldn’t argue with that. But would Tack really kill all those people?
James pulled her up, resting his forehead against hers, and clasped her hands in his. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“I mean it, because what I’m about to say is going to sound crazy.”
“Half the things you say sound crazy,” Candace said with a smile, but it faded as she took in his serious expression. “Yes, of course. I trust you, James.”
Without another word, he leapt up from the couch and disappeared around the corner, determination set in his shoulders.
Candace stared after him. “What are you doing?”
James reappeared in the doorway, a backpack in his hands, a serious look on his face as he returned to the couch. He hesitated with his hand on the zipper, a crease between his eyebrows.
“You’re freaking me out, James. What’s wrong?”
He pulled a gun from the pack, and Candace shrunk back. She’d always known he had guns—it came with the job—but the sight was still alarming.
“I want you to take this,” he said.
“What? No—” Candace began to push the gun away, but James caught her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers.
“Just put it in your car. It’ll give me some peace of mind, Ace. With everything that’s going on, I need to know you have some way of protecting yourself. Please. Trust me.”
Candace stared at the gun resting on her lap, heavy and intimidating. “You can’t just give this to me. You could—you could lose your job.”
“If something happened to you do you think I’d care about keeping my job?” James squeezed her hands. “Please, Ace.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and took the gun in her hands. Even if she did take it, there was no way she’d ever be able to use it. She wasn’t sure she even knew how. “All right,” she breathed. “I’ll put it in my car.”

6. Allie

Allie’s knuckles were bleeding. She gritted her teeth and jabbed her fist out to meet the black punching bag again. She knew she should be wearing her gloves, but couldn’t find it in herself to care right now.
“Allie,” said Dean, her kickboxing instructor, from behind.
She ignored him and drove the heel of her foot against the swinging bag. Exhaustion was beginning to settle in her limbs, but she ignored it. The minute she stopped moving, she started thinking. And she couldn’t do that.
“Allie you’ve been at it for hours. Give your body a break.”
Her intakes of breath were short and shallow, forcibly drawn between clenched teeth. She thrust her right fist forward and then her left, alternating sides so fast her abdomen began to burn.
After a pointless hour of questioning, the police had let her go. It was obvious she had nothing to do with Kai’s death, though people still sneered at her when she passed them on the street. His murder had become an open investigation, and the police had no leads. The killer was just roaming the streets somewhere. Allie could have seen them and had no idea who they were or what they did. Just another face in the boundless crowds, another person she didn’t know.
The thought was nauseating.
He was found dead in the men’s restroom of Burgers and Things, the officer had said. There were no marks or signs of struggle or injury. No alcohol or illegal substances came back from his blood tests. It seems Mr. Johnson dropped dead of natural causes—though we still don’t know the cause.
A wealth of information that guy was.
Allie slammed her fist into the punching bag, pretending it was the police officer’s face. It wasn’t his fault personally they took her in for questioning, but she was still pissed he dragged her out of that crowd like some kind of criminal.
“Allie,” Dean repeated.
Dean needed to back off. Fire blazed through her system, hazing her vision. If he wasn’t careful, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from aiming her next punch at his face.
As she brought her right knee to her chest, jumped, and prepared for a switch kick, Dean swept in front of her and caught hold of her left ankle. She froze, her fists still guarding her face, panting. His dark brown eyes held her gaze, his eyebrows high on his forehead. He used to intimidate Allie with his towering height, muscular build, military haircut—now she didn’t care. She wished he would just leave her alone, let her pound her fists into the bag until they snapped off her wrists. As the bag stopped swinging behind his head, she noticed faint splashes of her blood across the black leather.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped and jumped back, pulling her leg from his grasp. She regained her stance, fists in front of her face, her knees bent slightly, and waited for him to get out of her way.
“I think it’s time you call it a night,” said Dean.
Call it a night? All that meant was Allie had to drive back to her house and sit in her bedroom all alone, staring at the wall, left alone with her own thoughts. That or watch that stupid YouTube video of the cab dragging her down the block.
“Just ten more minutes,” she said.
Dean ran a hand over his face and paced toward her. He took her wrists and lowered her guard, a softness in his eyes she seldom saw. It was his concerned look saved for when his students were sent to the hospital. He’d never turned it on Allie before. She hated that he was using it on her now.
“You don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to talk to anyone about whatever it is that’s going on with you, but I can guarantee breaking your hands on that bag isn’t going to fix it.”
Dean was in his mid twenties, and owned the place. The business ran in his family, and was passed down to him just three years earlier. Before then, Allie had trained with his uncle, who had been strict and ancient. Though Dean was just as strict, Allie liked him better. His attempts to comfort and help the past couple of days, however, left that fondness for him deteriorating.
“Nothing’s going on with me. My left uppercut has just gotten a little sloppy. I wanted to work on it before class tomorrow.” She shrugged, the pain in her knuckles amplifying now that she’d stopped using them. They were worse than she’d realized.
He was still grasping her wrists. He turned her hands over in the space between them, exposing the broken skin across all but two of her knuckles, blood dripping down her fingers. He glanced up at her under his eyelashes, a single eyebrow raised. “Come with me. We’re bandaging these up.”
Dean dragged her toward his office before she could protest. There were only two other people in the studio, completely engrossed in their own activities. They promptly ignored her as she followed Dean up the stairs in the back. His office was situated above the floor, looking down on the wall of mirrors, the polished hardwood, and inspirational posters hung too high for anyone to really see. Allie pushed a box of jump ropes to the side so she could take a seat on the couch as Dean fished through the drawers in his turmoil of a desk.
He smirked in satisfaction as he finally managed to wrestle out a first aid kit and took a seat beside Allie.
He was silent as he wrapped the first of her hands, his lips turned down in concentration. He glanced up as he applied the antiseptic. “You’re a good kick boxer, you know. Probably one of the best here.”
Allie swallowed hard. She knew where this was going. It was Dean’s way. He started with a compliment, luring you into what appeared to be a safe conversation, and then somehow managed to pry all of your secrets from your unwilling hands.
“I really am fine, Dean,” she said.
“You’re a good kid, Al. I’ve never seen you like this before. Something’s wrong, whether you want to admit it or not. And I know how your parents are, so if there was anything, anything at all that was going on, you know you could tell me, right?”
It wasn’t as if she had anyone else to talk to. He was right; her parents were out of the question.
“Boy troubles,” Allie muttered—if only that were true.
Dean returned his focus to her bloody hands. “Well, whatever the guy did, I hope you gave him hell for it.”
“I did. Then he died.” She winced at how harsh the words sounded aloud.
Dean finished bandaging her hand and looked up like he wanted to say something. Allie jumped up before he could start. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Sorry for getting blood on your equipment.”
Back down on the floor, Allie grabbed her bag from the corner, headed for the door, and ran straight into someone entering the studio.
“Shane?” she demanded, stumbling back a few steps.
He stood in the doorway, his dark hair sticking up like Kai’s used to, shifting his weight back and forth, not quite meeting her eyes.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said.
“Why are you here?” Allie demanded, adjusting the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Quickly. I’ve gotta get home.” Allie didn’t bother hiding the impatience in her voice.
Shane nodded and led her back a few paces into the hall beside the drinking fountains, out of view of the two remaining kick boxers—not like they were paying attention, anyway.
“All right.” Allie raised her eyebrows. “Talk.”
“I wanted to talk about Kai,” he said.
Allie hesitated. Shane was probably her least favorite of Kai’s goons, and his death didn’t change that, even though it kind of felt like it should. “What about Kai?” she finally asked.
“I just…” He trailed off and stared above Allie’s head. “I feel like I’m the only one who misses him.”
“You’re not the only one,” she said, skeptical he came all the way down to her studio for a heart-to-heart about Kai.
Shane’s expression changed, the corners of his mouth twisting down. “You don’t really care, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” Allie demanded. “Of course I care.”
“Did you love him?”
This was not the direction she thought this conversation was going. She wanted to explain the nagging feeling she’d had in the back of her mind since Kai died, explain how something felt off, like it wasn’t real. “Well, I—I—that’s none of your business.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” Shane ran his hand through his hair. “At least he’s a hell of a lot better off now than he was here.”
“What do you mean?”
Shane looked rather taken aback by her question. “I mean his dad.”
“What are you—”
“Dean?” a low voice boomed from around the corner, making Allie jump. “Hey, man, can you hear me?”
Allie sidestepped Shane and glanced back at the floor to see her instructor collapsed a few paces from the stairs.
“Oh my god, call 911!” She shoved her cell phone into Shane’s hands and sprinted across the floor.
One of the other kick boxers leaned over Dean, whose eyes were raised to the ceiling, glassy and unseeing. The guy’s face was drawn with horror as he shook Dean’s shoulders.
“He’s not breathing,” the guy said through his teeth and started performing CPR, but something in his eyes told Allie what she already knew. He was a lost cause.
Allie covered her mouth with her hands, bile rising in her throat. No, no, no, no. Not Dean. She shook her head and turned away, but the image was already burned into the backs of her eyelids. It felt like someone shoved a vacuum into her mouth and sucked the air straight from her lungs. There was no need to check his pulse and see if he was alive. Some things you just know.
Shane appeared at Allie’s side as the ground began to sway beneath her feet. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Allie wanted to push him away, but knew she would fall over if she tried.
She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Kai had looked.

7. Allie

Allie positioned herself in the red fold up chair farthest from the door. Identical chairs fanned out on either side, curving into a large circle on the outskirts of the room, which was entirely devoid of decoration besides the In the pain, there is healing sign above the door.
Around Allie, there were other people, a similar expression mirrored on their faces. It flirted somewhere between absolute rage and mortification. They sat slumped over in their chairs, heads bowed, arms crossed, eyes trained on the floor. It was almost comical how choreographed it seemed. But Allie didn’t feel like laughing. She was the last person who belonged here. She couldn’t fathom what was going through her mother’s head when she deemed group therapy a good idea.
Lauren argued Allie needed to deal with her feelings about Kai head on, and group therapy would offer her the kind of support she needed. And then there was the whole thing about seeing a dead body. Dean’s dead body. Allie, however, suspected this was Lauren’s way of not having to be the one Allie talked to about her issues. Her mother had always seemed allergic to any sliver of emotion. Allie didn’t want to talk to a group of strangers about her problems, but agreed to go to a meeting for Lauren’s sake.
A petite girl across the circle filled the room with her sharp voice. She wore her hair in a loose ponytail, curly brown strands sticking to her lipstick. She looked younger than Allie, which surprised her. In her head, group therapy had always been a bunch of middle-aged alcoholics and drug addicts sitting in poorly lit rooms in the middle of the night. Probably a side effect of watching too much bad TV.
The petite girl’s eyes were wide and rimmed with red. Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides as she spoke. “No one believes me. Everyone thinks I’m crazy,” the girl was saying, holding back tears. “I know it sounds crazy. I know how it sounds. But I saw him, clear as day. He was there. I didn’t imagine it. I swear I didn’t.”
“Who did you see, Becca?” the therapist asked, chewing on her pen.
“I saw Jeremiah from The Ring Brothers. He had the orange scars covering his arms and face and all,” Becca insisted.
“The Ring Brothers? The book?” the therapist asked, her voice indifferent. Allie wondered what kinds of crazy stories she heard with her job. Probably nothing surprised her anymore.
“I’m not crazy!” Becca cried. “I don’t know how, but it was him.”
Allie had never read The Ring Brothers, but she remembered watching the movie when it was on cable. Jeremiah was a scientist who worked for the three warrior brothers. He was supposed to have glowing, orange scars covering his face and arms from an experiment that went terribly wrong before the beginning of the novel. The contents exploded onto his exposed skin, leaving strange scars in their wake.
Somewhere near the end of the story, he started losing his mind and became violent. The warrior brothers killed him to protect their village. Allie had never really gotten into the story.
Kai had liked it.
“You know, I think she’s on to something. Just yesterday the little red head from Harry Potter tried to sell me Girl Scout Cookies,” a man clad in black snickered, quiet laughter echoing around him.
Becca’s eyes widened and filled with anger, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She snapped her mouth open to reply, but the therapist spoke before she had the chance.
“Who wants to go next?” Her voice dripped with artificial optimism as her gaze swept the circle. Allie knew it would land on her a moment before it did. “Natalie, would you like to share?”
Allie had been slouching so low in her chair that her back was nearly parallel to the floor. She pushed herself up and met the therapist’s eyes with a frown. “No. Thanks.”
“Don’t tell me you saw Jeremiah, too?” the man in black laughed.
Becca sprang to her feet, her chair crashing to the floor behind her. She lunged at the laughing man, whose expression mirrored the shock Allie felt. Becca knocked him to the floor, her small fists pounding against any part of him she could get her hands on.
The therapist yelled something incomprehensible, drowned out by the raucous. The rest of the circle rose to their feet to watch the fight. Becca had the guy pinned to the floor, and Allie suspected he could have sent her flying across the room by now, but didn’t want to hurt her.
“Get off me!” The guy’s voice was thick with laughter.
A man in plaid wrapped his arms around Becca’s waist and hoisted her off the guy on the floor, a small trace of blood speckled across his face. Becca thrashed against him, her legs and arms flailing. “I’m not crazy! I saw Jeremiah,” she cried as he carried her from the room. “I saw Jeremiah.”
#
“You’re telling me this now?” Allie demanded.
She and Lauren stood in the kitchen, the mid-afternoon sun straining through the windows in choppy fragments.
“Oh settle down.” Lauren bent over the island, a stick of celery wedged between her crooked teeth. “You love Brandon. The two of you have always gotten along well.”
“In light of everything that’s been going on lately, do you really think I want to babysit my cousin right now?” It wasn’t really about Brandon. Lauren was right; they had been best friends their entire childhoods until Lauren moved the family to New York when Allie was thirteen. She didn’t want someone who knew her so well around right now. After everything, she wanted to mope and be depressed in peace. Brandon, however, would never let her do that.
“He’s eighteen, Allie. It’s hardly babysitting.”
Allie thought for a moment. It wasn’t like Brandon to drop in unexpectedly wanting to spend the summer with her. He hated New York.
“Uncle Alex found out, didn’t he?” Allie demanded. “He found out and kicked Brandon out of the house and that’s why he’s coming. Isn’t it?”
“Found out what?”
“Oh, please, mom. You know what.”
“Allie, what on earth are you—”
The doorbell cut Lauren off. Thankful for the escape, Allie hurried to the foyer and threw the door open.
Brandon stood on the porch hunched over, as though he was infinitely trying to fold in on himself until he disappeared all together. His fists were stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans, his head low. His golden halo of hair gleamed with small beads of water. It was only then Allie noticed the rain falling in sheets behind his head.
“Hey, Al.” His voice was light and low, like it had been since he was twelve. Allie always thought he had the most soothing voice in the world. She swore he could make world peace just by speaking if he wanted to.
“Oh for God’s sake, come here.” Allie grinned and hugged him.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to your reunion.” Lauren edged her way to the door, her hot pink umbrella already overhead. “There’re some leftovers in the fridge for dinner tonight.”
“Wait, where are you going?” Allie asked.
“I have a few things I need to take care of,” said Lauren. Allie opened her mouth to push for specifics, but didn’t get the chance. “Why don’t you show Brandon around New York today? It’s a lot different than Denver, you know.” She froze in the doorway and stared at Allie. “You two need to stay together. And lock the doors tonight.” And with that, she turned and hurried down the lawn.

“But—”

“Call me if you need me!” Lauren called over her shoulder, and closed the car door.

Allie thought maybe, just maybe, her mother would stick around with all of the deaths scattered across New York, two of which she had been graphically exposed to. She supposed this wasn’t out of character for Lauren. People were dropping dead all over New York. Of course she was taking off. It’s what she did.

Brandon raised his eyebrows. “So, how about that tour?”

“You ever been to Brooklyn?”
#
“You’re going to get hypothermia and then Lauren is going to murder me in my sleep,” said Brandon.
“I’ll be fine.” Allie wrapped her icy hands around her arms, already covered in goose bumps. She had set her jacket on the parking meter while she and Brandon searched her car for stray coins, having forgotten to bring change for the meter again. They scavenged a few dollars in quarters and a handful of dimes, but the rain drowned out all sound, and she hadn’t noticed someone stealing her jacket.
“We can head back if you want,” Brandon insisted.
Allie huddled against him, trying to share his tiny umbrella. “It’ll be fine. I know how excited you were to see Brooklyn.”
“Ha, ha.”
As they made their way toward the Brooklyn Bridge, Allie supposed it was stupid for her and Brandon to be aimlessly meandering the streets. But it didn’t make her feel any safer sitting at home with the doors locked. There was as much of a chance of her running into a killer there. At least now, she felt like her life was in her own hands, not at the mercy of someone she didn’t know.
She flinched away from a newsstand. Kai’s picture, along with Dean’s and few others she didn’t know, was on the front page of the newspaper. The headline read Still No Leads in Mysterious Deaths.
“So USLA, huh?” Allie asked through chattering teeth.
“Yeah. My mom was determined for me to go to school somewhere in Colorado, but I need…I just need to get away, you know?”
Allie laughed once. “And you wanted to spend your last few months of freedom in New York with me instead of your friends in Denver?”
His fist tightened around the stem of the umbrella.
“Did you tell him?” Allie asked quietly.
“I didn’t really get the chance. He walked in on me and Will. Less than twenty-four hours later my bags were at the foot of the stairs, a map and my car keys on top.”
“Brandon I—” Allie started, but realized she didn’t know what she wanted to say.
“There was a reason I didn’t tell him. I knew he’d freak out like this, and I didn’t think I needed to make him hate me more than he already did.”
She opened her mouth to say something encouraging or comforting, but instead, her stomach growled.
Brandon laughed. “You wait under there, and I’ll grab some hot dogs.”
Allie scrambled for cover beneath a nearby store’s overhang as Brandon continued down the street, his form quickly disappearing into the crowd.
“You know, when you sacrifice your significant other and leave them to freeze to death for a corndog fix, it’s usually a red flag in a relationship,” an unfamiliar voice said behind her.
“He’s not my—” Allie started, but the last word caught in her throat as she turned around to see who the voice belonged to. Tall. Strong muscles camouflaged into a lean frame. His eyes were dark blue, the kind of color you only really saw in people with colored contact lenses. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face and Allie could tell he made that facial expression often. “Boyfriend,” she finally sputtered. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my cousin.”
“Phew. Imagine my relief. Now I don’t have to go rethink my greater purpose in life after all.” The boy smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. Allie stared at him, speechless. The boy seemed unfazed, as if his previous comment held empty, unimportant words.
“It’s pouring,” he continued, indicating the rain overhead. “You don’t have a jacket?”
Dark golden hair dripped down his face from the rain, his skin offering a dewy glow. He stood straight and relaxed, hands casually stored in his pockets. Something beyond his appearance demanded her attention, something eerie about his presence.
“I lost it,” said Allie.
He slipped the leather jacket off his shoulders, stepped forward, and wrapped it around her as if they were old friends. “Take mine.”
Allie froze, watching him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t even know you. How am I supposed to give it back?”
“Don’t bother.” He shrugged, a smirk still yanking at the corner of his mouth. “Keep it. And besides, I don’t think this’ll be the last time you see me. Do you?”
“I have a boyfriend.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she was aware of them. It wasn’t true, not anymore, but it seemed easier this way.
“Really? So do I.” He grinned. “I bet mine’s cuter.”
It took Allie a second to realize he was joking, and couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twitching, making the boy grin wider. “Well, thanks for the coat…”
“Tack.” He held out a hand, pale and glowing in the dim light. “Tack Slater.”

8. Candace

Despite the rain, the streets of Brooklyn were teeming with people clad in identical raincoats and black umbrellas. Candace kept her hand in James’s, knowing if she let go, she probably wouldn’t be able to find him in the crowd again.
“You’re a detective,” said Candace.
“Well, yeah.” James turned down the street on their left, pushing past a group of teenagers laughing and piggybacking through the rain. “But this isn’t Scooby Doo, Ace.”
“But do you think you could look into the deaths? See if there’s some sort of pattern? Maybe that’ll help us find him.”
The more streets they roamed through, people they asked about Tack, posters they hung, the more bleak it all began to seem. Candace wasn’t equipped to handle this on her own, and she couldn’t officially bring the police onto the case without explaining that Tack was a fictional character—she had a sinking feeling that road would only end in a white padded cell, and she would be no closer to finding Tack. But maybe James could do something unofficially. He was one of New York’s best detectives. If he couldn’t solve this, no one could.
James squeezed her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Those six worlds made her feel infinitely better.
They wandered toward the Brooklyn Bridge, Candace straining her eyes to peer through the crowds. There were just so many faces. They could have passed Tack a dozen times without knowing it.
Candace glanced at her phone, which informed her of another missed call from Mcullough. Finger positioned over the redial button, she hesitated, not quite able to bring herself to call him back. She had tried to suppress the thought, but it kept swimming into the back of her mind. Was she really going to hand Tack over to Mcullough when she found him? If Tack was on some killing spree around New York, it was her responsibility as the person who brought him here to stop him. Even if that meant killing him. But maybe he was just lost and scared. Maybe these deaths were misunderstandings.
Mcullough and the rest of the panicked population of New York probably wouldn’t see it that way.
“We’re going to find him, and we’re going to get to the bottom of all of this, Ace.” James was trying to sound comforting, but his words made Candace’s insides twist. What if the answers were something she didn’t want to hear?
What had she gotten herself into?
A tall man weaved out of the crowd and smacked into Candace. Her hand broke from James’s as she and the man stumbled back from each other, the air rushing from her lungs.
The man’s hood fell back, revealing his face. Rugged, orange scars stretched across his skin and disappeared down the collar of his coat. Candace too had scars all over her face, but they were small and silver, easy to cover with makeup. His, on the other hand, were thick and deep; they almost looked iridescent. She knew it was rude to stare, but how could she not? She’d never seen anything like it. He stared back with wide, empty eyes.
Although she was certain they had never met before, his face was inexplicably familiar. He pulled his hood back over his head and disappeared into the crowd, his face lingering in the back of Candace’s eyes.
#
Candace frowned at her phone as it buzzed along the table in front of her. She and James were nestled in the back of the coffee shop, waiting for the rain to die down—though judging by the thick, bruise-like color of the sky, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Mcullough’s calls were just as persistent.
“That has to be the tenth time he’s called today.” James downed the last of his coffee and gave her phone a small nudge in her direction. “Just talk to him, Ace. Tell him the truth.”
The coffee shop was packed with everyone who was seeking shelter from the rain. Candace stared at the television mounted above James’s head without really registering what was on the screen. It flashed away from the face of a news reporter to reveal a picture Candace had seen too many times in the past few days. The one of that seventeen-year-old boy who died. He stared at her with a boyish smile, pale hair wavy over his forehead, the glimmer of a million possibilities in his eyes. How fitting that his eyes were now closed.
She flinched away from the sight.
“Tell him the truth?” Her eyes drifted back to James’ face. She couldn’t figure out how he looked so calm. “You mean that I’ve completely failed? That I couldn’t even keep track of my own experiment and now people all over New York are dying because of it?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “How am I supposed to do that?”
He gave her a sad smile and shrugged.“The longer you avoid it, the angrier he’s going to be when you finally talk to him.”
Candace spun her empty coffee cup around in her fingers, her eyes tracing and retracing the coffee shop’s logo. When she glanced up, James’s eyes bore down on her, eyebrows raised.
“He’s going to kill me,” she mumbled. She couldn’t avoid Mcullough forever. She knew that. But entertaining the fantasy that if she ignored his calls the problem would disappear was so much easier than plunging into a head-on collision.
James pushed the hair from his eyes and shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”
“I hate when you’re smarter than me,” Candace grumbled and brought the phone to her ear. It was too much to hope Mcullough wouldn’t answer, so instead she pinched her leg under the table, trying to distract herself from the nervous gnawing inside of her chest.
“Madoc?” Mcullough’s sharp voice appeared after two rings.“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Days!” Even though he couldn’t see her, Candace sunk down in her chair as though she could hide from him.
“I’m sorry. Something came up—”
“Do you have any idea what’s happened since you’ve been gone?” He was still yelling, which was unnerving in it of itself. Mcullough never yelled.
She flinched and sunk lower into her chair. “I’m sorry. I’ve been looking for Tack.”

“Tack?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “You’ve spent all this time looking for Tack?”
Candace’s whole body went cold. “Ye—yes. You told me to find him and bring him back immediately.”
“Madoc,” he groaned. “The boy is the least of our problems right now.”
James’s face across the table mirrored Candace’s confusion. He mouthed a question to her, but she couldn’t see it. The gears in her brain spun so furiously the entire room blurred before her. “What do you mean—?”
“Your invention is gone,” Mcullough said.
Her invention? The one she’d spent her entire life working on? How could it just be gone? “What?” she demanded, and suddenly she was on her feet, snatching all of her things into her hands. “I’m on my way. I’m on my way right now.” She slipped her coat over her shoulders, her words coming out so fast she could barely understand them, and squeezed through the crowd toward the door, too panicked to look back and make sure James was following. “Was there a break in at the Center? Was anything else taken?”
There was agonizing silence on the other end of the line as she elbowed through the line at the door and broke out into the rain. “There wasn’t a break in,” Mcullough finally said. “Candace, the day of your meeting, when you told the Center of your discovery, that was the night it went missing.”
She stumbled to a stop on the sidewalk just outside the shop. “That’s why you’ve been calling,” she mumbled to herself, her insides feeling like they’d spilled out of her, scattered in a million different directions. She couldn’t believe this. Wasn’t there any kind of security? How could Mcullough just let someone steal her invention? Did he have any idea how dangerous that thing could be in the wrong hands? “Do you think another member took it?” She took off in a sprint down the road to her car, James’s panting breath trailing behind her.
But Mcullough didn’t respond. The line was dead.
#
Candace stood at the entrance of the Center, hand rested on the door handle, eyes on James. She knew she probably looked like a fish with the way her mouth was hanging open, but her mind was processing considerably slower than usual. People who weren’t Members of the Center were prohibited from entering, but she didn’t want to force James to wait outside. She wasn’t sure she could face Mcullough without him, anyway. However, Mcullough was a very secretive man, and bringing James into his prized Center wouldn’t help Candace get back on his good graces, if she was ever there to begin with.
“I can wait in the car. I know Mcullough doesn’t like strangers in the building,” said James, reading her mind. Candace always thought of herself as mysterious and reserved, but James had always been able to read her like an open book.
“I’m sorry, James.”
“Go.” He half-smiled.
Mcullough was already waiting for her on the other side of the lobby when she stepped inside, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with shadows.
“Come on, Candace.” He waved his hand once, his voice tired. She was slightly taken aback, but followed him down the hall to his office. No one at the Center called her Candace. Most of the time, she was lucky to get Madoc—the vast majority simply avoided speaking to her. He also never allowed people in his office, which was overwhelmingly larger than Candace’s apartment, filled with nice furniture and antique bookcases. He locked the door behind him, strode past her, and sat on the corner of his desk in complete silence.
Candace hesitantly sunk into the leather chair facing him, her body thrumming with an unpleasant, nervous vibration.
“You have failed to locate Tack Slater, I presume,” Mcullough finally said.
You have failed. Her throat tightened. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’m not sure he’s in New York anymore.”
He gave a sharp nod and calmly crossed his arms in front of him. It was an unnerving kind of calm—the kind that preludes to some kind of explosion.“Are there any indications that these deaths across the city are because of Tack?”
“There’s nothing in the book that would indicate he’s a serial killer. However.” Her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t have a chance to assess any changes caused by the transition between worlds. I don’t know what effects it could have on his behavior. I just…I don’t know the corollaries of the invention, yet,” she admitted, but Mcullough didn’t look as angry as she’d feared.
“It’s fair to assume whoever has your invention in their possession has put it to use. If we manage to retrieve the machine, will you be able to send everything back to their rightful worlds?”
It was a fair question, simple even, but no words came from Candace’s agape mouth. She hadn’t even considered a fail-safe for her risky and unpredictable invention.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The words were painful as they exited her mouth. “I don’t know.”
“I’m closing the Center tomorrow.” He handed her a heavy lump of keys. “There will be no Members allowed in the building. I’ve already had the building thoroughly searched. Your invention is not here, but perhaps whoever took it left something behind that would indicate their intentions. You would be the only one to recognize anything suspicious.”
“How do you know whoever has it won’t cover their tracks? Take any kind of clues with them?” Candace asked, twisting the keys in her hands.
“I’ve hired security to man all doors as the members leave today. No one is to leave with anything.” Mcullough’s voice was low and quiet, building tension as if he was about to pounce at his prey. “Can you do this?”
Candace hesitated longer than she would have liked. “Yes.”

9. Allie

Brandon was on the phone with Will in the restaurant across the street from Allie. Apparently, he hadn’t told his boyfriend he was leaving Denver and wasn’t coming back before he headed off to California for school, and Will called, not pleased about finding out from someone else. Allie suspected it wasn’t going to be a short conversation, so she wandered outside to enjoy the rain and silence. Well, the rain smacking against the pavement was quite loud, but there were barely any people outside, so she didn’t have to hear shrill voices or pointless arguments.
The boy who had given her the jacket disappeared before Brandon returned with the corn dogs. Regardless of how badly her teeth were chattering at that point, she had forced him to take his jacket back; it was just too weird accepting something like that from a complete stranger.
She stood beside a clothing store at the mouth of a small alley across the street from the restaurant, her head tilted back, eyes closed, allowing the rain to splash across her face. She knew her makeup was probably a mass of smeared gunk, but she didn’t care.
Lining the other side of the alley were small apartments that were vacant and for sale, baskets of flowers hanging from the terraces. They drooped toward the ground, dead from the intense rain.
She had passed freezing awhile ago. The cold had already seeped through her clothes, pushed past her muscles, and coiled itself around her bones until her entire body shook. Her fingers were a deep red, so cold they burned in a numb kind of way. It was a good kind of numb, though. A good kind of pain. The kind that can distract you from everything else, force your attention to the point of physical ache. The petty problem.
Trashcans crashed behind her, making her jump.
It occurred to her she was standing in the middle of an alley while a potential serial killer was on the loose only a moment later. Her mother wouldn’t condone this kind of recklessness; she would send her back to group therapy or worse.
Allie turned and hurried toward the front door of the clothing store—deeming the closest store her safest option, just to get inside, but something was already blocking her path.
She squinted through the rain and the shadow of a figure lurked forward, its back hunched and its weight unevenly distributed.
People didn’t walk that way.
People weren’t shaped that way.
It stepped into a pool of light provided by the clothing store’s neon sign, its face finally visible.
Her stomach wringed in on itself like someone crushed her insides in their fist.
The creature was not taller than she was; in fact, it was probably half a foot shorter. But she had never felt smaller in her life. It was three times as wide with tusks and large, yellow eyes. It stood balanced on two trunks for legs, the hair surrounding its face gray and matted from the rain, the rest of it swathed in golden scales, gray hairs protruding between the cracks. It almost looked like a wolverine balanced on its hind legs, only too large and much more terrifying.
Blood and chunks of something indefinable trickled from its mouth, and Allie caught the deluded scent of rotting corpses in the air.
It pulled its upper lip back and let out a snarl, its claws twitching at its sides. Allie took a small step back, her eyes locked on its face, and it growled at her movement. Her entire body froze, her heart hammering in her chest, squeezing her breaths out faster than usual. She taken kickboxing her entire childhood, so she had always assumed she would be able to protect herself. She wasn’t sure left hooks and uppercuts were going to help her now.
She took another step back, running into the trashcan behind her, and the creature leaped toward her, a growl ripping through its throat. She climbed onto the trashcan and launched herself toward the fire escape above. Her hands clamped around the slick metal, and a sharp stinging sensation exploded across her lower back; the creature’s claws must have nicked her. She kicked her hanging feet out behind her, connected with something hard, and hoisted herself over the metal grating. The creature let out a garbled roar as she crawled along the side of the apartment, searching frantically for something to protect herself with.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
“Help!” she screamed, but the rain drowned out her pleas. The creature hooked its claws into the metal grating of the fire escape and pulled. It ripped the end from the brick without difficulty, causing what remained of the metal grating to slant toward the ground. Throwing her arms out for balance, Allie fell stomach first onto the grating and slid toward the creature, grasping frantically toward the opposite end to pull herself back up.
A flowerpot shook loose from its holding and cracked over the creature’s head. It paused for a moment, giving Allie the opportunity to regain her footing and sprint up the metal. Just as she climbed over the bars on the other side, the creature ripped the remaining section of the fire escape from the bricks, until she was hanging onto the only piece left—a severed bar jutting out of the wall. She shrieked, dangling from the bar, as the monster swiped its claws, catching her right ankle. Blood seeped through the leg of her jeans.
There was a second fire escape a little ways away, and gritting her teeth, Allie swung her legs and launched herself into the air as the creature made another swipe. Her arms slammed into the railings, her legs dangling and susceptible to the monster’s claws again. The metal was slick with rain, her fingers beginning to slip half a second after she clamped them around the bar.
The creature advanced, a murderous look gleaming in its yellow eyes.
She swung her legs toward the grating, missed, and lost her grip on the bar. The metal trashcans stabbed into her spine as she landed, the slashes on her back screaming in pain. Her head smacked against the concrete with so much force stars of a million different colors burst in front of her eyes. Every part of her body ached, the skin over her elbows peeled back from the impact of the fall.
The monster stood over her with its teeth exposed and claws raised.
She scavenged the ground for something to defend herself. The only remotely sharp object was a shard of the flowerpot. She yanked it from the ground and stabbed it into the gut of the monster before it could attack.
A gurgle bubbled from its throat…a laugh?
Thick, green liquid seeped from the wound. The creature plucked the shard from its abdomen and let it clutter to the ground beside its feet.
Her heart sank as she watched the gash heal itself a second later, the skin knitting itself together like there had been no damage in the first place.
This isn’t happening.
It raised its claws.
She closed her eyes.

10. Allie

Allie waited for the monster to strike, for its claws to slash through her flesh, but it didn’t. She opened her eyes to see thick, green goo spurt from its mouth as a dark figure crashed into the side of its face.
The person and the monster went sprawling on the ground to Allie’s right. She stumbled to her feet, her ankle nearly giving out under her weight.
The figure, which she could now identify as a man, held a large knife in his left hand. The monster let out a howl and pounced, claws extended. The man ducked and thrust the knife into the creature’s neck, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Blood spewed from his right shoulder, throwing his balance off.
The creature yanked back, the knife still lodged in its flesh. The man turned.
Tack Slater.
He ran toward her, a mess of dripping green and red blood. His hand clamped around her wrist, and pulled her with him. They ran down the alley, the ground slick with rain, Allie’s mind whirling in a mess of confusion and fear.
Judging by the pounding footsteps, the creature wasn’t far behind.
Tack yanked another knife out of the waist of his jeans. “Get out of here!” he yelled, shoved her the other direction, and turned to face the creature.
Allie ran a few more paces, and found her legs immobile beneath her. She couldn’t just leave him, but she couldn’t exactly help either.
For a moment, the creature looked familiar, like it wasn’t out of the ordinary she ran into a massive monster in the middle of New York. It was crazy. It was completely crazy, but Allie could have sworn she’d seen it before.
Tack launched himself forward and sliced the knife across the monster’s chest. The wound healed before he finished creating it. He slid between its legs, the rain splashing up from the pavement around his body. As he rose back to his feet, he brought the knife in a large arc, and the blade cut straight through the creature’s neck.
Allie expected the wound to heal, but the gold-scaled head tumbled to the ground beside the creature’s feet.
There was a look of triumph on Tack’s face for a flicker of a moment, but then his knees buckled beneath him, and the knife clattered to the ground. Allie ran and caught his chest before he could crash against the concrete.
“Tack? Can you hear me?” Allie screamed as she laid him flat on his back. Her hands came away from his body slick with blood.
“You suck at taking directions,” he mumbled through unmoving lips. “I told you to run.”
He looked worse up close. Blood soaked through the T-shirt beneath his jacket, the fabric suctioned to his chest.
“What do I do?” Allie said through her teeth, nausea twisting her stomach.
The rain deluded the blood, streams of red dancing across the concrete. It pooled around Allie, staining her jeans a scarlet color.
“Get it—off. Get—it off,” he said, his arms feebly indicating his jacket.
“I can’t take it off without hurting you.”
“Cut it then,” he said through his teeth.
She grabbed the knife from the ground, the blade still covered in thick, green goo. Her hands shook as she yanked it through the fabric of his jacket and shirt. The rain rinsed away most of the blood, exposing rugged slashes across his bare abdomen and chest.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Allie peeled the shirt from his chest, tearing it off at the edges of his ribs. She removed the remains and threw them to the side. Bloody fabric remained plastered to his back, but she didn’t want to try rolling him over.
He laughed. “No need.”
“Are you insane? You’re all—” She stopped short.
The gashes across his body were gone. Faint red patches were left in their wake, like old, faded burns. “But.”
“Are you okay?” He pushed himself to his feet, his eyes lingering on her raw elbows as he extended his hand.
“But,” she repeated stupidly.
She took his hand and let him pull her to a standing position.
“There are easier ways to get my clothes off, you know. You don’t have to go pick a fight with some overgrown weasel.” His golden hair stuck to his face from the rain. He peeled the remaining scraps of his shirt from his back and tossed them aside, allowing the rain to wash the rest of his skin clean.
“You killed it,” said Allie slowly. “Why did you have so many knives with you?”
“Considering I just saved you from getting slaughtered, I think I’ve earned your name.” He ran his hand through his hair, and regarded it with a frown when it came away covered in a swirled mess of red and green.
“Allie Cross. Thanks. For not letting that thing kill me, I mean.”
Tack shrugged, half smiling. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
Allie scoffed. “I wasn’t—”
“You should probably find your boyfriend. Let him know you’re all right.” He grinned, mocking her.
“You should probably call yours, too.”
He threw his head back and laughed, smiling all over his face.
“Why did you make me cut your clothes off if you were just going to heal anyway?” Allie demanded, only slightly irritated. How he had healed was what she really wanted to know.
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want to.”
“Tack.”
He sighed theatrically, his shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated arc. “I can’t heal when I’m restricted like that. Kind of like how you can’t breathe if your windpipes are cut off.”
“How did you…” Allie trailed off when her eyes fell on the corpse of the creature.
The Ring Brothers.
The thought popped into her head like it wasn’t her own. A flash of the movie lingered in her mind. An identical creature, slayed by the warrior brothers, green blood everywhere. But that was ridiculous. That was impossible.
She thought of Becca and how crazy she had seemed. But Allie wasn’t crazy. She was just exhausted. She looked away from the dismembered body, her stomach flipping.
Tack set a hand on her back and winked. “See you around, Cross.” As he turned, the blurring rain swallowed his silhouette.
#
“I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes,” Brandon muttered as they made their way back to the car, huddled under the umbrella. Allie wasn’t sure why she was bothering; she was already soaking wet.
To say Allie had been a clumsy child would be an understatement. Half the time she and Brandon played when they were kids—usually in the hills and forests behind her country house in Colorado—he had to carry her back home with some kind of injury. It was difficult to find any of her clothes from that time that didn’t have some sort of bloodstain.
“I already told you,” said Allie, “it’s not my blood.” Well, most of it.
Brandon had walked out of the restaurant looking for Allie, to find her standing in an alleyway, all alone, dripping blood. When she turned around to explain the monster to Brandon, it was no longer crumpled in a heap on the ground. In fact, it was nowhere to be seen, the blood already washed away by the rain. Without its body as proof, it would have been impossible to explain what happened to Brandon without looking insane.
“But you won’t tell me what did happen,” he said as they reached the car.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Brandon frowned and ducked into the driver’s seat. “You’re drenched in blood and you can’t give me an explanation. That leaves me to fill in the blanks. Do you have any idea what kinds of things have been occurring to me?”
The windshield wipers whipped back and forth furiously, mimicking the uneven racing of Allie’s heart, partially from the shock of almost being killed, but mostly from seeing the dead body, and watching Tack. No person should be able to move that quickly. No person should’ve been able to kill that thing on a whim. Well, most people Allie knew also didn’t carry around a collection of knives or heal moments after receiving life-threatening injuries.
“I’m okay. Isn’t that what’s important?”
“Whatever, Allie.” Brandon pulled the car out onto the crowded street with a jerk of the steering wheel. Allie’s face bumped against the window. Judging by Brandon’s face, it was intentional.
He glared ahead as he drove, Allie watching him silently from her seat. Brandon had been her family for so long—he had always been more of a family to her than her own parents. She hated when he was angry with her, when she hurt him. He was the last person she ever wanted to hurt. She twisted her hands together in her lap, struggling to find something to say to make it better.
“So how are things with Will?” she offered.
In response, he yanked the car to the left as he turned, banging Allie against the window again.
#
Allie wasn’t surprised to find a crisply folded note resting on the kitchen table. Her mother was in Philadelphia visiting her father and they both would be back next week. At least, that’s what her mom wrote. At the end of the week, Allie would probably receive a call informing her it would be another week, and then another after that.
Brandon helped her bandage herself up once they got home. He was still bitter toward her, but banging her against the window the entire drive home seemed to have blown off some steam.
The bandages on her elbows itched, and the ice burned the skin around her ankle, but every time she tried to remove it, Brandon swatted her hand away.
They sat in the living room, a giant bowl of popcorn wedged between their legs. The news glowed on the television mounted on the far wall. They had been watching a movie, but when the hero started slaughtering monsters, Allie changed the channel to the news, bile rising in her throat. She had always been squeamish about blood, so Brandon didn’t question it.
“Another body was found in Central Park this afternoon. Police report the deceased continues the pattern of previous victims found earlier this week. Police urge anyone with information pertaining to these tragedies to come forward. With so many deaths in a single night scattered across New York, Police have amended their suspicions of a serial killer to gang activity or a cult. If you have witnessed any suspicious activity or have information regarding any of the deceased, please call the number at the bottom of the screen. Lock your doors tonight, folks…”
“Huh,” Brandon said as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Huh what?”
“It’s just, my mom called from Denver a few nights ago. Said a bunch of people were all found dead on the same night. She wanted to call in case I’d heard anything to assure me that we didn’t know any of them. There wasn’t anything wrong with the bodies or anything. They said it looked like they’d all dropped dead on their own accord. Came to the same conclusion, serial killer or gang. They just don’t know how they were killed.”
Allie frowned. A serial killer going on a killing spree in New York was one thing, but an identical case in a completely different State? “Huh,” was all she could think to say.

11. Candace

The Center was suffocating. Candace had never realized how few windows there were in the building. There was a single window on every floor at the end of the hall, leading to a fire escape, but besides that, there were no windows in any of the offices, making Candace’s day of searching dark and depressing.
James was back at his apartment looking into the deaths as Candace had asked. He had an entire room dedicated to his detective work, strewn with pictures and strings connecting events that looked to Candace as though they had no connections. But there was a reason James was the best detective in New York; he saw what everyone else overlooked.
Darkness filled the streets when she drove to the Center. She arrived before the sunlight spilled over the city, wanting as much time as the day could offer.
She didn’t bother starting her search on the ground floor, though that seemed the most logical approach. Instead, she made her way up the stairs. Straight to Gretch and Grob’s office.
There was a startling contrast between the two sides of the room. Grob’s was tidy and neat—not as neat as Candace’s office, but there was some sort of visible organization. Gretch’s side, however, was complete chaos. Candy wrappers littered the floor, an empty box of doughnuts open on the desk. A dozen discarded energy drinks were stacked up behind his chair, greasy takeout bags stuffed beneath his desk. She was a little too grossed out to get close to Gretch’s side, so she paced over to Grob’s desk to investigate.
A book lay open on Grob’s desk. Candace absentmindedly ran her fingers over the pages as she scanned the room with her eyes, not exactly sure what she was looking for. She took the book from Grob’s desk and turned it over in her hands.
The Ring Brothers. Huh. That seemed like an odd choice for Grob. He didn’t seem like the type to read for pleasure. If there was no personal gain, he didn’t usually waste his time.
Under The Ring Brothers laid another book, chocked full of sticky notes. The cover was dark, smoke coiling around the title, blood dripping from the letters. Extermination. She had never read it, and probably never would. It was adapted into a movie, so Candace only knew what she’d seen in the previews. Lots of monsters. Lots of gore. She remembered a woman calling the shots, enslaving the race of that world. If there had been an actual plot, she couldn’t remember it.
Definitely not Candace’s thing.
It was odd, sure, but was it enough to accuse Gretch and Grob? What would they possibly want to bring out of these books? It just didn’t make sense.
Maybe she was wrong—maybe Gretch and Grob weren’t the culprits. But who else would steal her invention?
She replaced the book on Grob’s desk and returned to the hallway with an exasperated exhale. Only seventy-nine offices to go.
#
Exhausted and hopeless, Candace stumbled down the stairs to the basement, too impatient to wait for the elevator. She had punched the button, but after standing in the lobby for a few seconds, turned and shoved the door to the emergency stairs open.
Her footsteps echoed, bouncing off the walls in the eerie silence that hung in the air, the darkness wrapping around her. She hugged her arms to herself and quickened her pace, taking special care to watch her feet so she didn’t trip.
This was the last place left to look, but she didn’t expect to find anything. Whoever took her invention wasn’t stupid enough to leave a trail.
She froze when she reached the door. It always smelled bad anywhere below the lobby; the scent of mold, dust, and feet always burned in the back of her nose the second she opened the door to the stairs, but it was nothing like this. This stench made Candace’s eyes water, a retching feeling threatening in the back of her throat.
She twisted the door handle and stepped inside, flipping the light switch on the wall. A string of lights flickered overhead, casting shallow pools of yellow onto the cracked concrete beneath her feet.
Candace paced into the room, searching for the origin of the stench. The farther she got, the more her eyes watered. She covered her nose with her hand, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth. Was there a pile of dead rats in the corner or something?
As she turned a corner, she couldn’t contain the scream that escaped her throat. A human body lay in a heap on the floor, a pool of scarlet surrounding it. Its arms and legs were bent unnaturally, the eyes open and unseeing.
Candace’s hands shook, her lungs twisting in on themselves.
It was disgusting and horrible, but she couldn’t look away.
“Reid.”
The moment the name left her lips, the body disappeared.

12. Allie

Allie sat beside Shane on a bench in Central Park. His dark hair was unruly and long, longer than she’d ever seen it. He wore a pair of dark jeans with unintentional holes decorating the legs, deep fraying at the hems, and a wrinkled T-shirt. He picked at the skin around his left thumbnail, leaving his finger bloody and raw.
The police tape from the dead body found yesterday had been torn down a few hours earlier, a few stray scraps still dancing in the wind. The rain had cleared, replaced by an average summer day. The sunshine didn’t make Allie feel any better. She was still filled with gloom and gray. And confusion.
Mostly confusion.
She’d spent half the night rolling around in her bed, trying to make sense of what happened in the alley. But the more she thought about it, the more it frustrated her. The more insane she felt.
Despite the nice day, there were few people in the park. Mostly tourists, submerged in their oblivion. If you didn’t know about what happened, you wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at it; everything looked normal. But a feeling of death and pain lingered in the air. No one wanted to be around the bridge where they found the body.
Shane’s eyes stared unfocused in front of him, his mind somewhere else. Their hazel hue was tainted black, a small cut on his lip from biting it with furious persistence.
“You asked me to meet you, remember?” Allie said after it became clear he wasn’t going to start the conversation.
His eyes broke away from whatever had intrigued his interest in the distance, looking at her as if he just realized she was there. “I’ve known Kai since we were in first grade—I knew him.”
Allie spun her coffee cup between her hands, not sure how to respond.
“I still can’t believe he’s dead,” Shane continued, more to himself than Allie.
“What did you mean at the studio? When you said Kai was better off now because of his dad?”
Shane’s dark hair covered his eyes. He didn’t bother pushing it to the side as he looked at Allie. “He never told you?”
When Allie didn’t respond, he sighed. “God. Maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have—sorry for wasting your time.” He was on his feet, but Allie grabbed his arm before he could take off.
“What’s going on, Shane?” Allie forced her face in Shane’s line of sight. He didn’t seem to see her. His eyes were glassed over and unfocused, as if he was distracted by something only he could see. “This is the second time you’ve pulled me aside to talk to me, and then said nothing. If you have something to say then for God’s sake just say it.”
His eyes focused to a glare, his jaw set. Fire glowed behind his irises. “His dad beat him up, did you know that? He hated it whenever Kai didn’t do what he wanted. That’s the only reason Kai even bothered with football. He hated it actually.” Shane looked at her over his nose. “No,” he snapped before Allie could respond. “You wouldn’t know that because you don’t even care.”
“Hey, that’s not—”

“And people like me, people who actually cared about Kai, are never going to know what happened to him because of people like you.” He pointed an accusing finger, just short of jabbing her in the chest.
It was astonishing to see Shane like this, so broken with grief. They had gone to school with each other for three years and she had never seen him less than completely under control and put together. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes, and guilt cut a hole in Allie’s stomach. That’s how you should feel when someone close to you dies. So why didn’t Allie feel like crying?
“I care, Shane. Other people care. You’re not alone right now.”
“He used to call me every night. I’d help him cover the bruises in the morning so no one would see them.” Allie caught his hands before he could start ripping at his skin again. Her fingers throbbed just watching him. She’d noticed Kai’s bruises, but had always assumed they were just from football or conditioning. Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t she asked?
“I should have…I didn’t…” Shane broke. Without knowing what else to do, Allie put her hand on his arm, and his face fell to her shoulder.
Allie awkwardly wound her arms around his back and let him cry into her neck. She and Shane had never been remotely close. He was the last person she would ever let see her cry, but he didn’t seem to mind her company.
“We’re going to find out what happened to Kai,” she whispered.
“I loved him.” Shane’s voice cracked.
“I know, Shane.” Allie glanced toward the bridge. The body was gone, the dark moment wiped clean from view, but she would never be able to look at it the same way again.
#
“He cried? Like actually cried?” Maeve demanded, still in her red polka dot pajama pants. Allie drove over to her house after meeting Shane, needing someone to talk to. Maeve had still been asleep when Allie arrived at her doorstep, and simply began her morning routine as Allie shadowed her around the house.
“You can’t tell anyone. I promised Shane I wouldn’t say anything.” Even though she had broken that promise within the hour, Allie had managed to leave the part about his declaration of love for Kai out of her explanation to Maeve.
“Since when do you give a damn about Shane? Just the other day you were prepared to tear his head off and feed him to the dogs for that whole thing at Burgers and Things,” Maeve said around mouthfuls of cereal.
They sat in Maeve’s kitchen, which was all black appliances and bleached wood. Everything in Maeve’s house seemed too big, as if it were meant for people seven feet tall. The counters and cabinets were situated so high that Allie had to stand on her tiptoes to reach anything, and her legs dangled from her chair like a doll’s.
Old art supplies were strewn across the table, and Maeve simply shoved enough aside to leave room for her cereal bowl.
“Thanks. You make me sound like such a sweet person.” Allie glared at the far wall, where large paintings and sayings stretched up toward the ceiling. She couldn’t read any of them; they were all written in Ancient languages. She bet Maeve’s parents couldn’t read them, either. They just liked the way it made them appear cultural and worldly.
“You know what I mean,” said Maeve.
“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” Allie asked quietly.
Maeve’s eyes shot up and she laughed, choking on her cereal. “Are you joking? Allie, you’re like the epitome of a good person. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a goody-two-shoes.” When Maeve rested her elbow on the table, a dozen paintbrushes clattered to the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice. That or she didn’t care.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I just mean you couldn’t be a horrible person if you wanted to. No matter how people treat you, you send nothing but politeness and respect their way. It’s almost sickening to watch. If it were me, I’d punch them in the face, but you just smile and compliment their shoes.”
The thought of Maeve punching someone in the face made Allie laugh out loud. Small Maeve, delicate and tiny. She couldn’t look intimidating if her life depended on it.
“Then why do I feel so…guilty?” Allie asked as Maeve hopped down from her chair and rinsed her bowl in the sink.
“Probably because you never loved Kai, and you don’t want to admit it because you think it makes you a horrible person.” Maeve sat down across from Allie again with a serious look. “But it doesn’t make you a horrible person. Kai died, and it’s horrible. It’s tragic, and we’re all trying to come to terms with it, but you can’t force yourself to feel the grief that you think you should feel. You didn’t love him.” She shrugged, and pointed a charcoal pencil. “You can’t change that just because he died.”
“Everyone around me looks so…broken. And I feel next to fine. What does that say about me?”
“That you’re moving on.” Maeve looked years older as she tucked her hair behind her ears, black from the charcoal pencil smearing onto the hollow of her cheek. “Which eventually everyone else is going to do, too. You just have a head start.”
“Where’s Zeke?”
Maeve sighed and rested her chin in her hands, smearing the black further across her face. “He’s taking me out in a few hours.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”
“Because I was going to break up with him before all this with Kai happened. And I can’t exactly dump him now. I don’t know how to be around him. I was never fond of Kai, which you obviously knew.” Maeve smirked. “But he and Zeke were close. I imagine he’s going through something similar as Shane, only fifty times worse. It’s like dating a ghost, like he’s only half there. And I get it, I just don’t know how to act around him. I’m so afraid I’m going to say something stupid. I don’t think he can handle another bad thing happening in his life.”
“I know what you mean. Brandon and his boyfriend just broke up and I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around him.”
“Brandon’s in town?” Maeve demanded.
“Yeah, didn’t I mention that?”
“No.” Maeve pursed her lips. “You didn’t.”
“Sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” Allie rested her face on her fists and sighed. “I didn’t even know he was coming. My mom sort of threw it on me after I got home from group therapy the other day.”
“You’re going to therapy now, too?” Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Anything else you’ve been holding back?”
Allie thought of last night with a pang. Only a million things that I could never tell you. She couldn’t tell Maeve about Tack and whatever that thing was that tried to make a meal out of her. She would think she was insane. Allie pulled on the sleeves of her shirt self-consciously, making sure the bandages on her elbows were covered.
“I met a guy,” Allie offered, hoping a good dose of gossip would distract Maeve from her annoyance. Maeve stared at Allie, frowning as though she was concentrating too hard.
“Name?” she finally asked.
“Tack.”
“Attractive?”
“Very.”
“Age?”
“Ours.” Allie frowned. He hadn’t actually told her anything about himself. “I think.”
Maeve grinned. “You know, with a name like Natalie, it’s a shame you don’t go by Nat. Nat and Tack. That’d be cute.”
Allie rolled her eyes.
Maeve flicked a paintbrush toward her. “Do I get to meet him?”
Allie deflected the brush with her forearm. “I don’t know—I probably won’t see him again.”
“Why not?” Maeve demanded as the coffee pot in the corner started brewing. Her parents would wake up and be downstairs any moment. Allie tried to think of an excuse to leave before they saw her. Maeve’s parents were perfectly nice and everything, but once they started talking to you, you could never get them to stop. Plus, they always smelled like Weed. Maeve referred to them as modern hippies.
“We met for like two minutes. He probably doesn’t even remember my name. I don’t know where he’s from or anything.” Allie was surprised at the sort of hollowness that erupted in her stomach as she said the words.
Footsteps on the stairs promptly snapped her out of it.
“Don’t you have kickboxing in like…ten minutes?” Maeve glanced at the large iron clock above Allie’s head, each tick sending violent vibrations through the wall.
“Yeah, I should go,” Allie agreed and hurried toward the front door, thankful for the excuse to leave.
“Al!” Maeve called as Allie laid her hand on the doorknob.
“Yeah?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Kick some asses for me today, okay?”
The thought of actually going to kickboxing class today made Allie want to curl into a ball and take a ten-hour nap. Especially after Dean. Then again, maybe pounding her fists and knees into a punching bag, her heart racing so violently she felt like vomiting, was exactly what she needed right now. She grinned. “You got it.”
#
“You’re trying to set me up with your deceased ex-boyfriend’s best friend?” Brandon lay on the couch in the living room, even though it was too small to hold his long limbs. His head dangled off the side, looking at her upside down.
“I’m not setting you up with anyone. He’s going through a lot right now and I thought you could talk to him. He lost his best friend and he’s drowning in his own grief.”
“So naturally you turn to your gay cousin he’s never met.” Brandon sat up on the couch, his face slowly losing its red tint. “I’ve got oodles of sympathy Al, but I don’t think—”
“You might even like him—”
“So you are trying to set me up!” He jumped to his feet, pointing his finger.
“Would you just talk to him? Please? For me?” Allie pouted her lip without meaning to. She never understood the puppy-dog face; it didn’t look cute on anyone. It looked like your bottom lip weighed too much and you couldn’t hold it up properly.
She brought the back of her hand across her forehead. It came away slick with sweat from her workout. The room was unbearably hot, and after talking to Brandon, she planned to stick her head in the freezer for a few minutes.
Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “What’s his name?”
“Shane.” Allie grinned.
Brandon groaned and looked at her sideways. “He has a Bieber-cut, doesn’t he?”
“Why would you think that?”
“If a guy has the name Shane or Brad or Cody you can automatically assume a lot of things about them.”
“No. He does not have a Bieber-cut.” She rolled her eyes. As if his hairstyle actually mattered to Brandon. He was just being difficult to spite her. Then something occurred to her. Will. “I’m sorry, Brandon. If it’s too soon you don’t have to.”
“Don’t be. Will and I were going to break up anyway. Neither of us wanted to do the long distance thing. If you leave Shane’s number on the kitchen table I’ll call him later, okay?” He left the room before Allie could respond, leaving her feeling hot, exhausted, and like the most insensitive person on the planet.

13. Allie

“Hi Maeve. Bye Maeve.” Brandon smirked as she appeared in Allie’s doorway, only to slip past her and hurry down the walk to his car.
“Where is he hurrying off to?” asked Maeve, staring after the red Jeep as it disappeared around the corner.
“Uh, he’s just going to see a friend.” Allie grabbed her car keys from the kitchen counter and nodded toward the door. She couldn’t tell Maeve he was going to see Shane without telling her Shane was gay, which didn’t seem fair. It took Brandon years to come out to the rest of the world—even though he had told Allie practically the moment he knew—it wouldn’t be right for Allie to shove Shane into this headfirst. He had enough on his plate as it was. “Are we still picking up Zeke?”
“Yes…” Maeve squinted at her, frowning. “Who could Brandon possibly be going to see? He doesn’t know anyone in New York.”
They stood in Allie’s foyer, which was a mass of random antique pieces Lauren picked up throughout the years. Tribal vases were situated in a triangle near the door, wires that wound and twisted into flowers stretched overhead on the wall. A large clock hung on the opposite wall, Chinese characters replacing the numbers. It could have looked chic and modern in another home, but the chipped eggshell paint that coated the wall beneath the artifacts rather ruined the effect.
Maeve stood in tight burgundy jeans and knee high, black suede boots. She wore a sheer cream tank top, accentuating the harsh angle of her shoulders. Allie immediately felt under dressed in her boot cut jeans, sneakers, and black V-neck T-shirt. Being friends with Maeve, you got used to fading into the background. There was no hope of ever standing out when she was around. That was probably why Allie was Maeve’s only girl friend.
“Friend of the family.” Allie waved her hand dismissively and nodded toward the door again. “We should get going before I change my mind.”
“Thanks for doing this.” Maeve opened the door and followed Allie out and down the lawn. “It means a lot to Zeke.”
“Everyone needs closure in their own way.” Allie nodded as they climbed into her car. “But are you sure this is the way to do it? Won’t it just stir up old memories?”
“I think that’s why he wants to do it. He’s been surrounded by all of these bad memories of Kai, the constant news reports and conspiracy theories. Can you believe the shit brainless bloggers have been posting about him? And most of them are just strangers from other parts of the country offering up things like Kai had been a secret agent and the terrorists gassed him in that bathroom.” Maeve gestured furiously with her hands as she spoke, forcing Allie to duck and dodge to avoid being hit. “When we drive, Zeke goes out of his way to take the back roads so he doesn’t have to pass Burgers and Things. I think being somewhere he has good memories of Kai will do him some good.”
Zeke was out waiting on his porch when Allie pulled up. The house behind him was dark, the driveway empty. It occurred to Allie how rarely he spoke of his family since his parents divorced. Probably because both had remarried within the year.
There was a serious look on his face as he climbed into the backseat. “Hey, guys,” he offered and ran his hand through his mop of inky hair. It glowed blue in the sunlight, his skin paler than usual. Maeve crawled over the center consul to join her boyfriend in the backseat, and he wound his arm around her shoulders without looking at her, his eyes fixed on the road in front of them.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Zeke?” Allie asked.
With a blank expression, he nodded. “I need to say goodbye to my brother.”
#
It was a long drive. The sun had already reached its peak and begun sinking in the sky. It would be long after dark by the time they returned home, their destination being an old foreclosed property in the middle of nowhere.
Stupid, yes. Even with Zeke’s justification for the visit, uncertainty crawled along Allie’s skin. But who was she to stand in the way of a dead step brother parting?
Kai’s parents and Zeke’s parents divorced at practically the same time a few years ago. Two months later, Kai’s mother and Zeke’s father got together and eloped. Of course, rumors of affairs and adultery circulated at this, and crazy as it seemed with their opposite personalities, the bizarre situation made Zeke and Kai close. Really close.
Apparently this rip-off horror movie house was a regular hang out of theirs. Another thing about Kai Allie learned too late.
The last half mile was a narrow dirt road. The closer they got to the house, the more unsettled Zeke became. Allie asked multiple times if he was sure, and he kept insisting this was what he wanted to do.
A small sign shot out from the ground on a white picket, brown and rusted with age. Vines twisted around and folded over the front, covering half the letters. Allie nearly missed it. She slammed on the breaks and jerked the car to the side, throwing Zeke and Maeve into the window.
Maeve giggled. Zeke remained silent.
Bare lilac bushes lined the dirt path that winded toward the house, the dead branches jutting to the sky like elongated, boney hands. The path fed into the driveway, framed by dead and charred trees, the branches black and sharp, curved toward the earth like claws.
The house stood tall and broken. For a moment, it all seemed surreal, like Allie had been transported to a different world. Classic and aged country properties like this didn’t seem to exist anymore, especially in New York.
She cut the ignition and they climbed out of the car. The wind blowing off the river was full of ice, making the hair on her arms stand on end. The windows were boarded over, the chipped shutters dangling feebly. Thick vines and braches coated the majority of the house, originating from a rounded tower that jutted out at the back of the house. The front door seemed to be the only part of the house still in one piece, a gaping hole in the wooden porch laying before it, decayed and withered from time and bugs.
Zeke stopped short.
“That door should be boarded over,” he said. “It was always boarded over. Someone’s been in there.”
“Maybe we should just head back…” Maeve shivered and clutched at Zeke’s arm.
But Zeke had already taken off running.
“Zeke,” Maeve called. “Don’t!”
Zeke ignored her and leapt over the hole in the porch. Clouds of dust puffed into the air as he shouldered the old wooden door aside. The brass doorknocker clamored to the porch, rolled, and disappeared into the hole.
Maeve and Allie exchanged a look, and took off after him.
The floorboards creaked as Maeve and Allie entered the house. Near darkness encompassed them, the scarce moonlight seeping in through the door, cutting off a few feet into the house.
“Maeve? Maeve where did you go?” Allie reached around in the darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjust, but everything remained black and blurry.
“Allie?” Maeve’s voice sounded far away. “Zeke! Where are you?”
Allie stumbled on the floor and something hard protruded into her side, just beneath her ribs. She yelped and ran her hand over the wood—the stair railing—severed at the end, leaving a sharp point. Her hand came away from her shirt sticky with blood.
A clock ticked slowly to her right, as though its hands were moving through wet cement. The floorboards screeched overhead.
“Zeke?” Allie whispered.
Silence.
“Maeve?” She tried again, a wary feeling beginning to settle in her stomach.
“Al?” Maeve responded, her voice stretched thin by distance.
Allie’s arms connected with a warm body. “Thank God,” Maeve breathed. “There you are.”
“Can we just find Zeke and get out of here?” Allie took Maeve’s hand so she wouldn’t lose her again. “I can’t see anything.”
Glass shattered somewhere upstairs.
“What was that?” Maeve squeaked. Allie could feel Maeve’s racing pulse through her fingers, only a few beats slower than her own.
“Zeke, this isn’t funny!” Allie screamed, her fear shifting to annoyance. Sure, the place had a creepy vibe and held an eerie semblance of the one in Zeke’s favorite slasher flick, but nothing was going on here besides Zeke trying to get a chuckle out of their fear. Allie wasn’t falling for it.
The floorboard above their heads creaked again, slowly this time, long and drawn out, like something was trying not to be heard.
“Let’s just wait for him outside,” Maeve said, already yanking Allie toward the door.
They had been standing in what appeared to be the kitchen, and entered the hall, the sliver of moonlight visible through the door. Two steps later, the closet door to their left flew open, and a dark figure slipped out.
Allie and Maeve screamed, both falling back onto the floor. The figure sauntered forward, only its outline visible in the shadows. Allie scurried to her feet, into the kitchen, and yanked the drawers open. She grabbed the first knife she could find, heart staging a jailbreak in her throat. The figure stopped in front of Maeve, who cowered, frozen on the floor.
“No!” Allie screamed, the memory of the monster from the alley filling her eyes. Its teeth and claws, how it burned and blazed when they cut through her flesh.
Just as she chucked the knife, a flicker of moonlight dashed across the figure’s face.
Zeke.
The knife twisted in the air. The hilt bounced off his chest, and he caught it before it fell onto Maeve.
Allie pressed her hand to her chest, checking to see if her heart still beat. Zeke regarded her with eyes wide, mouth open. “Luckily you suck and throwing knives,” he said and helped Maeve off the floor, but she shoved her hands against his chest.
“What the hell?” she screamed. “You scared the shit out of us!”
“I didn’t mean to.” He dropped the knife and reached his hands toward her. She jerked away and joined Allie in the kitchen.
“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he repeated.
“Then why did you jump out of that closet and nearly make me pee my pants?” Maeve demanded.
“That’s the basement.” He pointed at the door. “Kai and I used to hang out down there. I wanted to see if everything was the same.”
Raging blood still pounded in Allie’s ears, and she could tell her face held an angry blush. She’d had enough cardiovascular trauma in the last five minutes to last a lifetime. “Can we just get out of here? Are you satisfied?”
“Well I—”
Overhead, the floorboards screeched again.
“Someone’s in this house.” Zeke sounded more angry than frightened. He stomped toward the stairs, his hands balled into fists.
The monster, green with blood, flashed in front of Allie’s eyes again. The way she stabbed its abdomen and it laughed as if she’d sneezed on it. It died only after Tack chopped its entire head off. Zeke would get himself killed. Acting purely off her leftover adrenaline, Allie snatched the knife from the floor and barreled past Zeke toward the stairs.
“Al, no!” Maeve screamed.
Allie took the stairs three at a time, fire expanding from her chest. Her hand tightened around the knife. She had no desire to face anything like the alley monster again, but it was better than Zeke getting slaughtered. She knew what to expect, what it was capable of. She knew how to kill it.
If she had the stomach for it.
The footsteps came from the room on the left. Allie threw the door open, knife raised, hand shaking.
A boy with dark blue eyes stood on the other side, a metal baseball bat raised in his hands.

14. Allie

Judging by the size of his flexed biceps, he could take her head off with a single swing, but he froze when he saw her.
“Allie?” A look of relief washed over his face, as if he was the one who nearly had a heart attack.
“Tack?” Allie said as Maeve and Zeke stumbled into the room behind her.
“Tack?” Maeve echoed.
“You know this guy?” Zeke demanded.
“This is Tack?” Maeve grinned and tugged on Allie’s sleeve.
“You talked about me?”
“I—”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Zeke stepped forward, pushing Maeve and Allie behind him.
Tack looked slightly taken aback, the baseball bat still in his hands. “What am I doing here? This is my house. What are you doing here?”
“Your house?” Zeke’s voice was half a snort, half a growl. “No one’s lived here in over twelve years. This is our house. Mine and Kai’s.” Zeke stood with his back rung tight as a spring. Maeve laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he flinched away.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but my family has lived here for over twenty years,” Tack said calmly.
“Where’s your family now, then?” Zeke demanded.
Tack’s eyes flashed, a conflicted look crossing his face. He lowered the bat to his side. “I don’t know.”
A triumphant smirk spread across Zeke’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but an earsplitting roar washed out his words as the floorboards exploded behind Tack. His eyes widened.
“Ah shit.”
A figure shot up into the room, so large its head broke through the ceiling, filling the room with dim moonlight. Broken wood and plaster rained down as the monster dragged the rest of its body through the hole, a sharp coldness following.
Allie gaped at the creature, half spider, half squid, writhing with fleshly tentacle arms as it stretched into the destroyed room, arms jutting from its face like wasp feelers. It had to be at least fifteen feet tall. Much larger than the monster in the alley. And much more terrifying. Every nerve in Allie’s body shot alive with fear.
“Get out of here!” Tack screamed.
Allie didn’t need to be told twice.
She turned to run, but a tentacle circled her ankle—slimy, thick, and strong. It yanked and knocked her legs out from beneath her. She crashed to the floor, her lungs emptying of air. It dragged her across the room, widening a large mouth with tiny, jagged teeth surrounding the opening. Was it going to eat her?
“Allie!” Maeve, Zeke, and Tack screamed in unison.
Allie twisted herself onto her back as she reached the creature. It lifted her from her ankle, the tentacle wound so tightly she thought her foot would snap from her body. Its teeth grazed her shoulder and fire flared up her arm. Boils covered its sickening, putrid skin. An upside down version of Tack sprinted toward her as it swung her to its mouth. With a desperate cry, she thrust the knife into its eye.
The creature wailed and thrashed, and dark blood poured over its translucent skin.
Allie felt like vomiting.
The tentacle loosened enough for her to twist herself out of its hold and crumple to the floor. She gasped for air, her heart so loud in her ears that she couldn’t hear what Tack was yelling to her. Blood rained down her arm, the gash in her shoulder deeper than she’d thought. Tack didn’t wait for a response. He wedged one hand beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and hoisted her into his arms.
She pressed her face to his chest as he sprinted for the door. The monster let out a wailing cry from behind them, making Tack tense. He tried to hand her off to Zeke, yelling, “Get her out of here!” but Allie twisted from his arms and landed on her feet.
“Tack!” Allie screamed as a tentacle collided with the side of his ribs, sending him flying across the room. He crashed against the opposite wall and fell to the ground with a loud thud.
The creature advanced, the knife still lodged in its eye. Dark blood stained its pale skin, but it didn’t seem handicapped by this. Just angry.
Two tentacles simultaneously gripped Maeve and Zeke by their waists. It plucked them from where they stood and tossed them in opposite directions. They flew through the air as effortlessly as practiced birds, leaping into flight with outstretched wings. Their landings, however, were not nearly as graceful.
The creature focused its remaining eye on Allie and slithered forward. It had no inclination to kill Zeke or Maeve right now. Allie had stabbed its eye and cheated it of a meal. It wanted revenge.
She grabbed the metal bat Tack dropped earlier and gripped it tightly. She couldn’t do much damage with it, but there was a sense of comfort in having something to defend herself with.
A tentacle slithered along the floor and surrounded her, intending to encircle her ankles again. She jumped before it could grab her and swung the bat down.
The impact dented the skin of the tentacle, making the creature wail in pain, but a moment later, another tentacle was behind her. It circled her neck and tightened before Allie could blink. Hoisting her into the air, the creature shook her body, and the bat went flying from her hands.
She whipped to the side as it suspended her over the gaping hole in the floorboards. Stars burst in front of her eyes as its hold tightened. Allie gasped and clawed at the tentacle, her fingers coming away dark with its blood.
“Let her go!” Zeke screamed and smashed the baseball bat over the back of its head.
It jolted forward, hissing. Without looking at Zeke, the creature flicked a tentacle behind it and sent him flying.
Her lungs burned. She needed air. She needed air now.
Just when Allie was sure she was dead, the tentacle fell from her neck, and she was falling. She grasped at the floorboards jutting out at the edge of the hole, gasping for air. The only thing preventing her from falling to her certain death was the inadequate grip her fingers had on the floorboards. She couldn’t last long; she could already feel the strength surging out of her body in waves.
Fire licked up her hands, her grip slipping. Against her best judgment, she looked down. Flecks of dust danced in the stray rays of moonlight, everything else an endless pit of black below her. That monster hadn’t popped out of the basement. If she fell, she was falling to wherever it came from.
It probably wasn’t a short fall.
Her hands trembled, the muscles straining to acquire strength that simply wasn’t there. She was hanging on by six fingers.
The creature rocked with spasms on the ground. Tack took the opportunity to launch himself off the remaining tentacles, and swiped the knife clear through its neck.
Allie let out a pained gasp. Five fingers.
Tack grabbed her wrists as the last of her fingers gave out. “I’ve got you,” he said through his teeth and slid his hold down her arms. She clutched at his forearms, the muscles rock hard, veins protruding in strain. He dragged her over the edge, the floorboards burning as they scraped across the skin of her stomach. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead to the cold floor, her body trembling.
A pair of hands grasped her arms and pulled her against a warm—and bare—chest. She opened her eyes to see the crook of Tack’s neck, his golden hair red and matted with blood. His bloody shirt lay discarded across the room, but his body seemed unharmed—he’d taken it off to heal.
Zeke and Maeve were huddled together on the floor behind them, Maeve’s eyes buried in Zeke’s neck, Zeke staring at Tack with an incredulous gleam in his eyes.
“Was it really necessary to take your shirt off?”

15. Candace

Candace didn’t tell anyone about Reid’s body, not even James. If she told him about the body, she would have to tell him about Reid. And James couldn’t know about him. He couldn’t know about any of it. Unfortunately, Candace was a terrible liar, and James had a knack for reading people. So for the time being, Candace deemed avoiding him the only option.
Easier said than done.
She sat in Mcullough’s office, her legs crossed so tightly she couldn’t feel anything below her knees. Her feet tingled with numbness, but she was too nervous to move. Her hands clamped together in her lap, her nails digging into her palms.
He was going to ask if she’d found the invention, and she hadn’t. He was going to ask if she’d found Tack, and she hadn’t. The only thing she had found was a rotting, dead body that was supposed to be buried in a cemetery twenty miles away. She had been there six months ago when they lowered Reid into the ground. But she was sure that body in the basement had been him.
But that was impossible. Insinuating anything else would only make her look crazy.
“I shut the entire Center down and you came up with nothing?” Mcullough demanded.
“Whoever took it did a good job of covering their tracks,” Candace said, her eyes everywhere but Mcullough’s face. “I looked everywhere.”
He nodded to himself, looking years younger than Candace had ever seen him. His towering height and frightening, authoritative stature had always made him seem less than human; Candace had nearly forgotten he was only twenty-eight.
“We’ll just have to keep looking. Someone in the Center took your invention, I’m sure of it.”
“How are we supposed to find it, though? There are dozens of Members here,” Candace said in a quiet voice, afraid that if she said the wrong thing, the frightening version of Mcullough would return.
And then he smiled. Not a smile of light and enjoyment, not the kind that twists with laughter and erupts from a pure place. This smile was sick and amused, like he was the only one who knew the punch line to a cruel joke. “I have my ways of getting people to do what I need.”
Candace didn’t say anything.
“I can get people to talk. Don’t worry, Candace. I’ll find your invention.” He was back to looking calm, his mood changes making Candace’s head spin.
“What do you want me to do, then?”
“Go home.” He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “I’ll take it from here.”
Candace stood and turned, feeling like a small child who was just patted on the head and told to run along.
“Madoc.” She froze at his voice. “Hold on a moment.”
When she turned, he was out from behind his desk, standing in front of her. Her head barely reached his collarbone. Her heart pounded at their close proximity. She wanted to take a step back, a million steps back, but was frozen where she stood.
He cupped the side of her face with his hand, cold as ice, and smiled. “Who ever took this from you is going to pay.”
His eyes blazed black. Candace took a step away from him, nervous heat prickling her skin.
“I should get home to my boyfriend. He’ll wonder where I am.”
Mcullough’s eyes hardened. His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and returned to the chair behind his desk. “Very well.”
Candace turned and headed for the door, but his voice stopped her again. “And Madoc?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll call you once I have this situation resolved.” He slipped something from his desk. “Don’t come back to the Center until then.”
She nodded and rushed through the door, her stomach in knots. She was suddenly afraid for the Members who had tortured her for the past year.
#
Candace lay curled in a ball on her bed, staring at the light coming through the window.
Don’t come back to the Center.
Her job was practically her entire life. Between Mcullough benching her on the search for her own invention, and avoiding James, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She had too much time to think, to remember.
To remember the blazing pain in her face and hands as she stumbled through the darkness, like fire licking up her skin. She remembered her feet catching on a fallen branch, and toppling forward as pounding footsteps erupted behind her, breaking and echoing through the empty night.
The trees around her had stood broken and dead, extending endlessly in every direction, the ground littered with exiled branches and leaves. She remembered the exhaustion pounding at the backs of her eyelids, the softness of the ground calling for her to lay down, just for a moment. The idea had sucked her in like a deep breath, the scratchiness of the dirt and leaves disappearing as she closed her eyes.
The pounding footsteps had demanded her attention; someone was gaining on her. Abandoning the ground, she had pushed herself back to her feet and ran. She hadn’t gotten far, before a pair of arms circled her waist and hoisted her into the air.
She was six at the time.
Candace jerked free from the memory. The fire was gone from her face, but she knew the tiny, silver scars were still there.
Don’t come back to the Center.
Candace jumped out of bed and dressed, trying, and failing, to push the thoughts and memories from her head. There was no shame in going out to dinner by yourself, right? She needed to get out of the house.
She didn’t care if it made her pathetic; Candace jumped into her car and headed toward Maria’s Pizza down the street.

16. Allie


There was only one person Allie knew who was more squeamish around blood than she was. Maeve. And there was a lot of blood. Red and purple. Human and creature. To prevent a gruesome display of vomiting and hyperventilating, Zeke escorted Maeve from the house to wait in the car.
Allie breathed through her teeth, intense pain burning in her stomach, neck, and shoulder. She lay on the floor of the kitchen, the gaping hole in the ceiling showering the room with silver light. She tried to focus the entirety of her attention on the chips of stars visible through the hole, but the pain was still there.
Tack knelt beside her, an old and dusty first aid kit at his knees. After killing that thing, he’d brought her down here and fished through the cabinets for the kit as if he knew exactly what he was looking for; he knew exactly where it would be.
“Just keep still, okay?” He pulled something from the kit.“You’re going to be fine.”
Allie knew her wounds were superficial; she would feel fine in a matter of hours. She was still in the initial stage of shock following an injury, the stage of waiting for the fresh pain to subside.
“Where does it hurt?” Tack leaned over her, the moonlight catching the tips of his golden hair, illuminating them with fiery light. His mouth was set in a deep, determined line, his eyes a soft blue.
“Stomach. Neck. Shoulder.”
“Okay.” He grabbed her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. For a moment she stared at their intertwined hands in bewilderment, but then noticed the bottle he removed from the first aid kit. “This may sting a little.”
He slipped a knife from the waist of his jeans and cut the fabric of her shirt from the collar to the end of her sleeve, leaving her shoulder exposed.
“Just breathe,” he whispered and tilted a clear liquid onto her skin.
She cried out and bit down on her lip to smother the sound. Her hand clenched around Tack’s so tightly she feared she might break a few of his bones, though they would probably heal in a second, anyway.
Allie rolled her head to the side as Tack brushed the hair away from her neck and secured a bandage over her shoulder. She vaguely wondered how he knew so much about first aid. It seemed a pointless skill for someone who healed in the blink of an eye.
“Al, hey, look at me.”
She hadn’t realized she was squeezing her eyes shut. She looked up at him as he brushed a lock of her hair from her face. “I’m going to do the same thing to your stomach, okay? It’ll only sting for a second.”
Allie could only nod as he rolled the hem of her shirt up. Heat rushed through her chest like water, and it wasn’t from the pain of her injuries. It was strange laying here like this, Tack looking down on her. Someone she barely knew seeing so much of her skin, so much of her.
He leaned in and let her clutch his hand again. “Breathe,” he whispered. And for a moment, it was peaceful. His breath tickled her face, his hand warm in hers, his body so close that she felt an unexplainable ache right down to her toes.
Then the fire happened. The liquid splashed onto her skin and seared up, and she had to clench her teeth together to keep from screaming.
She squeezed Tack’s hand and closed her eyes so tightly the backs of her lids turned red. She knew she was overreacting, her injuries really weren’t that bad, but she’d always had a low pain tolerance. Sore muscles and bruises from kickboxing were one thing, but once you broke skin, once blood was involved, it was a completely different story.
She felt him begin to bandage her wounds, the gauze itchy against her skin, and he pulled her shirt back down.
Finally, Allie managed to open her eyes. Tack remained kneeling beside her, the moonlight creating a glowing halo around his head.
He stroked a hand along her neck, examining where the monster had attempted to choke her to death, and reached for something at his side. “It’ll bruise, but you’ll be fine. Take these.” He handed her two small pills and a cup of water.
She swallowed them, and he helped her to a sitting position, one hand firmly on her back so she wouldn’t fall. “I appreciate the effort to get my attention, but you don’t have to throw yourself into life-threatening situations every time you want to talk to me. A simple ‘hey, Tack’ would suffice.”
Allie smirked, still well aware of his hand on her back. She leaned into his touch, her face merely inches from his. “Hey, Tack.”
His face broke into a smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “So, what do you think my chances are of befriending emo-boy out there?” He nodded outside toward Zeke.
Allie laughed. “Yeah, he hates you.”
“I noticed. Just because I was in this house? My house?”
Allie shook her head, her eyes tracing the faint line of stubble along Tack’s jaw. “It’s a long story.”
Tack watched her for another second, his eyes serious, and then slid his hand up from her back to her shoulder, leaving a trail of tingling nerves along Allie’s skin. “Let me drive you home.”
“I’m fine…” she started, even though it was a lie, and Tack knew it. Her body still trembled, though talking with Tack all but made her forget about the pain.
“I know.” He gave her half a smile as they got to their feet. “Let me drive you home.”
“Okay.” Allie swayed on her feet, the room dipping before her. Dizziness suddenly flooded to her head, the room morphing into a blur. As her eyes closed and everything faded to black, Tack scooped her into his arms, and began to carry her from the house.
#
Allie swam in and out of consciousness for the majority of the car ride. She had only managed to fully open her eyes as Tack pulled up to her house. Maeve and Zeke were gone from the back seat, so he must have dropped them off—Maeve must have given him directions.
Tack cut the engine and turned to hop out, but Allie caught his wrist and stopped him. “You’re not going back to that place. You can stay here until you figure things out.”
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure your parents would be okay with you offering up your house to a stranger?”

Allie shrugged. “They’re in Philadelphia.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” she muttered, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
He helped her from the car, and she had to lean most of her weight onto his chest as they made their way up the path.
“Why bother? Why help me?” he asked.
“You’ve saved my life twice now,” she sputtered. “It’s the least I can do.”
His hand circled her waist, warming her skin where they touched.
His disbelief of her wanting to help him was baffling. Hadn’t he done the same offering his jacket the day it was raining? And less than an hour ago when he bandaged her up? Was it so difficult for him to believe other people were capable of offering the same courtesy?
When they stepped onto the porch, the door flew open before Allie had a chance to put the key in the lock.
Brandon stood in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair glistening with beads of water. He looked at Allie with raised eyebrows and then to Tack’s shirtless chest.
“Hey, Brandon.” Allie offered a smile, which quickly faded from the intensity of his glare. “How’d it go with Shane?”
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, refusing to look at Tack. “And you’re covered in blood again?”
“It’s only ten o’clock—”
“Allie.”
“I was taking care of a friend. He needed closure with everything that happened with Kai.” Brandon eyed Tack again, as if he was debating whether to punch him. “And this is Tack. He needs a place to stay, so I was going to give him my parents’ room until they got back. That way you don’t have to give up the guest room.”
“You think I care about sleeping in the guest room?” He swung the door the rest of the way open. “Get inside.”
Allie strode past him into the foyer, Tack close by her side, a steadying hand still on her back.
Brandon stared at them after closing the door. “Okay,” he finally exhaled. “Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?”
#
Lauren hadn’t bothered with grocery shopping before taking off, so there was no food in the house, and Allie was starving.
She was almost thankful for the delirium-like exhaustion—it kept the overwhelming embarrassment at bay. She’d just handed Tack a pathetic display of weakness over superficial injuries. She could barely feel them now.
And after everything, it wasn’t easy convincing Brandon to let her and Tack go out to find something to eat. He insisted there had to be something in the kitchen and sifted through every shelf and cabinet to prove his point, but eventually conceded. He also graciously allowed Tack to borrow one of his shirts, so they wouldn’t have to test if restaurants stayed true to the whole no shoes, no shirt, no service thing.
When Allie pulled into the parking lot of Maria’s Pizza there were only two other cars in sight. They must have been the employee’s, because there were no other customers in the restaurant.
Tack slid into the chair across from her and drummed his fingers against the table.
“So, where you’re from, everyone heals like you do?” Allie asked, dropping all pretenses. She didn’t care if she was being blunt. She needed answers.
“Well, most. But here no one heals?” He ran his hand his hair, flakes of dried blood falling in a ring around him.
“You’re the first I’ve ever seen.”
Tack reached across the table and brushed her hair to the side, inspecting a small cut on her forehead. Her back stiffened. “Strange,” he murmured. Allie stared back at him uncomfortably. His eyes met hers for a moment before he leaned back in his chair and removed his hand from her face.
Her heart throbbed.
“I’ll go order the pizza,” she said and hurried toward the counter. Her fingers were shaking as she approached the man at the cash register. Something about being alone with Tack made her anxious and uneasy; she wasn’t quite sure how to act around him. “Two cheese slices please,” she murmured to the worker clad in a bright red polo and handed him the money.
He nodded, his face twisted down in a sour expression. Allie didn’t think anything of his rude behavior. She would probably be in a bad mood too if she had to wear something like that. He handed her the change. “It’ll be about five minutes,” he said in a tired voice.
“Thanks.” Allie smiled and dropped the handful of coins and dollar bills into his tip jar. This made him smile at her. She returned to the table where Tack sat vigorously fussing with the cap on the ketchup bottle.
He smirked as she sat down.
“What?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I never would have taken you for a people person.” He indicated the man behind the cashier, who was eagerly riffling through his tip jar.
Allie leaned back in her chair. “He was obviously having a bad night. I could spare a few bucks. Why not make him happy? He probably needs the money more than I do, anyway.”
“So you’re a people pleaser?” Tack raised his eyebrows.
“No.” Allie rolled her eyes. “You’re missing the big picture. This way, he won’t spit in our food for a chuckle.”
Tack smiled. “Devious.”
“I prefer brilliant, but thank you.”
“So Allie, that has to be short for something, right?”
“Natalie.”
A smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth. “Anyone ever call you Nat?”
“No.” Allie suppressed a smirk, remembering her conversation with Maeve.
“Nattie?”
“Nope.”
“Nat-attack?”
“Tack.”
He held up his hands. “Allie’s nice, too.”
“Wait.” Allie narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t I come across as a people person?”
Tack snorted and gave her a really? expression.
The bells above the door rang as a pair of high heels clanked into the restaurant. Allie didn’t think anything of it until the person stopped in front of their table and gasped. She looked up to see a thin woman with auburn hair and tiny scars scattered across her face. Allie had never seen her before, but the woman stared at Tack as if he was the answer to all her prayers.
Tack’s eyes widened.
“Do we know you?” Allie asked.
The woman paid her no mind. Her eyes remained glued to Tack’s face. “Are you Tack Slater?” Her voice was ragged, as if she’d been crying.
“Yes,” he said.

Something flashed behind her eyes. Panic? She and Tack shared a meaningful stare before she looked away.
“Sorry to bother you,” she murmured and hurried back out the front door.
“That was bizarre—” Allie started.
Tack grabbed her wrist the moment the woman was gone. “Al, we need to leave. We need to leave, now.”
“What’s going on—?”
One of the employees behind the counter screamed as the bells above the door rang again. The scar faced woman stepped back into the restaurant, a gun raised in her hands, pointed directly at Tack.

17. Candace

Candace opened the door to her apartment, Tack and the girl in the hallway behind her. The gun blazed in her hand. She never wanted to hold it again. Getting the teenagers to come with her wasn’t easy—especially Tack—but a single misfire into the neighboring booth seemed to scare them both a bit. She hated that this is what it had to come to, but she wasn’t letting Tack get away a second time. Not after everything she’d been through to find him. She couldn’t afford to take any more chances.
Candace stopped short in her doorway at the sight of James standing in her foyer, his hair spiked randomly on his head, sporting his classic look of jeans and a black T-shirt.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He paced toward her. She automatically stepped to the side, shielding the teenagers from view.
“I’m not avoiding you,” said Candace. She pressed the gun to the back of her legs, hoping he wouldn’t see it. She didn’t think this is what he had intended when he gave it to her.
“What’s going on—?” His eyes landed on something behind Candace’s head, then fell to the gun in her hands. “Candace what are you—”
“Move over.” She shuffled the two teenagers into the apartment and closed the door.
“What the hell is going on?” James demanded. “They’re just kids; what’s with the gun?”
“This is Tack Slater.” Candace pointed and Tack ducked his head, his hands protectively on the girl’s shoulders.
“And the girl?” James raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” Candace admitted. “But who knows what books whoever stole my invention has been using. She could be from anywhere.”
“Or she could just be a girl, Ace. What were you thinking?” James looked at her with worried eyes, probably questioning her sanity.
She had to admit, kidnapping two sixteen-year-olds wasn’t her shining moment. She was desperate. Everything was falling through the cracks because of what she did. She had to fix it somehow, and this seemed like the only way.
“Did you know I got benched for the search for my own invention?” Candace demanded, tears welling behind her eyes. “Mcullough told me not to come back to the Center until he cleaned up the mess I made. Now I’m beating him to it.” She gestured to Tack.
“So what are you going to do?” James asked. “Hand them over to Mcullough? He’ll kill them, Ace.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? No, I’m not taking them to Mcullough. Not yet.” Candace eyed the teenagers and then James, who was keeping his distance, nonchalantly propped against the wall. How did he always look so calm?
Her eyes shot across the room, an idea springing in her mind. “Help me tie them to those chairs.”

18. Allie

Allie sat in a fold up chair, much like the one from group therapy, her hands tied behind her back. Tack was in an identical position, his back to hers. The backs of their heads rested against each other, their fingers inches apart. Allie’s breaths were coming in shallow, but she tried to stay quiet. Tack didn’t need to know how much she was panicking.
But how could she not be panicking? Some psycho woman abducted them to God knows where for God knows what reason.
“Al,” Tack whispered.
“Yeah?” Allie’s voice cracked.
“Listen to me. Everything’s going to be fine. I have a knife in the waist of my jeans. Can you reach it?”
“Of course you have a knife,” Allie laughed, breathless.
“Can you reach it?” he repeated.
Allie stretched her restrained hands back as far as she could, her shoulder blades searing with pain. “Lean back,” she said.
He did and the fabric of his T-shirt brushed her knuckles. She lifted the hem, her fingers bending at unnatural angles. Her breath came through her teeth in a slight hiss, pain throbbing up her arms. The skin of his back sent electricity up her fingertips as she finally found his body.
He inhaled sharply. “Geez, your hands are freezing.”
“Sorry,” Allie muttered.
“Lower.”
Allie trailed her fingers down his back until she found his belt. At the center of his waistband, her fingers fell on the knife. It was heavy in her restrained fingers, but she managed to wiggle it free from his jeans and remove the cover.
“Can you cut us free?” Tack asked.
“Unless you want me to chop your fingers off, you better do it.”
Tack’s fingers ran over hers, wrestling the knife free from her grasp. “Got it,” he breathed and begun sawing at the ropes.
Allie curled her fingers in toward her hands, squeezing her eyes closed as tightly as she could. She hoped he wouldn’t chop one of her fingers off.
“Drop the knife.”
Allie felt Tack’s hands freeze at the sight of the woman in the doorway, James beside her. He didn’t drop the knife, and the woman sighed.
“I’m not going to hurt either one of you. I just need to ask you a few questions,” she said. For a second Allie almost believed her—with her warm brown eyes, pretty and delicate face—but then she remembered the close proximity of the bullet she’d fired, the vibrations it created in the air.
“You’re not going to hurt us? Is that why you dragged us here at gunpoint?” Tack demanded. “Oh, my mistake. I didn’t realize kidnapping was a sign of friendly company.”
James paced over to the two of them and plucked the knife from Tack’s hands. Judging by Tack’s lack of panic, he had another, or multiple others, stashed on him elsewhere.
The woman pulled a chair up beside them, forcing Allie and Tack to turn their heads to the side to face her. She pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m Candace, and this is James.”
“I don’t care what your names are,” said Tack.
Candace sighed again, looking to James. He pulled a chair up beside her and took her hand.
“Tack, can you tell me what you’ve been doing since you got here?”
“What I’ve been doing?” Tack echoed emotionlessly. “You bring me here and now want to know what I’ve been up to? I’ve been leisurely feeding the ducks in Central Park as the sun raises each morning. What do you think? I’ve been scavenging the streets, living in an abandoned house trying to figure out what the hell is going on!”
“What is going on?” Allie demanded.
“I’m an inventor,” Candace said. “I’m employed at a very secretive institution, where I created something that allowed me to bring book characters from their world to ours.”
“Are you high?” Tack asked.
Candace pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tack, I know this is hard to understand, but you’re not from this world. You came from a book that I read as a teenager. It was based in New York, so I bet everything looks familiar, but not quite right, am I correct?”
Allie couldn’t see Tack’s face, but he remained silent.
This chick couldn’t be serious. Did she hear herself? Allie had to pinch her lips together to keep from laughing. A book character. She actually thought Tack was a freaking book character. Not only was it impossible, but it was also ridiculous.
But.
But Tack’s immediate healing was impossible. And his inhuman speed and strength. And those monsters.
This isn’t real.
Allie took a deep breath through her teeth, nausea twisting her stomach.
This isn’t real.
“I just need to know.” Candace pulled a stack of glossy pictures from a bag behind her and turned them toward Tack.
Allie scanned the faces, all of them unfamiliar except Kai and Dean. Her throat tightened.
“Did you kill these people?” Candace asked.
Tack jerked his head back. “Kill them? I haven’t killed anyone!”
“You said you brought him from a book,” Allie interrupted. “Did you bring Jeremiah from The Ring Brothers here, too? And that monster with the tusks? That thing almost killed me, by the way.”
Candace stared at Allie with an open mouth. She blinked once, her face draining of color. “What did you say?”
Annoyed, Allie took a deep breath. “I asked if you—”
“No I heard you,” Candace snapped and jumped to her feet. “James, can you untie them? We need to get to the Center. Now.”

19. Candace

When Candace pulled her car up to the Center, the moon was high in the sky, dimly covered by a veil of clouds. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll, her eyes barely able to stay open. It had been days since she’d actually slept. James, Tack, and the girl followed her up the sidewalk in deafening silence.
She turned back when she reached the door, her eyes meeting James.
“I’ll keep her out here,” he said quietly, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder.
She jerked away from him, her eyes jumping from his face to Tack. There was almost something comical about the way she moved, agile and full of life, bouncing around like an energizer bunny. Despite the roundness of her pretty face and the delicacy of her frame, her eyes were hard and her voice was sharp. She had a stubborn set to her features, an underlying pain behind her glare. Candace vaguely wondered why she looked so sad.
“I’m not staying out here with you,” she snapped.
“You can’t go in. Just me and Tack.” Candace grabbed Tack’s arm. “Hurry. Go on.”
Tack didn’t move; he kept his eyes focused on the girl. Candace yanked him around and dragged him toward the Center. She heard the girl’s muffled protests as she and Tack made their way through the doors and into the lobby. To Candace’s surprise, the lights were already glowing overhead. It was late, so she had expected no one to be here except Mcullough, who basically slept here. They ventured down the hallway, Candace dragging Tack along by his shirt, and stopped at Mcullough’s office, dark and empty.
Candace tried the door, but it was locked.
If Mcullough wasn’t here, then who was?
Tack watched her with his eyebrows raised, his jaw set. He was much more handsome than she had pictured when reading the book. The intensity of his glare made Candace anxious, as if she had an audience to her failures.
“What now, captor?” he asked wryly.
“Come on.” She hurried to the opposite side of the lobby and took the stairs three at a time.
Tack easily kept up, moving at a walking, leisurely pace while Candace was out of breath when they made it to the top.
Each of the lower floors had a collective lab, where the members shared space and materials. Candace, because of her higher position, had her own. Since the offices were considerably smaller on this floor, they were forced to consolidate. The door to the lab Gretch and Grob used lay ajar, a muffled voice draining into the hallway.
The window at the end of the hall was smashed, broken shards of glass littering the carpet. Red stained the white paint of the walls, beads of the liquid dripping from the remains of the window.
Blood.
“Tack, you should go back downstairs,” Candace said before breaking off into a run. Tack stayed hot on her heels. Of course he hadn’t listened.
The lab was a wide, rectangular room with white countertops around the perimeter, and white cabinets in uneven lines high on the walls. It looked like a glamorized version of a high school science classroom.
Thick, crimson blood stained the white surfaces—the cabinets, countertops, the floor. Stray tables lay on their sides in the center of the room, obvious evidence there had been some kind of a struggle.
Grob stood in the center of a pool of blood, Gretch’s body at his feet. His eyes shot to her. There was dark stumble across his jaw, black circles rimming his eyes. In an instant, he was on her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the wall, his fingernails digging into her arms, his hot breath splaying across her face.
“This is all your fault!” he yelled and threw her against the wall.
“Dev—” Candace gasped, too surprised to fight back.
“He’s dead! He’s dead because of you!” He released her shoulders only to smack the back of his hand across her face. There was pain in his eyes, though they were completely dry. This wasn’t surprising; Candace expected Grob was the type of person who never cried.
“What happened?” Candace demanded, her hands on her face as she stepped away from him.
“What happened?” Grob was still yelling, the intensity of his voice ringing in Candace’s ears. “Your invention is what happened!”
“My invention?” Candace asked furiously, only slightly surprised by the confirmation. “You mean the one you stole?”
“Don’t play the victim you little bitch. He’s dead!” Grob pointed to Gretch on the floor, his mouth parted, blood seeping from his head. “He’s dead because of you!” Grob came at her again, but Tack grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back with little difficultly. “Who the hell is this?” Grob demanded, flailing feebly in Tack’s strong hold.
“What have you brought here using my invention, Grob?” Candace asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Grob snorted.
Tack yanked his arms tighter behind his back, making Grob yelp.
“Why did you bring monsters from The Ring Brothers here?” Candace demanded.“People have been dying because of you.”
“We only wanted Jeremiah,” said Grob. “He was going to help us finish our invention. The invention that would make yours look like child’s play and put you back in your place for good.”
“Your invention that required mine to work?” Candace smirked.
Grob lunged forward, breaking Tack’s hold. Candace ducked as Grob threw his fist at her face, and lodged it into the wall instead. He screamed in pain as the plaster crumbled beneath his fist. Tack regained his hold on Grob’s arms, but Grob didn’t fight him anymore.
“We just borrowed it to get Jeremiah,” Grob repeated.
“Wait.” Candace looked around the lab. There was more blood than she’d originally thought. It couldn’t all be Gretch’s. “You brought everything from The Ring Brothers here?”
“We didn’t mean to! Your invention is defective. We wanted Jeremiah and everything started popping out.”
“You have to set the machine before you start it up, so only the character you want comes out, you moron!”
Grob stood motionless in Tack’s arms. Tack met her eyes for a moment, and for the first time since she brought him here, didn’t look at her with burning hatred.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone that you brought a book full of dangerous creatures into the world?” she continued. “I could have fixed it and then those people wouldn’t be dead!”
“That’s what we thought at first, but those bodies had no damage to them. Don’t you think they’d be shredded to bits if those monsters killed them? Have you ever even read The Ring Brothers? There wouldn’t be anything left of those people if those creatures did it.” Grob voice was loud and obnoxious, but his face was pale, his eyes trained on Gretch’s fallen body behind Candace.
“Then how did they die?” Tack demanded.
“I don’t know!” Grob whipped his gaze between Tack and Candace, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
Candace pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “What other books have you used?”
Grob remained silent as his eyes fell on something behind Candace. She followed his gaze to the table where the book Extermination rested.
Candace yanked it from the table. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened with the first book how the hell were you stupid enough to try it again?”
Grob didn’t respond. Candace looked around the lab again. Books, writing utensils, and stray papers were strewn across the floor in disarray, but other than that, it was empty. “Where’s the invention?” she asked quietly.
Grob stared at the floor, his face grayer than usual.
“Where the fuck is my invention, Grob?” she screamed.
He finally met her eyes, his tired and haunted. “It’s gone.”
“Gone?” Candace echoed. “Gone where?”
“Violet. She took it.”
“Who is Violet?” Candace demanded.
Grob looked at her, almost apologetically. “From Extermination.”
“What would a fictional character possibly want with my invention?”
Grob dropped his eyes to the floor, squirming uncomfortably in Tack’s arms. “Gretch tried to stop her—”
“Why does she want my invention, Grob?”
He stared at her with frightened eyes—Candace had never seen him so unhinged before. There was desperation in his expression, desperation for her to understand, almost as if he actually felt remorse. But that couldn’t be right, this was Grob standing in front of her. A bizarre thought popped into Candace’s mind; perhaps there was a different side of Grob outside the Center.
“She’s trying to transport our world to hers,” Grob whispered.
Candace stared at him for a second. “What happens in Extermination, Grob?”
Tack released Grob’s arms from his back, and he steadied himself against the wall, cradling his injured hand to his chest. His words burned like acid in Candace’s ears. “What do you think?”

20. Allie

It was past midnight by the time Allie and Tack returned to her house. Allie had already sent Tack up to her parents’ room to get settled, sparing him from Brandon’s anger and possible lecturing. He hadn’t said a word to her the entire ride back to the house. When she asked about what happened in the building with the crazy redhead, he waved his hand dismissively. Allie barely knew him, so it didn’t feel right pestering him for answers he didn’t want to give, but the curiosity was eating her alive.
She stood across the kitchen from Brandon, bracing herself for his angry ranting, but it didn’t come.
Brandon sighed and ran his hands up his face. “I’m not trying to be your parent, Allie, but you could have at least called. You scared me to death. I had no idea where you were. You could have been kidnapped for all I knew.”
Allie winced at his accuracy. “You’re right. I’m sorry I worried you. I should’ve called.”
Brandon stared at her for a second, his face more concerned than angry.
“Are you going to tell me how things went with Shane?” Allie fell into a kitchen chair and plucked an apple from the center of the table. The last one in the bowl. Of course. With being kidnapped and everything, she hadn’t gotten to eat her pizza.
Brandon laughed and hopped onto the counter. “I don’t think he’ll ever speak to you again.”
“Me? What did I do?” Allie bit into the apple innocently.
“What exactly did you say to him to get him to meet me?” Brandon leaned back on his hands, his golden halo of hair catching the light from the fixture above him.
Allie shrugged. “Not much.”
“You didn’t tell him I was gay.” It wasn’t a question. “Five minutes into our conversation he figured it out and totally freaked out, Al.”
“Sorry.” Allie ducked her head. “But did you like him?”
“Oh yeah, up until he tried to bludgeon me to death with a ketchup bottle.”
“He hit you?”
Brandon nodded, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “And then ran off. The kid’s got issues.”
Allie frowned at him. “He just lost his best friend and the love of his life, cut him some slack.”
“Like I said, Al, I’ve got plenty of sympathy for him. Doesn’t mean he has to be a little punk. He’s not the only gay teenager in the world, believe it or not.”
“Maybe it was a bad idea.”
“You think?” Brandon hopped off the counter and punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Do you think your dad would mind if I borrowed his black dress pants for tomorrow?”
Allie’s heart did a somersault in her chest. The funeral. She had completely forgotten it was tomorrow. “Sure.”
“Night.” Brandon kissed the top of her head and disappeared down the stairs to the basement.
#
Brandon stood in the kitchen wearing a black suit borrowed from Allie’s father—who had never looked nearly as dashing in it—his hands deep in his pockets. He stood hunched over, as usual. Allie stumbled on the last stair, her high heels catching on a nick in the wood, and Brandon rewarded her with a grin.
“Heels. Not your best idea.” He laughed and steadied her by the elbow. “You look beautiful.” Allie glanced down at the clingy black fabric of her dress, the lace sleeves itchy on her arms. “Not my type, but, you know.” He winked and extended his arm to her.
Allie couldn’t find it in herself to speak. All this time Kai’s death had seemed so distant, as if he’d just been on a trip all this time and was due to return any day now. Now it all felt too real. She was going to have to see him. She was going to have to bury him.
Allie wound her arm around the crook of Brandon’s elbow, slipped the flowers off the kitchen table, and allowed him to escort her to his Jeep.
#
It was a terrible day for a funeral. The sky was overcast and bleak, thin sheets of water coating everything in sight as proof of last night’s rain.
Allie’s parents had called earlier, announcing they wouldn’t be able to make it for the funeral. Not surprising.
Brandon pulled his Jeep into the parking lot, which was already filled with cars. He parked illegally at the tail of the lot after impatiently searching for a spot to no avail. They treaded toward the grass, passing Maeve’s beat up Bug, covered in bumper stickers. Allie noticed she added a new one below the back windshield. Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body; but rather, to slide in sideways, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, screaming “Holy shit what a riot!”
Kai would have liked it.

People she didn’t know squeezed her hand as they passed, their fingers weak and cold. Unfamiliar arms folded her into hugs, pressing her against stranger’s bodies with foreign scents and muffled murmurs of meaningless condolences. Why were they so sorry for her loss? They didn’t know her, and she was willing to bet they hadn’t really known Kai, either.
And that was how the morning went. Tears and strangers. Maybe that’s what disgusted her so much. Today was supposed to be about Kai, but everyone was making it about themselves.
Brandon’s warm hand stayed glued to her back as people reached for her. He didn’t cry and neither did she.
After the service, as cars began to pile out of the lot, Allie spotted Maeve a few yards away.
“Maeve!” she called and hurried toward her and Zeke, wedged behind the yellow stickered Bug. Maeve turned, her bright blonde hair piled atop her head, a black wrap draped over her shoulders. Mascara was smeared around her eyes.
“Allie.” Her voice was stiff and disconnected, a tone Maeve had never used with Allie.
Allie reached toward her friend, but Maeve stepped back toward Zeke, who circled his hands around her shoulders.
Allie let her arms fall back to her sides. “Is everything okay?”
Maeve’s eyes widened. Zeke snorted and spoke before Maeve had the chance. “We just buried my brother. What do you think, Allie?” His voice was acid, his glare so severe Allie flinched.
Allie stood with her mouth open, stunned into silence. “I didn’t see you during the service,” she said stupidly.
Maeve opened her mouth, but Zeke cut her off again. “We were in the front because we’re family.”
“I’m so sorry about Kai, Zeke. You should know that more than anyone. I—”
“Have obviously moved on within days of his death.” Zeke spat, his hands tightening on Maeve’s shoulders. Allie looked to her best friend, expecting her to defend her—she had just made a speech about how it was okay that Allie hadn’t loved Kai—but she stood in silence. “Why don’t you go find that Tack kid?”
“Zeke, this isn’t—”
“In light of everything,” Zeke said through his teeth, glaring at Allie through his eyelashes. Flickers and fragments of the other night flashed before Allie’s eyes. The tentacles, the baseball bat, the stars bursting in front of her eyes, positive she was going to die. “I think it’s best if you stay away from me and my girlfriend.”
“Maeve,” Allie gasped, tears forming in her eyes. “You can’t be serious. I mean, you’re my best friend.”
“Al, let’s just go,” Brandon whispered.
Maeve looked up from the ground, her eyes sparkling with tears. “I’m sorry—”
“So you don’t shed a single tear over my brother, but now you’ll cry?” Zeke cut her off. “Stop acting like the victim, Allie.”
Allie wiped the water from her cheeks furiously. “You don’t get to tell me how I’m supposed to feel about Kai’s death, okay Zeke? He was your brother and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that he’s gone, but blaming me for everything isn’t going to bring him back. He’s dead.” Brandon grabbed her arm, trying to stop her, but she shook him off. The words spewed from her mouth, completely out of her control. “Go ahead and hate me and blame me and whatever else you want to do. But Kai is dead. I’m moving on and sooner or later you’re going to have to do that too, because nothing is ever, ever going to bring him back!” She knew she was being cruel, but she didn’t care. She didn’t know why she wanted to hurt him, but it felt good to see the shock on his face.
Maeve shook her head, staring at Allie as if she didn’t recognize her anymore.
“Get out of here, Cross,” Zeke growled.
Brandon tugged on her shoulder.
“Maeve,” Allie said helplessly.
“Go home, Allie.” She sounded tired, as though the words drained the last of the energy from her body. “Just go home.”

21. James

It was unseasonably cold in New York. James wandered through Central Park with nothing but jeans and a T-shirt on, a fine layer of goose bumps coating his skin. Chirping birds and cigarette smoke filled the air around him, and a young girl came barreling toward him, head down, her legs moving as fast as they could. A boy—her older brother from the looks of it—placed his hand on top of her head and steered her to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with James’s arm.
The scene was blurry, tunneling around him, not quite in the same world where he stood. There was a clear vision at the tip of the tunnel, but he didn’t want to go there. He couldn’t go to her…
Instead, he let his mind wander, hoping the crisp air icily drifting off the water would clear his head. His feet, however, kept taking him back to the same place. No matter how many times he turned and treaded down a different path, he ended up at the same destination, his subconscious insisting this was where he needed to be.
The apartment jutted up in front of him, large and intimidating. It looked expensive, two or three times the size of his own. A large welcome mat lay at the foot of the door, standing iron clocks with wires webbing up the neck on each side. A string of fake flowers hung from a nail in the center of the dark oak door. They looked cheap for such a fancy place.
James stood staring at the door, his hands shaking at his sides. It wasn’t too late to opt out. He could turn around and disappear the way he came. In fact, yes, that was exactly what he would do. His body was already angled away when the door swung open.
“I thought I heard someone out here.” A woman slightly younger than James finished swinging the door open, her gaze falling on him. “Oh.”
She stared at him with round blue eyes, dark, sandy hair falling in a curtain around her shoulders. Her face, unlike James’s, was clear and porcelain, not a single freckle in sight. Their hair, however, was an identical hue. She stood barefoot in the doorway, her long legs exposed beneath a white silk robe, open in the front and hanging carelessly from her shoulders, exposing a tank top and shorts beneath.
“James,” she said. Her mouth broke into a grin as she threw her arms around his neck. An overwhelming rush of vanilla washed over his face as she did so. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Eliza.” James hugged her tightly and closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar scent. He pulled back to face her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t have much time.”
“Come in,” she said hurriedly, ushering him into her apartment.
The floors were bleached oak, everything in sight a shade of tan or white. Windows covered the far wall, soft light illuminating the large room. It had obviously been separated into multiple sections at one point, but Eliza must have knocked the walls down to create one gigantic living room. Three light brown couches surrounded a bamboo coffee table in the center of the room, books stacked on the surface. They faced an enormous fireplace, a flat screen television mounted overhead. There was a winding staircase to James’s right, also composed of bleached wood, which disappeared up into the shadows of the second floor.
James was glad Eliza had never been to his apartment. Compared to hers, he was embarrassed thinking about it.
Eliza leaned against the foot of the staircase, tying the ropes of her robe loosely around her tiny waist. There was stubbornness in the set of her jaw, directly contradictory to the innocence reflected in her wide eyes. “Well,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You might as well start with where you’ve been.”

22. Candace

Candace sat with her knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around her shins, glaring at the daunting hunk of paper lying on the table in front of her. The bloody letters of the title, the smoke circling in the background…something inside her couldn’t bring herself to pick up the book and read it. But she had to. She had to read the damn thing if she was going to stop whatever Grob brought here.
The image of Reid’s dead body kept flashing into her vision, only for a few seconds at time, but it was still crippling. His dark hair curling under his ears, his once vibrant eyes dull and unseeing…
“Trying to light things on fire with your mind again? How many times do I have to tell you, you aren’t psychic, Ace?” Candace looked up at James standing in the doorway to her apartment, his hair tousled, hands in his pockets. He strode over and carelessly plucked the book off the coffee stable, tossed it into the air, and caught it with one hand. “So this is the book, huh?”
Candace nodded, her eyes still glued to the slab of wood where the book had rested.
“Did you hear about that group of people found today?” James asked, the lightness of his tone gone.
She glanced up. “What are you talking about?”
“Twelve people were found by the police today. Completely mauled. They think it was an animal.”
“Or whatever came out of The Ring Brothers,” Candace mumbled.
James’s eyes held her, something between sympathy, worry, and hesitation in his expression. He nodded his head toward the book. “Are you going to read it?”
Candace released her legs and let her feet fall to the floor. The muscles in her arms throbbed. “I have to, don’t I?”
James thumbed through the pages, his mouth twisted down. “Why would Gretch and Grob use this book? I thought being a Center member meant you were the shit. Some geniuses. Seems to me the cover is a pretty fair warning.”
A slight pang of guilt tore through Candace’s stomach at Gretch’s name. Anger quickly replaced it. It wasn’t her fault Gretch was dead, even if it had been her invention that killed him. They stole it. They used two of the most dangerous books to prove a point to her, to make her look bad in front of the rest of the Center. It was their fault. Not hers. She hoped it was worth it.
“You’re staring at me.” Candace snatched the book from his hands. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Grob said this Violet chick wanted to use your invention to transport our world to hers, right?” James asked.
Candace nodded.
“Well, it’s your invention. Can it do that?”
Candace opened Extermination to the first page and glared at the opening sentence. “Do you think I’d be reading this if it couldn’t?”
“Ace.”
Candace glared at the page in front of her, the words swimming across the paper in illegible lines.
“Candace.”
She looked up at him, his eyes clouded with an unreadable expression. “Come here.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and she pressed her face into his neck. Maybe she didn’t have to read that book after all. Maybe she could tell Mcullough what she knew and let him deal with the impending doom of the entire world—
She pulled away from James, her nose itching. “Why do you smell like perfume?”
James sniffed the collar of his shirt and shrugged. “Some of yours must have rubbed off on me earlier.”
She scrunched her nose. “I never wear vanilla. I have no desire to walk around smelling like a human cupcake.”
James plopped down on the couch and set his feet on the coffee table. “I like vanilla,” was all he said. He grabbed Extermination and began to leaf through the pages. Brow furrowed, he glanced up at her. “Doesn’t seem like a pleasant book.”
“The thing’s called extermination. Of course it’s not pleasant.” Candace sunk down on the couch beside him, curiosity gnawing at her stomach. “Where’d you go?” She tried to sound casual.
James was suddenly very interested in Extermination’s cover. “Uh—with Jimmy. We watched the game. Hey, maybe that’s it.” He set the book back on the coffee table and turned toward Candace. “Jimmy’s girlfriend was over. She burns incense and stuff in Jim’s house because she thinks it smells like cat pee—Jimmy doesn’t even have a cat.” James rolled his eyes and stretched his arm over the back of the couch. “Must have been vanilla today.”
Of course there was a reasonable explanation. Candace shook off her paranoia and grabbed Extermination from the coffee table as James grabbed the newspaper and buried his nose in the print, his sandy hair sticking up over the front. The first page wasn’t encouraging. The town rained with blood. The nights full of agonizing cries, body parts strewn across the streets. Flames rose above me, the stench of burning flesh wafting through the air…
She tossed the book aside in disgust and grabbed the phone from the side table.
“Who are you calling?” James peeked over the top of his newspaper.
“Tack.” Candace looked out the window. What if that Violet person had already figured out how to rewire her invention? What if they were all sitting ducks awaiting a mass extermination? That would mean she was to blame for the demise of the entire human race, she and the invention. There had to be a way to make this right, some form of redemption. There had to be a way to get her invention back in her possession. If she could do that, she could figure out a way to send every person and creature, and whatever else Gretch and Grob summoned here, back to their rightful worlds.
“I think I know how to find Violet,” she said.

23. Allie

Allie plucked a string of toilet paper from the tree in her front lawn. “I’ve never actually been teepeed before,” she mumbled.
Brandon, a smirk stretched across his face, jumped up and grabbed a roll tucked into the tree branches. He landed lightly on his feet, the roll of toilet paper in hand. “At least we won’t have to go to the store for awhile.”
“This is because of the scene I made at Kai’s funeral, isn’t it?” Allie said as she and Brandon made their way to the front door, ducking under dangling strands.
“It doesn’t matter, Al. Go on inside, I’ll take care of this.” Brandon nodded toward the house, pushing his floppy hair from his eyes.
“Are you sure?” Toilet paper was strewn across the entire yard, two dozen or so rolls hanging from the large tree alone. One rolled off the edge of the roof and landed in front of Allie’s feet, making her squeak. This was going to take hours to clean up.
“You’ve had a long morning.” Brandon nodded and scooped the roll off the porch with a wink. “I’ll save as much as I can.”
Allie opened the door and stepped into the foyer. A tribal vase teetered as the door struck its side. Allie steadied it with her hand and stared at the red and orange printed surface for a moment. She wished she could chuck it across the room and watch it shatter into a million pieces. But her mother had paid however many hundreds of dollars on that thing. Lauren would never forgive her if she broke it.
Tack sat at one of the kitchen chairs, his back to her. Early sunlight shone through the window above his head, illuminating the kitchen. His hair was tousled and stood up in soft, natural spikes, the tips a glowing gold, progressively darkening closer to his scalp. He held one of Lauren’s silver forks in his large, muscular hand, a piece of egg dangling from the end. He has guitar-playing hands, fighting hands, Allie thought, then felt completely ridiculous the thought even occurred to her. She allowed her footsteps to clank against the wood so he would hear her.
He turned and nodded, the blueness of his eyes softer than usual. “Hope you don’t mind, I helped myself to your fridge.” He waved the egg at her, not the least bit sheepish. A silver chain hung from his neck, but the end dipped below the neckline of his shirt, so Allie couldn’t see what it was.
“Not at all.” She took the seat across the table and shook her head when he offered her some eggs. “Did you see outside?”
“You mean the toilet paper?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs. “Yeah. I was going to clean it up after breakfast. I wanted to get rid of it before you got home, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Brandon’s out there now.”
Allie pursed her lips as she realized he was refusing to meet her eyes. He looked at his plate, his hands, the table, the ceiling, the counter, everywhere but her.
His shoulders were incredibly broad—the muscles visible as he shifted in his seat— and incredibly tense. He looked up at her then, resting the fork on the table. “I almost forgot. Some girl’s been calling all morning.”
Maeve? “Who was it?” Allie was on her feet, hurrying over to the phone.
“Said her name was Cindy. I wrote her number down by the phone for you to call her back.” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair.
Allie’s heart deflated, her hand hovering over the phone. Cindy was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. She probably called to reprimand her for that scene at Kai’s funeral earlier. In fact, Cindy had probably orchestrated the whole toilet paper thing.
“I can go upstairs if you want some privacy,” Tack said quickly, misinterpreting her hesitation.
“No, it’s okay,” Allie sighed. “I’ll call her later.”
“How are you doing?” he asked. The intensity of his expression as he looked into her eyes made her cheeks warm.
Her hand went to the bandage on her shoulder reflexively. “I’m fine. The cuts aren’t too bad. They’ll heal soon.”
Another wave of embarrassment hit as she remembered that night in the abandoned house. How she’d cried out and cringed into the floor, squeezing his hand as he cleaned her wounds. Cheeks burning, she averted her gaze.
There was a string of tension tethered between them, a million questions Allie wanted to ask him but had no idea how. Like, how was he a fictional character? And what were they supposed to do about it now? And would he get angry if she spontaneously burst into laughter because it sounded so ridiculous that Allie couldn’t quite swallow it down? But most importantly, what happened at that red head’s office that he was keeping from her?
“Did anyone else call?” Allie asked. Half of her hoped her mother had checked in, concerned and wanting to talk about how the funeral had gone. She hated to admit it, but a small part of her wished her parents were here, though their absence was nothing short of expected.
“No.” Tack curled and uncurled his hands. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Allie shook her head, trying to hide her disappointment. Of course her parents hadn’t called.
“How are your friends?”
“Huh?”
“Your friends. The ones that broke into my…that house and almost got slaughtered by that thing? They okay?”
A knot tightened in Allie’s stomach. They hate me.
“They’re not speaking to me, actually.” She hadn’t intended to say the words aloud.
Tack raised his eyebrows. “Because of the other night?”
“So it seems.”
Tack bit down on his bottom lip and pushed back from the kitchen table. He leaned against the counter next to Allie, his elbow brushing hers. “They’ll come around. It’s a lot to take in, you know? They’re probably just in shock.” He laughed once and turned to face her, his mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I mean, you can’t say you really wanted to talk to me after that weasel thing tried to slaughter you. You had time to get your head on straight afterwards.”
“Actually I did want to talk to you after that,” Allie said quietly, the scabs on her elbows from that night burning in remembrance.
“You did?”
Allie turned her head, the burning in her cheeks increasing. “Well, yeah. You seemed completely unfazed by the fact that there was a monster in the middle of New York. I had no idea what was going on.” Allie sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “I thought that girl was crazy going off about Jeremiah from The Ring Brothers the other day.”
Tack stiffened beside her. “What?”
“This girl I know said she saw Jeremiah awhile ago. Before all this.” Allie waved her hands around her head and let them slap against her thighs. “I thought she was insane.”
Tack’s fingers were on her elbow. She jumped in surprise as he lifted her arm and examined her wound, frowning. Allie stared at him in silence until he released her arm and met her eyes. “Huh,” was all he said.
“What?”
“It’s just, you heal so slowly.” He shrugged, and then Allie remembered the slashes across his chest from that night in the alley. There one moment, gone the next. Of course regular healing seemed strange to him.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re the freak here. Everyone heals like this.”
“Does it still hurt?” Allie’s breath caught as Tack traced his fingers over the wound, gentle and strong at the same time. When his index finger landed on the left edge, which had absorbed the majority of the impact of her fall, she winced. “Sorry.” He dropped his hand in haste.
“It’s fine. It’ll just be a scar in a few weeks.” Allie ran her hand over her elbow, the prickling subsiding.
“At least that much is the same. Now I don’t feel like a complete freak.” In explanation, he lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing faint scars across his chest and abs, nearly invisible, but still there.
“Oh come on.” Allie looked up to see Brandon standing in the doorway, his arms full of toilet paper. He frowned, his eyebrows lowered well over his eyes. “Are you incapable of keeping your clothes on?”
#
“Are you going to let go of me?” Allie demanded. Tack had her pinned to the wall in the kitchen, his hands clamped around her wrists, hoisting them up above her head, his nose an inch from hers. She could see the flecks of gold scattered in his dark blue eyes, and a greenish blue—a swimming, dreaming color, smeared in a thin line around the pupils. She’d never seen anything like it. Then again, he wasn’t exactly real, as crazy as that was to think about. But it was true, and somehow, somehow she had to understand that. But he was standing right in front of her, his skin touching hers, his breath tickling her neck, heat flowing off his skin in waves. How could he not be real?
“Are you going to hit me again?” He raised his eyebrows.
After Brandon retreated to the garage to dispose of the toilet paper, Tack launched into an absolutely mindboggling explanation. Allie had known Tack was keeping something from her. She had known something happened in that building, something bad. But she had not expected it to be some evil fictional character who stole whatever brought Tack here and planned to destroy their entire world. Without knowing how else to react, Allie had practiced one of her infamous left hooks on Tack for keeping it from her. Okay, maybe it wasn’t infamous, but it was pretty damn impressive.
There had been a moment of satisfaction as a thin line of red trickled from his nose, only—to Allie’s dismay, but not surprise— to heal a moment later. She had raised her hand to hit him again, but he had been too quick, pinning her to the wall.
Allie glared at him for a moment, her teeth grinding together. She was in no position to do anything but concede. “Fine.”
Tack hesitated another moment before releasing her wrists, taking a step away from her. He theatrically rubbed where Allie had hit him, smiling. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. You’re strong for a little thing. Perfect form too. Why would a girl like you know how to execute a perfect left hook?”
Allie raised her chin. All her life people had made the mistake of underestimating her. “Kickboxing. I’ve been doing it for almost ten years now.”
“Unexpected.”
“And unfortunate you always heal,” Allie muttered. “I’m still waiting for you to tell me about this book you came from.” She leaned back against the wall he had pinned her to moments ago, well aware of the tiny distance between them. “You said everyone heals like you do, but what else? Can you spout out extra appendages on a whim too?” She was only half joking.
Tack squinted, as if he was concentrating on something too hard. His body tensed, the line of his jaw hardening, every piece of him conforming into a sharp and perfected angle. For a moment, Allie thought an extra arm really was going to pop out his side, but he laughed, his body relaxing. “Guess not. Sorry.”
“But you’ve seen things like that monster in the alley before? And that squid-spider thing from the abandoned house?”
His eyes met hers. “Yes. Where I grew up, it was stranger not to see things like that. We grew up in schools where the focus was on fighting. The population was evenly divided between theirs and ours. The land certainly didn’t look as it does now. The cites. The buildings. I recognize the land and some of the older structures, but there’s a different feel to everything here. There is much less open land.” His eyes were gazing out the window to their left, unfocused and dazed. “We fought for our survival. Killing monsters is just something everyone knows how to do because they have to. They have to use those skills every day.”
“You killed monsters like that every day?”
He watched her closely and rested his hand on the wall beside her head. He leaned forward. “Does it bother you? That I’ve spent my whole life killing?”
A sliver of fear prickled in the back of her head, but she shoved it down, pretending it didn’t exist, and leaned her head toward his already inclined face. Their noses brushed. “You don’t scare me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. After staring at her for a moment, he pushed off the wall and stepped away. “Good. Because I need your help.”

24. Candace

“Are you kidding me?” Candace screamed in frustration. She slipped over the side of the bathtub, wrapped a plush, white towel around herself, and hurried toward the kitchen. The phone buzzed, the high-pitched shrilling unbearably annoying. The cold air froze against Candace’s wet skin as she slid across the wooden floor of the kitchen and landed at the counter holding the phone, streaks of wet footprints marking her path.
“Hello?” she snapped.
“Hey there, killer.” Jimmy—James’s best friend—said in his usual voice, deep and thick with laughter.
Candace sighed and tucked her hair to one side, beads of water dripping from the ends and trailing down her back. “Sorry, Jim. What’s up?”
“Is James there?” he asked, his voice muffled by the sounds of a television in the background.
“No, I haven’t seen him since this morning.” Candace pulled her towel up impatiently. If he wanted James, why didn’t he call James’s cell or apartment? She wasn’t his secretary. She had been in the bath all of five minutes before the phone rang. Apparently, it was impossible for her to enjoy any form of relaxation for more than a few moments. “He said he was headed home.”
“That’s weird. I’ve called his apartment and cell three times now. He isn’t answering.”
“Maybe he’s asleep. He’s been really busy with—stuff.” Candace quickly corrected herself. Jimmy had no business in the fiasco with her invention. He didn’t need to know James was running himself ragged looking into the deaths and looking for her invention. “He was pretty exhausted when he left.”
“Maybe,” Jimmy said distantly, an ensemble of cheers exploding in the background—he must have been watching a sports game. His girlfriend was probably having a fit about the smell with all those guys in there, incense sticks stationed on every hard surface.
“What’s Kelly got burning today?” Candace tucked the corner of the towel into the top seam and hopped onto the kitchen countertop. Her fingers sifted through a pile of papers beside her absentmindedly. When her sight landed on a newspaper, she quickly averted her eyes. The headline read Police Are Stumped By Rapidly Escalating Death Toll.
“Huh?” Jimmy asked.
“You know, her incense. With a big game she’s probably got a million vanilla sticks going to counteract the beer and Cheetos.”
“What are you talking about? Kell’s allergic to vanilla, and she hates incense sticks. She won’t even wear perfume. She thinks it’s unnatural,” said Jimmy.
Now that he mentioned it, Candace remembered when she met Kelly for the first time. She had gone off on a fifteen-minute rant about scented lotions and perfumes. According to Kelly, they were disgustingly overrated these days. If Candace recalled, she hadn’t smelled so fantastic.
Then why would James tell her she had been burning vanilla? They didn’t lie to each other. James wouldn’t lie to her face…would he? More importantly, why would he?
“Of course. I must have been thinking about someone else. I’ll talk to you later, Jim. I’ll let you know if I hear from James.” Candace slid down from the counter, clutching her towel with an iron grip, her knuckles burning.
“Thanks a million, Ace. Bye,” Jimmy said as another round of cheers erupted.
Candace hung up without saying goodbye and slowly made her way back to the bathroom. Her feet skid against the wet floor, but she barely noticed it. She glided into the warm bath water until the bubbles covered her face and weaved into her hair. Her eyes closed and held her breath as she submerged her head into the water, desperately seeking some kind of relaxation, even if it only lasted as long as a single gulp of air.
For a moment, everything was blurry, silent, and peaceful. Then the next, her lungs burned for air and she had to come back up.
That’s when she saw the blood.
The tiles of the floor were slick, the deluded blood seeping across the tiles. Her white rugs lay in the bloody puddles, now matted and red. She pushed herself up hastily in the bathtub, sending large splashes of bubbly water onto the floor. She snatched up her towel, tied it around herself, and stood in the doorway, searching for the source of the blood. She wasn’t hurt; it wasn’t hers. Then where was all that blood coming from?
She screamed.
Reid’s body stretched across the counter, his blood pooling in the sink, dripping sluggishly to the floor. His face was so bloody she couldn’t recognize his features, but it was him. She knew it was Reid. Her knees gave out and she cowered against the wall beside the door. She knew he wasn’t really here, he couldn’t be. He was buried miles away from here. Then why did she keep seeing his body, broken and bloody, lifeless and disturbing?
“What do you want?” she screamed and ran her shaky hands through her hair.
“Candace,” said a low voice behind her.
She whipped her head up toward the sound, her heart in her throat. James stood in the doorway, his eyes wide, palms raised. His eyes examined the bathroom and returned to her. “What happened?”
Candace stuttered and looked back toward the sink. It was clean, white, and empty. The bathroom was in perfect order besides the thin layer of water on the floor. No blood.
James knelt down to eyelevel. She recoiled from his outstretched hands and rose to her feet. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
He looked as if she’d slapped him in the face. “Candace.”
It felt like the gears in her mind were grinding against each other, slightly off their tracks, unable to run properly. “You lied to me. You lied.”
“No I didn’t.” He jerked his head back. “What did I lie to you about? What’s going on?”
“Where were you yesterday?” she demanded.
“I was at Jimmy’s, I told you—”
“You said you smelled like vanilla because his girlfriend burned incense in their apartment. She’s allergic to vanilla, James,” Candace snapped. She couldn’t let him finish that sentence. She could not handle any more dishonesty.
“You called him checking up on me?” he demanded. “My word wasn’t enough for you?”
“He called me!” Candace screamed, pushed past James, and started toward her bedroom. “You lied about being there.” He followed her into her room and stopped her before she could slam the door. “You lied about why you smell like skank perfume. If you’re cheating on me then at least be man enough to tell me instead of lie about it.”
Something flashed behind his eyes. He looked genuinely surprised, his angry features immediately softening. “Is that what you think? God, Candace.” He ran his hands over his face. “I would never cheat on you. You know I would never cheat on you.”
“I thought I did. I thought I knew you. But I also thought you never lied to me.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t even pretend like you haven’t been feeding me bullshit the past couple of days. Either you tell me what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been or you get the hell out of my apartment. And don’t come back.” Her voice was shaky; she sounded unsure. She wished she sounded more angry, more intimidating.
He hesitated.
He hesitated. She clamped her hand around the door, prepared to slam it in his stupidly perfect and adorable face just as the doorbell rang. She exhaled through her teeth and stomped past him, not bothering to care that she was practically naked as she threw the front door open.
Tack Slater and the brunette girl—Candace could never remember her name—stood in the hallway. Their eyes widened at Candace’s disheveled appearance, dripping wet with only a towel around her body.
“What the hell do you two want?” she snapped before she could stop herself. She felt guilty as soon as the words popped out. She was angry with James, not them. After all, she had been the one to call Tack. The fact that she was desperate enough to enlist the help of a fictional sixteen-year old was seriously depressing.
Their eyes darted from Candace to James and looked at her sheepishly, assuming they were interrupting something. “Don’t worry about him. He was just leaving.” She looked at James over her shoulder, her voice full of ice. “Come on in.”
The two of them strode past her into the living room. Candace turned her gaze on James, blatantly ordering him to leave. James’s face, usually placid and vibrant, was ashen and conflicted, but he obediently retreated to the hallway in silence. Candace didn’t hesitate in slamming the door.

25. Allie

The crazy redhead—Candace—was back in her bedroom putting clothes on, Allie and Tack sitting awkwardly on her little white couch. Allie had lapsed into angry silence the moment she realized where they were going. She couldn’t fathom why Tack would ever come back to this apartment or speak to these people again. They forcibly kidnapped them, at gunpoint, and then tied her and Tack to chairs. And he willingly brought her back? Was he crazy?
Tack chuckled beside her.

“What is so funny?” Allie demanded.
“You’re cute when you’re glaring at nothing.”
This made Allie glare harder at her hands as Candace came back into the room, her towel replaced by jeans and a sweatshirt, her wet hair pulled back into a bun. She wore no makeup, revealing dozens of small scars over her face. Even with the disfigurements, she reminded Allie of Maeve’s effortless beauty. A gaping hole erupted in her stomach at the thought of her best friend, who basically disowned her a few hours earlier.
Candace fell into a chair facing the couch, contrived of identical white leather. She rested her chin on her fist, exhaustion clear in her face. “Let’s cut to the chase. You have a way to track down Jeremiah, right? That’s why you’re here.”
Allie looked to Tack in puzzlement. He hadn’t informed her of the purpose of this visit, and she hadn’t asked. But why had he enlisted her help if they were tracking Jeremiah down?
“Actually, Allie has a way to find him.” His eyes shifted to hers, his hands resting calmly in his lap, which only made her more confused.
“Wait, what?” Allie squeaked. “Why are we looking for Jeremiah? I thought this Violet chick was the problem.”
“Yes, the ultimate goal is to locate Violet; however, we have absolutely no idea where she is or where to begin looking for her,” Candace interjected, obviously impatient whenever it came to Allie. Something about her presence irritated her. “Jeremiah is a genius—certifiably insane—but a genius nonetheless. We’re hoping he can help us. Find a way to track Violet or something.”
“Your friend saw Jeremiah,” added Tack. “Maybe she can help us find him.”
Becca? He wanted her to ask Becca—crazy thirteen-year-old Becca with the cracked red lipstick and violent tendencies. There was no way she could be of any use to them. She was crazy. She tackled and beat the snot out of some stranger for making a stupid comment under his breath. She was the last person Allie would go to for help.
“Well?” Candace demanded. “Do you know how to find him or not?”
“I guess we can ask Becca where she saw him,” said Allie, cringing at the words.
“Fantastic. Do you know where we can find Becca?” Candace was on her feet, hurrying toward a table on the opposite side of the room. She slipped a cell phone from the surface, an array of scars, alike those on her face, flashing on the back of her hand.
Blood rushed to Allie’s cheeks. She knew exactly where to find Becca tonight, because she was supposed to be there herself. Tonight was group therapy. She had never planned to return after the last session, something that did not please Lauren.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know where we can find her.”
A sharp ringing filled the room, making Allie jump.

Candace gaped at the phone in silence for a moment, allowing it to shrill freely, until she exhaled and looked up. For a moment, she looked terrified, but the look disappeared from her eyes as quickly as it had come. “Go find Becca. I have to take care of this.”
#
Allie had expected Tack to make some kind of sarcastic comment when he realized where they were going, but he didn’t. He walked beside her in silence as they approached the concrete stairs, a line of glass doors awaiting them at the top.
The building used for therapy was previously some kind of school, elementary, Allie thought, but it looked like it didn’t get much use besides miscellaneous visits like these. All but one of the doors remained locked at all times, and, of course, Allie couldn’t remember which one it was. She tugged on the handle of the closest, only to jerk forward, her face nearly colliding with the glass when it didn’t budge. Tack tried the one to her left, effortlessly tossing the door aside. She scowled to herself.
Ugly and stained blue carpeting spanned the lobby. An old front desk acted as the only furniture in the room, shoved as far back against the opposing wall as possible.
“It’s this way,” Allie mumbled and headed toward the stairs. The meeting was held on the third floor, each flight of stairs steeper than the next. She was scant of breath when they reached the top, but Tack, of course, was fine.
The blue carpeting shifted to a putrid green color as they made their way down the hall, a single fluorescent light glowing overhead. The door farthest down on the right laid ajar, muffled voices pervading into the hall.
“So group therapy, huh?” Tack’s voice pierced the silence, and was, surprisingly, even-toned opposed to humorous. Allie waited for the jokes, the laughter, something, but it didn’t come.
“I’ve only been to one meeting. My mom forced me to go,” Allie said shortly, not wanting to talk about it.
“Why?” Tack asked.

Allie gritted her teeth. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she kept hers trained forward. “Those pictures Candace showed you when we were tied to those chairs? Remember the one of the seventeen-year-old boy who died?”
“Yeah?”
“He was my boyfriend,” Allie said, deciding against adding in that she saw Dean’s dead body and the millions of other things that were wrong with her.
They crossed over the doorway into the small room, a familiar circle of red chairs occupying the majority of the space. A woman with ice blonde hair and a face full of wrinkles—the therapist—rushed toward them before Tack had the chance to respond. She was probably in her early thirties, but looked much older. Judging by the appearance of her face, leather tight and cracked, too much tanning was to blame.
“Natalie!” she threw her arms around Allie’s neck. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again. Welcome!” She smelled strongly of peppermint and lemon—an odd combination. Allie wasn’t fond of it. The therapist pulled back, taking in the sight of Tack. Her light and overly plucked eyebrows arched. “And you brought someone with you.”
“Tack Slater.” Tack gave her a polite smile and slid his hand across the small of Allie’s back. His face was calm and unfazed, his movement natural, like it was familiar and something he did often. Allie, however, couldn’t contain the jolt of shock that rocked her body, making her twitch under his touch. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.
It was still embarrassing.
“If you’ll excuse us, there’s someone we need to speak to,” said Tack.
The therapist’s face fell. She composed herself quickly and patted Allie on the shoulder. “Have a seat anywhere. Good to meet you, Tack. I hope we’ll be seeing you next week.” She winked at him.
“Of course.” He nodded once, guiding Allie away from the conversation before he finished saying the words. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the therapist had stopped staring at him—she’d already turned to another arriving person—before removing his hand from her back. “Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, his lips brushing her ear. “Just not into the whole cougar thing.”
Allie snorted, surveying the room for Becca. “Conceited, much?” It stung slightly that he had only touched her to fend off the therapist.
“Well, obviously, but come on. I thought she was going to rip my clothes off right there.”
“Pity.”
He grinned.“You see Becca?”
Allie already had the word no formed on her lips when a short and skinny girl slipped into the room, pressed flat against the wall, narrowly escaping the therapist’s line of sight. Her curly hair was in two braids over her shoulders, red lipstick messily scribbled over her mouth, a rainbow scarf knotted numerous times around her neck. She slid into the farthest chair, chewing furiously on a braid.
“I’m guessing that’s—”
“Yep.” Allie finished his thought. Becca sat with her eyes glued to the floor, hands pulling on the fraying ends of her scarf. “Those are the hands the entire world is resting in.”
“Looks promising,” Tack said cheerily and started toward her with a wide smile. Becca glanced up and upon seeing Tack, her eyes widened to twice their regular size. Allie rolled her eyes and trailed behind him. It really wasn’t fair for him to smile at Becca that way, or anyone for that matter—the poor girl didn’t stand a chance.
Tack slid into the chair beside Becca, his eyes wandering around the room, pretending not to see her. He crossed his legs and rested his hands behind his head as Allie took the seat next to him.
He leaned his head to the side and glanced at Becca, who brazenly stared back. “Hey.” He flashed a half smile at her. “How’s it going?”
She squeaked in response.
Allie pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’m Tack.” He lifted the edge of her rainbow scarf, examined the stitching, and released it. Becca looked like she was going to pass out. “And you are?”
“Becca,” she gasped, undoing the threads of her scarf with her fingers. She resembled a spinning top, strung tightly and spiraling with all its might like any moment it might collapse into a lifeless heap.
“Cool name,” Tack murmured in an uninterested voice and leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting away from Becca.
Panicked she lost his attention, Becca started babbling. “I haven’t seen you at these meetings before. Are you new? New to town? Or just new here? Did you go somewhere else before? My family’s from Connecticut originally, but we moved here when I was seven. Gee, seven. I was so young. That seems like so long ago. Funny how fast time flies, eh?”
Allie waited for Becca to pause and take a breath, but she just kept going.
“My dad always laughs at people who say ‘eh,’” she continued with great enthusiasm. “He thinks it makes them sound Canadian. What about you? Do you think I sound Canadian? Not that I have anything against Canadians. I mean, it would be fine if you were one—”
“Becca.” Tack tilted to the side and leaned toward her.
Becca’s eyes widened, her cheeks a deep red. “Uh-huh?”

“Can I ask you something? I could really use your help.”
“Anything.”
“Could you tell me exactly where you saw Jeremiah?”
Becca’s face pinched together. She jerked her head back and sat up straight, her fidgeting hands abandoning the scarf. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Oh, no, no, of course not.” Tack reached out and laid his hand on hers. She softened at this. “The thing is, I believe you. I more than believe you. I know you’re right. I know you saw him and now I really need to find him. And I need your help to do that.”
Becca stared at their touching hands, a deep smile set into her face. “I guess I could help.” She sat up straighter and tossed one of her braids over her shoulder.
Tack slunk back into his chair and replaced his hands behind his head. He looked at Allie sideways, sporting a boasting grin. “And that’s how it’s done, Cross.”
#
They left therapy early, something that did not please the therapist. After listening to a handful of people share, Allie began to worry the others would catch onto Tack’s snorts and laughs he attempted to disguise as coughing fits. When someone launched into a story about the dream they had last night of marrying their cat, and the accompanied worries of what it could mean, Allie deemed it an appropriate time to politely excuse themselves.
The streets were dark, the sun long since set. Becca led them down a nearly abandoned street, a scarce number of streetlights still in working order. The buildings on either side stretched up and out in a claustrophobic manner, distorting the little light left, submerging the entire street in shadows. Most of the buildings had boarded up windows, the exteriors covered in rust and dirt. They must have been foreclosed years ago. Empty bottles littered the streets, and a cluster of cigarettes with the butts still glowing dimly rested near Allie’s feet. She felt like she was about to witness a drug deal.
What had Becca been doing in such a sketchy area when she saw Jeremiah—if she had actually seen him at all? Allie wasn’t entirely convinced the girl wasn’t just crazy.
Allie and Tack walked beside each other, Becca skipping—literally skipping—in front of them.
“Are you sure she knows where she’s going?” Allie mumbled.
Tack looked at her sideways. “Have a little faith.” He turned back to Becca, who now spun in a quick circle every few skips. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” he called.
Allie scowled.
“Right this way, right this way!” she sung and did a pirouette, pausing only for a moment before proceeding to skip again.
Allie turned to say something to Tack and ran into Becca’s back, who stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, staring at the ground.
“What now?” Allie demanded.
Becca looked to Tack with a triumphant smile. “We’re here.”
Allie looked around. They were the only people in sight, alleyways spanning on either side of them. The darkness was blinding, an old streetlight flickering overhead. There didn’t seem to be much of anything for blocks. Even Tack looked unsure now. His brows knitted together. “We need to find Jeremiah, remember?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid,” Becca snapped. “You asked me to show you where I saw him and I am. Right here.” She pointed at the ground.
Allie squinted her eyes, and a circular shape swam into view. A manhole. Becca dragged them down to the shadiest part of town to show them a manhole?
Tack knelt and placed his hand on the metal cover. Steam lazily seeped from the cracks. Allie was no expert, but that couldn’t be normal, right?
“He came out of here?” Tack asked.
She nodded, looking at Tack as if she expected some kind of praise. Tack slipped something from the waist of his jeans—a knife, probably—and pried the cover from the hole. The stench of sewage, mold, and something overwhelmed Allie. It was very similar to what the monster in the alley had smelled of, like death and darkness. Tack and she exchanged a look and he rose back to his feet, knife in hand.
Becca stared at him with wide eyes, awed and love struck. He jerked his chin in her direction. “We should get her back to the school.”
“You take her back,” said Allie. “Her parents are probably worried sick.”
“My parents always pick me up ten minutes after the meeting lets out,” Becca eagerly interjected.
“I’m not going to leave you in this skeevy place in the middle of the night,” said Tack.
“We can’t take her with us,” Allie countered. “She’s just a kid and we need to get her out of here just in case…you know.” Another squid-spider monster pops out and kills us all.
“In case we can’t deny our underlying urges anymore and get it on in the middle of the street?” Tack grinned.
“You’re hilarious. Really. Now take her back.” Allie pushed Becca toward Tack. Becca eagerly obliged. She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned her face against his chest.
He scowled. “Why don’t we both take her back?”
“Because we’ll never be able to find this particular manhole again in the dark. You’re fast. Take her back and then we’ll go down.”
“Do you have some sort of death wish?” he demanded.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Allie snapped.
She was getting used to Tack scowling at her. The intensity of his features increased with each passing second—he’d realized he couldn’t sway her. He handed a knife to her, his face serious. “Take this and don’t you dare go down there without me.”
Allie took the knife from him. He didn’t release it right away, the skin of his fingers burning against hers. “Wait for me.”
“I will.” He released the knife, and she curled her fingers around the hilt.
Tack swung Becca onto his back. She excitedly wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his back. He took off the way they came. The moment they exited the shallow pool of light, Allie couldn’t see them anymore.
The manhole lay exposed before her, faint streaks of light streaming onto the pavement. Partially because Tack had forbidden it, and partially because it seemed considerably better lit than the black street surrounding her, it lay welcoming and alluring. Allie eyed the tip of the ladder peeking from the hole and glanced back the way Tack disappeared into the darkness.

26. James

“Get out of my way, Eliza,” James said through his teeth. Eliza stood between him and the door, blocking his only route of escape. There was a threatening curve to her hand as it tightened around the door.
“James, please—”

“Is this why you called me here? If this is why you want me in your life again then you can just forget it.”
“Of course this isn’t the only reason. If you would just calm down we could talk about it,” Eliza pleaded. She wore her hair loosely behind her head in a bun, a silk nightdress dangling from her shoulders.
“I said get out of my way, Eliza.” James yanked at the front door. It lurched forward, but Eliza rammed her foot into the side, stopping it in its tracks. She was stronger than she looked.
“You can’t run away from your problems forever.” Her eyes were wide and innocent, an endless maze James had the tendency of falling in. He averted his gaze, and fixed it on the door behind her head.
“I’m not running away from anything. I just have no desire to see him.” Anger, hot as fire, sharp as ice, consumed every inch of his being, right down to his fingertips.
“His name is Aaron, and no matter how angry you are with him—”
“Angry?” James demanded, allowing his gaze to drift back to Eliza’s face. “You think this is me angry? There isn’t even a word to describe how much I hate him. I’m not going to see him. Ever.”
“He’s our brother,” she said helplessly.
“He’s your brother. He’s nothing to me now. And no matter how much I love you, Liz, I can’t do this for you. I can’t go and see him.”
“It’s been nearly fifteen years—”
“Well I’m glad you’ve been able to get over it,” James snapped. “But I still hate him just as much as I did that day, and that’s never going to change.”
“He misses you,” she whispered. “He asks about you every time I go.”
“Then you can give him a message for me.” There was burning behind James’s eyes, but he ignored it. There was no sadness. There was no pity or grief inside of him. Only hatred. That’s all he could afford to have for his brother. “Tell him to go to hell.”

27. Candace

Three things struck Candace as strange when Mcullough called and asked her to meet him. One, he requested she meet him at his house rather than the Center. Mcullough was a very private man—Nonmembers were not permitted in the Center and a select few Members, Candace included, had ever been allowed in his office. Never before had Mcullough invited someone to his home. In fact, most Members assumed he slept upside down in the basement of the Center like some kind of vampire.
Secondly, he addressed her as Candace. No one at the Center called her Candace.
Lastly, when he called, his voice was utterly calm. With a fictitious character stealing her invention, a Center Member dying, and the looming threat of this Violet character destroying their world, she had assumed there would have at least been an angry twinge to his voice. But there hadn’t been. He sounded—happy, almost.
The thought of Mcullough not being aware of the current chaos encompassing them, and Candace having to explain it to him, made her lightheaded.
His house was situated outside the city, a twenty-minute drive from the Center. Meeting outside the Center implied an unfamiliar sense of formality. Candace reluctantly wore her hair down, but refused to dress up. She wore her favorite jeans, black tank top, and white cardigan. She wore no makeup. Though she felt the need to look more casual and like herself, it was still Mcullough. And Candace couldn’t bring herself to put on makeup for Mcullough.
After exiting off the highway, Candace followed a winding dirt road framed by lush trees on either side. The grass was a brilliant green—the kind of shade that could only be achieved through immense effort and care. But this couldn’t all be Mcullough’s land. The road spanned over a mile.
A Victorian style mansion jutted up before Candace. Countless windows lined the front of the house, a pair of cylindrical towers swathed in willowing vines peeking from the back. A gate hindered her ability to go any further. A cobblestone driveway laid on the opposite side, circling around a cement fountain, water trickling from the outstretched hand of an angel.
Candace rolled down her window and peered around, but there was no voice box or operator to open the gate for her. She cut the engine and slipped from her car, the air thick with the scent of wet trees. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she paced toward the gate, circled her hands around two of the bars, and pulled. It didn’t budge. She leaned her face between the bars and peered around the perfectly manicured lawn, which endlessly stretched in all directions, but no one seemed to be around.
“Excuse me, miss.” A voice appeared in the silence, making Candace jump around in surprise, hitting her head against the gate.
“Ow.” She winced and placed her hand to her rapidly racing heart.
A young man, probably about eighteen or so, stood before her. He wore khaki pants and a white T-shirt, a blue ball cap lowered over his forehead. When he removed it, a face of tan skin was revealed, shaggy brown hair suctioned to his face with sweat. There were deep grass stains on the knees of his pants, a thin layer of dirt covering his hands. “Sorry to scare you,” he said.
Candace rubbed the sore spot on her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you the lady meeting Mr. Mcullough tonight?” Candace noticed a slight accent in his voice, but couldn’t quite place it. It sounded Middle-Eastern.
“Yes, that’s me.”

He smiled at her and punched a few buttons on the post near the gate. The metal screeched as it cranked open. “If you would like, you can head on in and I can park your car.”
“That’s awfully kind of you.” Candace smiled and handed him her keys. She had a strong urge to tip him—she could sympathize with having to work for Mcullough, though she suspected his job was worse than hers was. She dealt with professional Mcullough at the workplace with many witnesses. He had him up close and personal—uncensored.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said and began in the direction of the house.
“Are you Mcullough’s gardener?” Candace asked.
“Yes and no. I do practically everything here. The landscape, the inside of the home as well as anything else Mr. Mcullough asks. He also has a woman—Penelope—who works inside. She helps with cooking and cleaning.”
“Well, you’re very good at your job. The landscaping is gorgeous. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to maintain all of this land.”
He smiled. “It’s not without difficulty.” He looked at her as they passed the angel fountain, his eyes surveying her face.
“What is it?” Candace asked.
“You are much kinder than most of his visitors.” He nodded toward the house. “You should get inside. Mr. Mcullough is expecting you.”
They mounted the porch steps, the front doors stretching out before them, making Candace feel like a doll. Large white pillars descended from the roof, concealing the porch in a dark and misty shade. Her heart throbbed in her chest, nervousness biting her stomach as it always did when she had to confront Mcullough.
“Thank you—I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” Candace paused with her hand on the doorknob.
The man’s eyes bulged. “Jonathan.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Jonathan.” Candace expected him to walk away, but he remained on the porch at her side. Candace stared at the front door and took a deep breath.
Jonathan touched her shoulder lightly. “Good luck. Whistle if you need a quick getaway.”
Candace glanced at him sideways, smiling. “I might take you up on that.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Jonathan turned and headed down the driveway, whistling and twisting Candace’s keys around his finger. Candace couldn’t help but vaguely wonder if he and this Penelope woman were Marked too, or if that qualification only counted for Center Members.
She turned the knob and stepped into the house.
As overwhelmingly extravagant as the exterior had been, it had nothing on the interior. Everything dripped with the essence of money. Expensive rugs spanned the floors beneath the perfectly dusted tables and bookshelves. A winding staircase coiled upward, beautiful paintings tastefully positioned on the walls. Candace felt like she was in a museum, automatically self-conscious in her jeans. A crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling, filling the room with soft, yellow light.
To her left was a set of giant wooden doors, the stairs before her, and a wide hallway to her right. Mcullough stood in the arch of the hallway, his face concealed by shadows. His appearance was slightly astonishing—plain jeans and a gray T-shirt. Candace had never seen him out of his suits and ties. He always looked like he just stepped out of a James Bond movie. Although terrifying and more intimidating than anyone Candace had ever met, Mcullough was always one of the most handsome and put together men she had ever seen. “Welcome, Candace,” he said and started down the hallway. Candace followed him, taking each step with considerable caution.
“Mcullough, if this about—”
“Please, call me Wayne.”
He led her to the first door on the right, opening to a magnificent dining room. The table could hold dozens, but only two places were set at the head. A tall, white candle flickered in a wrought iron holding between the china plates. Candace’s stomach knotted.
He gestured for her to take a seat in the wooden chair at the head of the table. He held it out for her with expectant eyes. She sunk into the cushioned seat, eyeing Mcullough. He never, ever, let people call him by his first name. Most Members didn’t even know his first name. Was he trying to throw her off? Act nice and then bombard her with cruel and sadistic repercussions for failing?
She waited, but he just kept smiling at her. It was almost friendly.
“Wayne.” Candace finally corrected herself and wiped the sweat from her hands on her jeans. “I presume you heard about—”
“The death of one of our own? David Gretch, yes. Tragic, however, not surprising.” He took the seat beside her and rested his napkin in his lap, his voice indifferent.
“What?” Candace squeaked.
“Well, he and Devereux Grob stole your invention, did they not? I imagine they didn’t know how to operate it properly. Grob has been dealt with for his participation in the matter,” he continued, still smiling.
Her skin crawled. “Dealt with?”
Mcullough laughed, the sound filling the room. It may have been the first time she had ever heard him laugh. It sounded unnatural. People like Mcullough weren’t meant to laugh like that. It sounded forced, as if he had borrowed someone else’s laugh for the occasion. “You really think the worst in me, don’t you, Candace? I simply excused him from the Center and sent him on his way. He cleaned out his office and left within the hour. I had a team clean up the lab.”
She didn’t like the way he said her name. She wished he would call her Madoc like everyone else. The full weight of his words finally sunk in. He excused Grob from the Center? “But he’s Marked!” Candace exclaimed before she could stop herself.
Something flashed behind Mcullough’s eyes, though his expression didn’t change. “And what do you know about being Marked, Candace?”
“I don’t,” she admitted. “I mean, I don’t know what it means.”
“As you shouldn’t,” he said in a voice that told her the topic was off limits.
“Did Grob tell you about Extermination?” she asked.
He seemed to relax at the shift in subject. “Ah, yes. That is partially why I’ve called you here. I assume you already have a plan to stop this Violet?” He rested his head on his fist, instantly looking years younger. Candace couldn’t stop staring at her boss. He looked like a completely different person tonight. He almost looked normal, like an actual human being, not just the terrifying man with emotionless expressions, or the bodiless head that lectured her in nightmares.
The dancing flame of the candle kept catching her peripheral vision, demanding her attention. It smelled of vanilla.
Candace scowled at her hands, fresh hatred toward James flooding into her system. “Well, kind of. Gretch and Grob didn’t know how to use my invention properly, so when they used a book, they brought every character here instead of a specific one. So they accidently brought everything from The Ring Brothers here as well as Extermination—the good and the bad. I was hoping to find Jeremiah. I thought maybe he could track Violet.”
“Brilliant plan, as always,” Mcullough mused.
Candace scooted slightly away from him in her chair. “I haven’t been able to find him yet.”
“We’ll find him,” he said simply.
“Why are you so calm? This Violet woman could destroy the entire world—the entire world—any second and you’re sitting here making idle chit chat?” Her hand flew over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she just yelled at him. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed, throwing his head back as he did so. “You don’t have to be so afraid of me, Candace. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know that—”
A woman wearing a white apron entered the room, a silver platter balanced on her hand. Candace sighed in relief and wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans again.
“Your dinner.” The woman set the platter down between them and smiled at Candace. Jonathan said her name was Penelope. Her skin was dark and clear, her eyes a deep brown, her hair short. Pretty.
Candace glanced over to see Mcullough glaring at Penelope. Penelope noticed his expression a moment after Candace did. The skin of her cheeks turned a red tint and she stood up straight. “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Be on your way, Penelope.” Mcullough flicked his wrist.
Penelope nodded and disappeared from the room, her eyes on the floor.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Mcullough said, turning his eyes back to Candace. She wished he hadn’t. “To answer your question, I’m calm because I happen to know you have someone looking for Jeremiah as we speak. Tack Slater. That was your test subject’s name, correct?” He gave her a wry, knowing smile and distributed the food Penelope had brought onto both of their plates.
“How did you—”
“Fearing me seems to be a trend in the Center. Grob was more than willing to tell me anything I wished to know before he was dismissed.”
“How can you be so sure that Tack will find Jeremiah? He’s just a kid.” Candace pulled on her sleeves uncomfortably, wishing Mcullough would stop smiling at her—wishing she could blow that stupid candle out.
“Oh I have much more faith in Tack Slater than that,” he said with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “As should you.”
Candace’s skin was full of itching. Why was he talking this way, looking at her as if he knew a million things she didn’t? And what did he know about Tack Slater? He couldn’t possibly have read that book.
“You’re just going to do nothing, then?” Candace demanded. “Wait and see how it all plays out?”
“Are you asking for my help, Candace?” he asked.
Candace didn’t like the look in his eyes.
Stumbling to her feet, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glanced at the door. “I should get going, unless there was anything else you needed.”
He rose from his chair, stopping a few inches from her. His towering height left her hinging her head back to see his face.
“Just one more thing,” he whispered and grasped the back on her head. He shoved his lips against hers, strong and fevered, not giving her a chance to stop him.
Candace froze against his mouth. He forced her lips to part, twisting his hands in her hair. She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t stop him. She was so angry with James she felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction—it’s what he deserved. It’s what he did to her, right? Less than a moment later, the satisfaction shifted to guilt, and disgust. She didn’t like Mcullough, not even remotely. It was all she could do to tolerate him as a human being. She pushed him away.
“I have a boyfriend.” The words were merely ghosts on her lips. “I have a boyfriend,” she repeated, louder this time.
His eyes brows arched in amusement, not at all ashamed. “Where is he now, your boyfriend?”
Honestly, Candace didn’t know. He’s probably with his new girl.
Mcullough grinned at her expression, taking it as another triumph. He thought he was winning, and maybe he was, but he needed to understand that Candace wasn’t the prize.
“It’s doesn’t matter where he is or where he’s not. The only thing that matters right now is that you are my boss, I am your employee, and you are not going to kiss me again.”
“Is that so?” Mcullough crossed his arms and humorously tapped his chin.“Tell me Miss Madoc, when did you acquire all the power in the Center? If I recall, my name resides on the exterior of the building.”
“What is it you’re trying to say?” Candace demanded.
The bizarre sense of youth that latched itself to Mcullough since Candace arrived dispersed, the frightening and alien-like version of her boss returned. “I’m saying this won’t be the last time I kiss you.”
“If that’s the case, then you can go ahead and dismiss me just like Grob.” Candace started toward the door.
“Tell me, have you figured out what you’re going to do about Reid yet?”
She whipped around to face him. This only made him smile wider. “What are you talking about?”
He approached her like a lion eyeing its prey, his movements slow and deliberate. “How many times have you seen him now? Two? Maybe three?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Candace backed up until her back was flat against the wall. His lips brushed her ear when he spoke. “Is the guilt eating you alive?”
“Get out of my way,” said Candace, surprised at how level her voice sounded.
“Wouldn’t you like for me to tell you why you’re seeing him?”
His eyes met hers, amused and dark. Candace glared back at him pointedly. Every fiber of her being screamed with curiosity, desperate to know why flashes of Reid’s dead body were tormenting her. But she couldn’t give Mcullough what he wanted. He couldn’t have that kind of satisfaction.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she snapped, shoved past him, and darted from the room.
Jonathan stood waiting at the mouth of the hallway, holding her keys out for her. “Well done,” he whispered. “I thought you might need these.”
“Thanks, Jonathan.” Candace grabbed the keys and hurried out the door with a déjà vu feeling that no matter how far or fast she ran, she would never escape Mcullough.

28. Allie

The wind whistled by, the eerie darkness making Allie feel claustrophobic. The manhole burned in her peripheral vision. Would it be so bad if she took a small peek? She could be in and out before Tack made it back, easily. She could probably even poke around a bit…
No. She promised Tack she would wait. It was better that way—safer. After all, she wasn’t sure she would be lucky enough to survive another encounter with a monster from The Ring Brothers.
But.
It would probably be safer to wait down there. She was practically begging to be mugged or raped or killed standing out in an abandoned street, all alone, in the middle of the night. It only made sense to seek cover. Tack would understand. He would be angry with her for not listening to him, but after she explained it, he would agree with her.
Plus, it was cold. The temperature itself was normal for summertime, but the wind was like ice biting her skin. Numbness permeated her hands like thick liquid, turning her fingers stiff with an icy burning. Tack wouldn’t want her to freeze to death—it was in everyone’s best interest for her to go on without him. Why did she have to listen to him, anyway? It’s not as if he had any kind of real authority over her.
Careful to leave the cover wide open so Tack could find the manhole, Allie slipped inside.
Dim lights glowed below her, the chips of stars disappearing as she descended into the tunnel. There was a shallow stream of water running along the center, and slick, tiled bricks encircled the tunnel. A canopy of an identical surface spread over Allie’s head as she hopped from the ladder, her feet echoing against the floor. She pushed herself against the wall to avoid the stream. Tints of indigo and rose reflected off the tiles, a narrow blue light streaming from an archway a few dozen feet down.
It was disgusting, but cleaner than Allie expected.
The light was tempting and alluring, but it would be stupid to venture on without Tack. Now she was being reckless. She froze at the sound of muffled voices down the tunnel. Their words were incoherent; the tips and edges of their tones sifted through the air, concealed just enough that Allie couldn’t decipher anything useful about them.
Her ears strained to make out the words, blocking out the rest of the world, focusing, narrowing…
A hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
Allie’s heart leapt in her throat and she whirled around, relieved at the sight of Tack, but he didn’t release his hand from her mouth. She shoved his chest and he stumbled back. “You scared the—”
He yanked her back and flattened himself against the titled wall, his hand slapping over her mouth. “Shh,” he said desperately in her ear.
That was when she noticed the footsteps making their way up the tunnel.
They hunched in the shadows, Allie’s back flat against his chest, their arms and legs a mesh of tangled limbs. Her body rose and fell with his breathing, short and shallow. The blue light expanded and fed into the tunnel, swallowing their shelter of shadows. Three large and broad figures swam into view.
They noticed Allie and Tack half a second later. “Seize them!”
Tack took off running the opposite direction, not bothering to avoid the water. He pulled her along with him, his hand tightly intertwined with hers. The length of his legs greatly surpassed her own, making keeping up with him extremely difficult. Her muscles burned, but she pushed herself faster, the sensation of her muscles detaching from her bones filling her body.
“Stop them!”
Splashing footsteps, fast and heavy, erupted behind them.
Metal flashed through the air an inch from Allie’s face. The dagger plunged into the bricks of the tunnel with so much force the surface cracked, the blade completely engulfed in the wall. An inch to the left and it would have taken Allie’s head off.
“Run!” Tack pushed her ahead of him, his body shielding hers.
She pushed her legs harder, willing them to acquire strength they simply did not have.
Tack let out a grunt behind her, followed by a loud splash and bang as he fell. Allie stopped immediately and turned. Tack lay on the ground, his legs submerged in the water, his face flat against the bricks. A knife stuck out of his lower back. “Keep running,” he gasped.
Allie ignored him and hurried to his side. The men were advancing, water slapping loudly against the tiles. She closed her eyes and yanked the knife from his back, red seeping across his shirt. He exhaled through his teeth in pain.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Get out of here!”
Allie exhaled in relief as his back began to heal.
The water stopped sloshing.
A knife pressed to her throat.
#
A web of wires hung overhead, multitudes of colors dangling down, attached to various machines. If Allie didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t be able to tell they were in the sewers—underground, yes, that was completely obvious from the stench of mold, the dampness of the walls and the corroded texture of the floor—but the room seemed like a fairly adequate workspace.
The men shoved Allie and Tack into a corner, their hands bound with rope behind their backs. The men walked behind Allie and Tack, hampering Allie’s ability to see their faces. All she knew was they were large, violent, and silent. Eerily silent.
Machinery and complicated equipment lay scattered throughout the room in disarray, no particular order apparent. Lanterns flickered on beams stationed at the corners of the room, a dim pool of blue light eliminating the shadows. The three men stood in front of them, staring at them curiously. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Allie, though she was certain she had never seen any of them in her life. If someone looking like that had passed her on the streets of Manhattan, she was sure she would have remembered it.
The one on the left was considerably shorter than the other two, with dark hair and matching thick stubble concealing most of his face. A threatening axe hung from his large fist, his body covered by matted clothes made of animal fur. Allie stifled a laugh; he looked like an outcast Viking.
The other two were so similar in appearance Allie could barely tell them apart. They towered over the Viking one, each sporting ice blonde hair, though one had it chopped at his ears and the other had it tied back into a ponytail. They wore simple jeans and jackets, each holding large knives. They had a mediaeval feel to their appearance. The one in the middle—Ponytail—had broader shoulders, and the one on his left, who looked frail and scrawny compared to him, had the choppy, uneven hair. It looked like someone attacked him with scissors, but only got half his head.
“Who are you?” Ponytail spoke, his voice thick and full—a voice from a different time.
“We mean no harm to you. We’ve come to see Jeremiah,” said Tack in a calm voice. He probably had an array of weapons stashed on him somewhere; he probably had a plan to get out.
The short Viking one snorted. “And for what purpose have you come to see Jeremiah?”
“We need his help,” Allie said. The ropes cut into her wrists, needles prickling up her fingers.
Scissor-hair seemed to ponder this. He rested his knife on a table against the far wall where a dozen or so other weapons were lying in a perfectly straight line. He paced slowly along the wall, making his way toward them. Discomfort bubbled in Allie’s stomach. She hadn’t decided if she needed to be afraid or not. If they were going to kill her and Tack, they would have already, right?
“You’re Agro,” Allie gasped and the man circling them paused. He stared at her curiously, a menacing curl to his lip. “And Caden.” Allie looked to Ponytail. “And Naoise.” The short Viking one straightened at his name.
“Why would a child like yourself know of us?” Scissor-hair—Agro—asked, stopping inches from her face.
“You know, don’t you?” Allie said quietly.
“And I assume the two of you have come to understand the current predicament as well. Is that why you seek Jeremiah?” Hard lines patterned his face. They weren’t wrinkles—Agro was probably in his early twenties—they were battle scars. Some were deep burns, others faded slashes and injuries where the skin ruggedly sewed itself back together.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on? You know these guys?” Tack demanded.
Agro stood and returned to the sides of the other two, Caden and Naoise. The resemblance was visible now, the same-sloped nose, the way their arms hung at slightly awkward angels from their shoulders. Battle scars tattooed their skin, identical to Agro, though Naoise, the short Viking one, was clearly the worst off.
Allie swallowed. “They’re the Ring Brothers.”

29. Candace

Tissues were scattered everywhere, but Candace—clean freak and all—felt no inclination to clean them up. She sat crossed legged on the floor, glaring at the blank screen of her television, finally out of tears. Her job was finished, relationship destroyed—what else was there? What did she do before James and the Center? She couldn’t go back to living off popcorn in a heatless apartment, isolated and perpetually unhappy.
The door to her apartment swung open and James strode in uninvited. Despite her anger toward him, her heart swelled as he made straight for her and knelt so they were at eyelevel. No one else could make her feel better after what happened with Mcullough; James had always been the only person capable of comforting her. A moment of silence passed as he stared at her, the relief she felt slowly dissipating. She couldn’t forget about that damn perfume and whatever it meant. She couldn’t forget that he’d been lying to her, no matter how badly she wanted to.
“Get out of my apartment. Leave your key on the table on your way out,” Candace mumbled halfheartedly, not looking at him, not bothering to care that she probably looked puffy and pale.
“I’m here to explain,” James said.
“I don’t want to hear it.” Candace pushed herself up, taking her tissue box with her, and turned to wander toward the kitchen.
“I have a younger sister. Her name is Eliza. That’s where I was and that’s whose perfume was on my shirt.” He walked in front her, stopping her in her tracks.
He sounded sincere, like he was telling the truth, but then again, he always did. James could tell you he saw a pack of Martians in tutus strutting through Brooklyn without batting an eye, making it impossible not to believe him. Candace couldn’t decide if it made him endearing, or just the world’s greatest liar. “And why should I believe you?”
“I also have an older brother. His name is Aaron. He’s been in jail practically my entire life,” James continued. “Eliza wanted me to go visit him with her. That’s why I was there. I haven’t spoken to her or anyone in my family in years.”
“You never even told me you have siblings,” Candace said quietly, the realization that James never told her anything about his past gnawing at her stomach.
“I don’t like to talk about my family.”
“Why not?” Candace raised her eyebrows.
James looked paler than usual, the freckles on the outsides of his cheekbones prominent and golden. He was chewing furiously on his lower lip—something he always did when he was anxious. He didn’t answer her.
“Okay. That’s great. Get out.” Candace nodded toward the door.
“Candace,” James pleaded.
“All I get from you lately is secrecy and mysteries. You dodge every personal question, and you have since we met. We’ve been together for over a year and you’ve never told me a single thing about your family. That doesn’t strike you as strange, James?”
He reached for her hands, but she jerked away.
He let his hands fall, hurt flashing across his face. “You really want to know?”
“Yes. I really want to know.”
“Then you’d better sit down,” James said.
“I’m perfectly fine standing.”
“No, Candace.” He looked at her through his eyelashes. “You’re going to want to sit down.”
Reluctantly, Candace sank into the couch, James beside her.
There was a silent intensity in the way he looked at her, a smoldering muffled behind his eyes. “I was ten at the time,” he said. His voice was level and soft, so quiet Candace had to strain her ears to hear him. “My mother had just picked me up from a soccer game. She had some kind of book club that afternoon, so she picked me up from the field, dropped me off in front of our house, and hurried to her friend’s house a few neighborhoods over.” He was rubbing his hands up and down the legs of his jeans, his eyes distantly gazing at the floor.
“I grabbed the key from under the mat and headed inside, worried about pissing my parents off from tracking mud through the foyer with my cleats. I threw my gear in the front closet and heard something in the kitchen. My sister was at a ballet lesson, so it was just my father and brother in the house.” His hands stopped moving and clenched into fists.
Candace wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, brush the hair out of his eyes, but decided against it.
“I don’t know what happened before I got there, I’ve never asked because I haven’t seen Aaron since then. But from the hallway I saw my father lying on the kitchen floor, flat on his back, Aaron standing over him. Aaron was sixteen at the time. He and my father never saw eye to eye, but I’d never seen them fight before. And just as I started down to hall to see what was going on, Aaron brought my mother’s silver butcher knife down into my father’s chest.”
Candace covered her mouth with her hands.

“I screamed and Aaron looked up. He pulled the knife from my father’s chest and stormed toward me, pointing the bloody thing at me. He shoved me against the stairs and screamed that I hadn’t seen anything. And then he was gone. Ran off. I ran to my dad in the kitchen, and he was still awake, but only for a few seconds. I watched him die. I watched his eyes close.” James’s gaze fixed on the wall in front of him, his face blank and emotionless.
“Aaron was missing for three days after that until the police found him—tried him as an adult. He’s been in jail ever since. My mother’s been in and out of a mental facility the past fourteen years because of it. I left home the moment I turned eighteen and haven’t spoken to anyone in my family for the past six years. Then, out of the blue, Eliza called me, telling me she lived down in Central Park now, and she wanted to see me. Little did I know, she just wanted me to go with her to visit Aaron.”
“Did you?” Candace squeaked.

“No!” James looked to her with wide eyes. “I’ll never—I could never—”
“I get it.” Candace’s eyes traveled across his face, guilt causing her lungs to collapse. She had thought he was cheating on her. And she had let Mcullough kiss her, even if only for a moment, because of it.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Nothing.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry for what I said. I just wish you would have told me.”
“I’m sorry for not telling you.” He squeezed back, his eyes trained on their intertwined hands. “I just don’t like people knowing. They treat me differently once they know. But I don’t want to be treated like I’m about to break. Not by you. I couldn’t take it. I’m not fragile.”
“I know you’re not.” Candace smirked.
James grabbed her other hand, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her palm.
“Is Aaron here in New York?” Candace asked.
James nodded.
Every feature of James had become so familiar to her—simply an extension of her own being, but now, as she looked at the side of his face, his jaw squared and eyes half closed, she felt as if she didn’t know him anymore.
“You never told me anything about your past,” she said quietly.
He looked at her sideways and smiled slightly. “My past is a mess. And if I recall, you haven’t told me much about yours either. We’re not so different.”
Candace shrugged. “I was adopted when I was six. I don’t remember anything before that. The police found me abandoned in some forest in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, and I was adopted by the end of the week. What more is there to tell?”
“That’s just how your life started. You don’t let it affect you. This has been haunting me my entire life. It’s kind of hard to explain that to someone who has it together all the time.”
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Need I remind you I brought two teenagers here at gunpoint just the other night? So, no. I don’t have it together all the time.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t have the occasional mental break down.” He grinned.
“Mcullough kissed me,” Candace blurted out, though she didn’t remember deciding to say the words.
James’s eyes shot to her face, his hand tightening around hers. “What?”
Candace’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe she threw that on him after that story. Well, no turning back now. “He called me in to ask what I was going to do about Violet and the invention and he…kissed me. I pushed him away and left, but he—well, I don’t think I’m going to have a job at the Center anymore after all this is over.”
James was on his feet, hurrying toward the door.
“James!” Candace caught his arm. “What are you doing?”
“Going to beat the bastard to a pulp, what do you think?” Every inch of his face was severe. Candace had never seen him so angry before.
“Fighting him isn’t going to fix anything—”
“He sexually assaulted an employee and my girl. He may think he’s all high and mighty, but that doesn’t mean he can get away with everything.”
“James, please.” Candace forced her way around him, blocking the door. “Don’t fight with him. I’ll sort this out, I promise.”
He scowled. “I’m not okay with him kissing you—”
Candace pulled his mouth to hers to stop him.
“Candace,” he said around her lips, but she pulled him closer, threading her fingers in his hair.
After a moment, he stopped resisting her, allowing his body to melt into hers. His hands slid around her hips and pressed against the small of her back, strong and familiar. There was something about James that was warm and natural—something that could never feel wrong. But this time, it felt wrong.
His fingers found bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt, his skin soft and electric against hers. She slid her hands beneath his shirt, the feel of his skin shooting up her arms.
This was wrong. She needed to stop. She couldn’t drown out her guilt by being with him. It wasn’t something she could ignore.
James’ shirt landed on the floor and Candace was overwhelmed by his bare chest pressing against her body. Maybe she could drown out the guilt.
Loud buzzing sounded on the floor behind James, his discarded shirt vibrating against the wood. He groaned, his lips still formed around Candace’s.
She was thankful for the pause. Her head cleared and she stepped away from him. “You should take it.”
He frowned, snatched the cloth into his hands, and pulled out the phone. “Hello?”
His face fell. For a moment, he looked furious, like he was going to smash the phone against the wall.
“Who is it?” Candace mouthed.

“This really isn’t a good time, Eliza,” he snapped.
His sister.
Candace pointed a stern finger at him. “You talk to her. Work this out, James.”
“Okay fine. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and arched his eyebrows. “How do you feel about meeting my sister?”
#
Cheap flowers hung from the door to Eliza’s apartment, the hallway ridiculously cold from too much air conditioning. James knocked and the door opened within seconds. A petite girl in yoga pants and an oversized sweater stood in the doorway, sandy hair—the exact hue of James’s hair and freckles—splayed over her shoulders in messy curls.
“Come in, come in.” Eliza stepped aside, revealing a massive stretch of bleached oak feeding into a living room twice the size of Candace’s apartment. Candace followed James hesitantly through the door.
“Eliza, this is Candace, my girlfriend,” said James as Eliza led them into her kitchen.
Eliza looked Candace up and down once and outstretched her arms. Candace held one of her hands out, expecting a handshake, but Eliza threw her arms around Candace’s neck and yanked her into a hug. Eliza was much shorter than Candace was, so she had to hunch over, not sure what to do with her hands.
Eliza pulled away, still firmly grasping Candace’s shoulders. She examined her face and smiled. “Well done, James. Much prettier than the high school days.” She paced into the kitchen with a quick turn and picked up a coffee mug.
Candace raised her eyebrows at James, but he didn’t see it.
“I’m guessing my brother didn’t mention I existed until quite recently?” Eliza looked up from her coffee, her bright red lips curled into a smile.
“About half an hour ago, actually,” said Candace.
James laughed in discomfort. “She smelled your perfume on me though. Thanks for that Liz, by the way. You nearly destroyed my relationship with your—what was it you called it?” James looked at Candace. Her eyes widened, willing him to stop, but he laughed again. “That’s right. Skank perfume.”
Eliza’s eyes shot to Candace. James’s tone was humorous, he was obviously trying to lighten the mood, but Eliza didn’t laugh. She obviously didn’t find it funny. At all.
Candace’s cheeks burned. “It wasn’t the actual scent. Vanilla’s fine. I would have said that no matter what he smelled like, I thought he was cheating on me.” Candace tried in a desperate attempt to explain, but Eliza’s dagger glare didn’t falter.
James rocked back on his heels, making a clicking sound in the back of his throat. “So, Liz, you said on the phone you had to talk to me about something? That it was important?”
Finally, Eliza’s eyes flickered away from Candace’s face. “Mom’s doctor called,” she said and pulled out a white bar stool. Everything in the apartment was so bright, the walls, the floors, the furniture—all white or something in that neighborhood. Candace resisted the urge to squint or shield her eyes.
“And what did the lovely Patricia say?” James’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he fell into the barstool opposite Eliza.
Candace remained where she stood, surrounded by empty space, a white rug beneath her feet. A step forward and she would be in the kitchen, a step back and she would be in the living room. She probably looked awkward, but she liked the amount of space between her and Eliza.
“I’m surprised you know her name. You never visit mom,” Eliza spat.
James scowled at her. “Did you bring me here just to yell at me, little sister?”
“Oh don’t even.” Eliza waved her hand and downed the rest of her coffee. “Patricia said mom was doing better and she could come home next week.”
“Okay?” James leaned back in his stool.
“So, I thought as a part of this family you may want to be there when I bring her home. I thought you might want to be a part of her life. She’s been through hell, James. You could at least pretend like you care.”
“We’ve all been through hell. And we can talk about this later.” James beckoned Candace to take the seat beside him. She reluctantly obliged. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Eliza roll her eyes.
So much for a good first impression on James’ sister.
James wrapped his arm around Candace’s waist. Candace felt awkward showing affection in front of his sister. Maybe it was because she was glaring at the spot his skin touched hers.
“So what is it you do, Eliza?” Candace asked.
“I’m a dancer on Broadway.” Her chin twitched upward. “And yourself?”
“I’m an inventor.”
Eliza’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t take you for the sciencey type.”
“Why is that?” Candace asked a little too defensively.

“Because you’re pretty.” Eliza’s tone indicated that it was obvious and Candace was completely moronic for not thinking of it. “Except for those scars, of course. Do you mind my asking how you got them?”
James tightened his hold around Candace. “Liz.”
Candace stared at Eliza for a moment. “I—”
The shrill ring of James’s phone filled the room. Candace exhaled in relief.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and raised the phone to his ear. “Detective Stone.”
Candace stared down at her hands, the heat of Eliza’s gaze on her face. She looked up, and sure enough, Eliza was glaring at her. Candace forced a smile, which only made Eliza’s frown deepen. She was undeniably pretty, but that expression made her look slightly…masculine. The thought made the corner of Candace’s mouth quirk up.
James, who had been speaking into the phone a moment ago, froze. “Excuse me?” The color drained from his face. “I—I understand. Yes, sir. I’ll get on that right away. Of course. You, too. Bye.” He replaced his phone in his pocket and looked to Candace with wide eyes.
“What is it?” Eliza demanded.
“Please tell me you didn’t find Allie and Tack in a Maria’s Pizza the other night,” said James.
“I did, why?” Candace’s eyebrows shot up.
“Because I was just put on the case to find the redheaded female gunman that was caught on video a few nights ago.”
“You went in there with a gun?” Eliza demanded.
Candace had completely forgotten about forcing Allie and Tack to her apartment at gunpoint. Well, she hadn’t forgotten that she’d done it, just that it was, well, illegal. Surely, this was a special circumstance, right? It was for the greater good. She was—is—trying to save lives. Innocent lives.
“The footage is so bad they couldn’t identify you, so they’ve put me on the case to investigate,” James continued, his arm no longer around Candace.
“Can someone please tell me why she had a gun?” Eliza demanded.
“Liz.” James’s voice was ice, his eyes black as they fell on his sister. “Please.”
“Well sorry for being concerned that my brother is dating some kind of—”
“Oh would you just shut up!” Candace was on her feet. “You don’t like me, I get it. I called you a whore, and you know what? I don’t take it back. I had a very good reason for going into that pizza place with a gun and it’s none of your damn business. So carry on with your pretentious attitude. Keep on glaring at me with those judgey little eyes. I don’t care. I’m dating your brother. I’m a scientist. I kidnapped two sixteen-year-olds at gunpoint. And now, I’m leaving.” Candace stormed toward the front door, not bothering to see if James was following her.

30. Allie

It was surreal, looking at someone and immediately knowing his whole story. Especially when he didn’t seem to know it. Allie knew the brothers were from a village isolated from the rest of the world by a curse. Monsters and dangerous creatures plagued their village, but no one could ever leave, and so the warrior brothers—Agro, Caden, and Naoise Ring—adopted the task of eliminating the threats with the help of Jeremiah, a brilliant scientist.
Jeremiah helped them locate the leader of the creatures, who was able to think and speak like a human, and had plans to enslave the human race and overtake the village. Jeremiah worked to find a solution, to break the curse, only to go mad before the conclusion of the book, turn violent, and team up with the monsters’ leader. The warrior brothers put him down for his—and the rest of the village’s—own good.
The Agro, Caden, and Naoise that stood before Allie and Tack, however, didn’t seem to be the same brothers. They had no recollection of such an invasion of monsters, nor did they remember killing Jeremiah. It seemed, Allie concluded, they had no memories of what happened in the book they came from, only the life they had before the start of the novel.
It made Allie wonder what happened in Tack’s book that he couldn’t remember.
“If we help you,” said Naoise, the Viking one. “We can return to our village?”
“That’s the idea,” said Tack. “Candace thinks if she can get her invention back, she can send everything and everyone that was brought here back to where they came from.”
It was the broad blond with the ponytail—Caden—who spoke next. He stepped away from his brothers, and Allie noticed he had a kind face under the scars and hair. “We will help you speak to Jeremiah. We will side with you in battle against Violet if that is what it must come to, but we cannot guarantee Jeremiah’s allegiance. He is not easily persuaded and rarely does deeds without gain for himself. Have you anything to offer him?”
“We’ll send him back to your village. He’ll get to go home, isn’t that enough?” Allie demanded.
“Jeremiah, unlike the rest of us, has enjoyed this new world. The technology is different. The possibilities for his experiments are different. Jeremiah is excited by the thought of exploring a new world, exploring new test subjects,” said Agro, his choppy hair falling into his face.
“Well then what does he want?” Tack demanded.
“He, of course, does not enjoy the presence of the creatures we have run into here. I suppose if you send them back to where they came from, but he was to remain here, he would assist your endeavor,” said Naoise.
Allie opened her mouth to respond, but bit her tongue. They didn’t know the monsters came from their book. Would they help her if they knew what was to come next for them in their story? That the monsters were going to invade their village? It would be lying not to tell them, but it would risk losing their help if she did.
“We can do that,” Allie said.
Tack looked at her from the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t a promise she was qualified to make, and she felt sick deceiving them, but it was necessary. Violet was going to take everyone—from this world and from the books brought here—to her world and do God knows what with them. It was in everyone’s best interest to stop her. That justified a white lie. Maybe.
“I see you’ve found some pets to entertain yourselves.” A man with orange scars stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He had dark hair cropped short, none of his facial features particularly identifiable through the jagged marks across his face. Allie could tell he was once handsome, though it was difficult to see past the scars now.
“Now that you know we aren’t here to kill you, can you untie us?” Allie demanded.
Tack reached over and started undoing her ropes, his hands already unbound.
“I told you not to let Naoise tie the knots,” Caden mumbled under his breath.
“The children have come seeking your assistance, Jeremiah,” said Naoise, ignoring his brother. “We have decided to trust them and stand with them in their endeavors.”
“Have you?” Jeremiah asked with an amused smirk. “And what do you want from me?” Jeremiah asked, his face entirely absent of emotion. Tack explained the situation, but his expression didn’t falter in the slightest.
“If we don’t stop Violet, there’s no telling how many more people are going to die,” added Allie.
“Die?” Jeremiah’s eyebrows went skyward.
“I know you’re not from here, but surely you’ve noticed the massive numbers of people dropping dead everywhere,” said Allie, unable to mask the impatient sarcasm in her voice.
Jeremiah threw his head back and laughed. “Are you people really that dense?” His eyes watered with humor as he fell into a chair by the table of weapons. “Those people found everywhere? They’re not dead, you stupid children.”
“What are you talking about?” Tack demanded.
“The balance of nature is a fragile thing.” Jeremiah rolled up his sleeves, exposing thin orange scars coiling up his muscular forearms, matching those on his face. “As you can imagine, this invention has wreaked absolute havoc on the natural order. Therefore, to compensate, nature has simply taken a life for a life temporarily.”
“What does that mean?” asked Allie.
“I’m telling you that your kind that have fallen are simply in a state of rest until their opposites return to their proper worlds. For each person or creature brought here, one of yours corresponds to their life, and fell into a state of rest, the new being replacing their life. The moment the foreign lives return to where they belong, your lives will be restored.”
“But that means—” Tack started.
Allie covered her mouth with her hands. “We buried Kai alive.”
“Yes, yes, this is all very tragic, and I’m sure you would have done well to dramatize the situation, but, believe it or not, we have more dire matters to attend to. Now about this Violet—” Jeremiah waved his hand dismissively.
“We can’t talk about that now!” Allie was on her feet. “We have to go dig up Kai. We buried him. We buried him and he isn’t dead!”
“For all intents and purposes, he is until everyone is sent back,” Jeremiah pointed out.
“Do you know how to find Violet, then?” Tack demanded.
“No,” Jeremiah said simply. “But I would very much like to speak to the one responsible for the invention that brought me here. I believe a thank you is in order.”
“Her name is Candace,” said Allie.
Jeremiah’s eyebrows stretched further up his forehead. “I believe that if she and I put our brilliant minds together, we could come up with something. I do have a few questions about her invention as well. Bring Candace here and I’ll see what I can do to find your Violet. But remember, when your girl sends everything back, I am to remain here.”
“You were listening at the door all this time?” Tack demanded.
“Perhaps.” Jeremiah shrugged. “Now bring me the girl.”
An earsplitting howl echoed from outside the room’s opening.
“Not again,” Agro sighed as his two brothers snatched a few weapons from the table beside Jeremiah. “You three stay here, we’ll be back,” he said as he picked up an axe and followed his brothers out.
“What’s happening?” Allie asked.
Jeremiah still looked bored. “Another one of our lovely monster friends. They’ve been doing their best to eliminate most threats.” Jeremiah nodded his head in the direction the three brothers disappeared. “Your kind seems to be fairly physically incompetent. At the sight of a creature, you all just cower and passively allow yourselves to be slaughtered. It’s sickening really. If it weren’t for the Rings, I believe your kind would go extinct from this invasion.”
Tack stifled a laugh, making Allie scowl. “We are not helpless.” She felt an unexplainable need to defend humankind. While not able to immediately heal, or grow to the size of a giant like the Ring brothers, they weren’t helpless.
“You especially, little girl.” Jeremiah laughed.
“You think I’m weak?” Allie demanded.
“Oh I’m most absolutely certain,” he laughed. “Look at yourself! You’re positively diminutive.”
Allie gritted her teeth. “Am I?” She grabbed a sickly curved knife from the table and headed toward the entrance.
“Allie, what the hell are you doing?” Tack said, Jeremiah laughing in the background.
“We’ll see how helpless I am,” Allie growled and started down the sewer in direction of the howls.
#
Water soaked through Allie’s jeans as she pushed down the sewer. Shallow, yellow light filled the tunnel, and six dark silhouettes appeared up ahead. As Allie neared them, she could make out Agro and Caden, both wrestling on the ground with creatures that looked like a cross between man and wolf. Naoise was off to the side with the largest of the creatures. He raised the Viking-like axe in his hand and brought it across the creature’s neck, severing its head. It let out a gurgled yelp, and its body went limp.
Allie stopped a few feet away, overwhelmed by the sight. Another creature with gray fur and red eyes leaped at Naoise with its claws extended, but Naoise brought his axe in a high arch, catching the wolf in the side.
Agro and Caden killed their wolves with flicks of their wrists, the blades of their knives connecting with the chests of the beasts, slashing across the surface in a flurry of fur. They exchanged smirks as another pack of creatures appeared down the tunnel, barreling toward them.
The creatures seemed to be coming out of nowhere—a never-ending supply. Each of the brothers took two wolves at a time, a mass of shining blades, teeth, and claws blurring before Allie’s eyes.
She caught sight of Naoise on the ground, flat on his back, three wolves snapping their teeth at him. His weapon lay a few feet away in the water. One of the wolves rose its claws and prepared to swipe—
Allie sprinted forward, her heart in her throat. It’s the same as a hook punch…just with a knife in your hand. She threw her arm in a wide arc, the knife connecting with the wrist of the wolf. In a gush of sickening blood, the paw landed a few feet away. It yelped and fell back, holding its stump of a leg off the ground. Naoise gave her a flicker of gratitude in his eyes before rolling to the side and snatching his axe from the floor. He turned, occupied with the other two unharmed wolves.
“Allie!” Tack yelled from somewhere down the tunnel.
The injured wolf locked its eyes on her and snarled. Fur coated its body, claws extended from its hands, but its eyes and back legs were human. Allie raised the bloody knife in the distance between her body and the wolf. It couldn’t even walk—she could take it, right?
The wolf pounced and Allie thrust the knife forward. The blade sunk into the chest of the wolf, its claws catching Allie’s shoulder. She cried out and twisted the knife with a quick jerk. Its body crumpled to the floor with a strangled bark. She looked up to see Naoise standing over the two dead wolves. “Damn,” he whistled.
Pain prickled against her shoulder, but Allie ignored it. Her eyes shot back to the tunnel, but no more wolves appeared. If there were more, they retreated. Agro and Caden also stood over the lifeless bodies of the creatures, blood splattered on their clothing.
Tack and Jeremiah stepped off the tiles into the water, surveying the scene. Tack met Allie’s eyes, his gaze flickering down to her bloody arm
“I’m fine.” She pulled on her sleeve and rolled her shoulder back. The joint popped slightly, but the pain was manageable.
He stared at her with his lips parted for a moment, then shook his head and smirked, and she could tell he was remembering how differently the other night in the alley had played out.
Naoise pushed the body of a wolf away with his heel and kneeled before Allie. He grabbed one of her hands and inclined his head toward her, his dark hair brushing her fingers. “Miss Allie. I am forever in your debt. I owe you my life.”
Tack and Jeremiah stared at him in bewilderment.
Allie squeezed Naoise’s hand, who then rose back to his feet. Up close, his youth was incredibly visible. He had to be nineteen, twenty at most. Maybe if he shaved, he could be handsome.
Agro and Caden patted their brother on the back and inclined their heads to her. “As do we. For saving our brother’s life.”
Allie raised her eyebrows and looked to Jeremiah, who nodded his head toward her once. “I suppose you’re not quite as helpless as I thought.”
She’d take it.
“What where they doing down here?” Tack asked, nodding toward the wolf bodies.
“It seems many of the creatures have taken refuge down here like us,” explained Jeremiah. “We come across them quite frequently. However, the ones that came after us, from the same place as your Violet I presume, do not. They seem to stay with her—do her bidding and such. We seldom come across them. They don’t do anything without her orders. I suppose many more of your kind would be dead if that wasn’t so.”
“How do you know this?” Allie asked.
Jeremiah grinned, dark humor crinkling his eyes. “Because we caught one.”
#
Zeke and Allie had never been that close, and after everything with Kai, Allie was certain they were no longer on speaking terms. Especially now that she just called and asked him to dig up his brother’s grave, insisting that Kai wasn’t actually dead, and he promptly hung up on her.
“If the latest episode of teenage melodrama is now concluded, let’s get on with it,” said Jeremiah as Allie returned the cell phone to her pocket. She supposed digging Kai up could wait at least a few hours—they still didn’t have the invention, so there was no way to bring him back yet—but there was an urgent anxiety boiling in her stomach at the thought of him being under the ground alive.
They followed Jeremiah from the room strewn with wires and turned left down the sewer tunnels. Tack walked behind Jeremiah, Allie slightly behind him, and the three brothers brought up the rear.
Jeremiah walked with a peculiar bounce in his step, almost as if he were about to take off skipping, but was prevented from doing so because he was limping from an injury. Tack, on the other hand, walked with his head held high, his arms swaying carelessly at his sides. If it weren’t for the sarcasm dripping from every inch of him, he would hold some kind of modest confidence in his walk.
Jeremiah stopped and turned left, the water deeper in this tunnel. The thick liquid seeped into Allie’s shoes, slowing her walk. As they neared another archway on the left of the tunnel, Tack slowed his stride until he was beside her. He didn’t say anything, nor did he look at her, but his presence slowed the anxious racing of her heart.
They ducked into another small room, which was entirely empty except the chair in the back, to which a small creature was bound.
The creature was small, its skin colorless. There was a delicacy in its frail limbs, so thin Allie imagined she could kill it without any kind of weapon. Stepping on one of its arms would surely snap it in half. Its eyes, red as blood, flickered toward them as they entered the room.
It hissed something Allie didn’t understand. She felt Tack’s hand press to the small of her back.
“What is it?” he asked.
“One of Violet’s creatures. We caught it just as they arrived, before she got all of them organized and under control. That first night was complete havoc,” said Naoise. “Luckily the three of us were already here and watching out for the creatures.”
“What’s the point in keeping it? Why don’t you just kill it?” Allie asked, not able to look at the disgusting creature.
“The point, little girl,” Jeremiah said, “is that it knows where Violet is.”
“Then why haven’t you gone after her, yet?” Tack demanded.
“Because it hasn’t told us where she is. The stubborn bastard.” Jeremiah glared at the creature, who pointedly glared back. “We underestimated its desire to please its master. We have yet been able to force it to cooperate.”
“Have you tried saying please?” Tack batted his eyelashes.
“Would you two just get out of here?” Jeremiah snapped. “You have a job to do. Bring me Candace.”
Allie’s eyes caught sight of a knife lying on the floor in the corner, its blade stained red with dried blood. Her stomach flipped. It appeared Jeremiah had tried more than just questions to get the creature to talk.
Tack pulled on her sleeve, turning to leave. “Let us know when you have anything useful,” he said over his shoulder.
Allie followed Tack from the room, each of the brothers patting her shoulder comfortingly as she passed. They followed the tunnel back to where they entered, the blood from the wolf creatures tainting the water a sickening red color as it streamed by.

31. Brandon

“You really know how to make a guy wait Sh—” Brandon threw the front door open to see Maeve standing on the porch—not Shane. He was beginning to think Shane wasn’t going to show. Brandon had been waiting for over an hour now without so much as a text message. Shane had been the one to suggest they meet, but it appeared as if he’d changed his mind.
“Hi, Brandon,” she said quietly.
He frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I know you probably hate me—”
“I’m not the one you practically spit out at Kai’s funeral, but I’m certainly not your biggest fan right now if that’s what you mean.”
“Is Allie home?” She tugged on the lace sleeves of her shirt, her hair in a tangled mess down her back. The sky was black behind her head, a thick layer of cold settling in the air. “I really need to talk to her.”
“It’s late.” Brandon began to shut the door, but Maeve grabbed the wood and held it open, her face hard. Brandon sighed. “She’s not here right now, Maeve.”
“Then where is she?”
Like he would know. Since the minute he got to New York Allie had been out all hours of the night. It seemed out of character for her, but what did he know? It had been years since he’d seen her for more than a weekend visit. Maybe this was her rebellious phase, and secretly, he was kind of proud of her. All of that seclusion she locked herself in during her childhood wasn’t healthy; maybe she needed this. Brandon shrugged. “Somewhere with Tack.”
“Tack.” Maeve licked her lips and rocked back on her heels. “Do you think she’s okay?”
Brandon lowered his brow. He didn’t like Tack—the kid was obviously conceited and horny, Brandon didn’t think he’d ever seen him actually wearing a shirt; however, he seemed harmless enough. “Why wouldn’t she be okay?”
Maeve chewed on her lip, her eyes darting away from Brandon’s gaze.
“Maeve. Did something happen?” Brandon demanded. “Allie’s family. If she’s in trouble you have to tell me.”
Maeve covered her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to pretend it didn’t happen; I thought it would feel less real that way. But maybe…maybe…” She trailed off, her lower lip wobbling. Brandon had never seen Maeve such a mess before. Now that he looked at her—and really looked at her—he noticed the bags beneath her eyes, the puffiness in her cheeks. Though tiny and delicate looking with her long blond hair and pretty face, Maeve had one of the toughest exteriors Brandon had ever seen on a girl. Now, he watched that shell crack.
“What happened, Maeve?” Brandon stepped out onto the porch and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Is Allie in trouble?”
Maeve wiped tears from her cheeks. “It was like something out of a nightmare,” she whispered. “Like a spider and squid and demon combined. I just wanted Zeke to get some closure, to say goodbye to Kai. How was I supposed to know there would be a—a monster underneath that house? And Tack was already there; I don’t know why. He killed it. He chopped the head right off. And Allie, she didn’t looked surprised to see it. Whatever is going on between her and Tack, I think he’s got her involved in some pretty messed up stuff, Brandon. I’m worried.”
Brandon stared at her. If it weren’t for her completely serious and concerned face, Brandon would have laughed. It sounded ridiculous, but he knew she wasn’t making it up. Well, shit. Now he felt like an idiot. He was supposed to be looking after her. If anything happened to Allie…“She left me a note,” he admitted.
“Can I see it?” Maeve pushed past him without invitation. Brandon led her to the kitchen and handed over the small piece of paper he’d found on the kitchen table after he finished cleaning up the toilet paper in the front yard. She unfolded it and stared at the paper with a frown.
“Who’s Candace?” Maeve asked. Brandon shrugged. Maeve started toward the door, the paper still in hand.
“What are you doing?”
Maeve waved the paper at him over her shoulder. “There’s an address. I’m going to find my best friend.”
Brandon grabbed the keys to his Jeep. “I’ll drive.”
“No.” Maeve held out her hand to stop him. “You stay in case she comes back. Call me if she does.” The edge of her mouth twitched up into a smirk. “Besides, aren’t you waiting for Shane?”
As Brandon opened his mouth to respond, the doorbell rang. Maeve threw the door open before Brandon could stop her. Shane stood on the porch, and froze when he saw Maeve. Blood rushed to his face. His eyes darted from Maeve to Brandon and back again.
“Oh don’t mind me.” She grinned and winked at Brandon. “I was just leaving.”

32. Maeve

Maeve arrived at the address on Allie’s note, still fuming from the fight she’d had with Zeke before going to Allie’s house. He was angry with Allie because of what happened at Kai’s funeral—fine. But that didn’t mean he had the authority to dictate whether she could see her best friend or not. Maeve had tried to be patient with her boyfriend, but something snapped in her today and she ended things with Zeke. For good. Maeve didn’t take well to being told what to do. Allie was her best friend; if she was in trouble, then she had to help.
She knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
“Hello?” she called, silence the only response.
She tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She hesitated in the doorway; didn’t this qualify as breaking and entering? Regardless of whether it did or not, Maeve threw the door open and stepped inside. It was a rather small apartment with nice furniture and a large painting of Paris hanging on the wall beside the windows, which led out to a small, metal terrace. She wandered to the kitchen, where a note rested on the table. Maeve sighed and picked it up, feeling as if she were on some juvenile scavenger hunt. All it said was WAIT. BE BACK SOON. –C
C? For Candace? Who was the letter for? Well, the letter said she’d back soon, and Maeve was going to be here when this Candace chick got back, and she was going to get the truth from her, whatever it took.
Maeve plopped down on the white leather couch positioned in the center of the room and flicked on the television mounted on the wall.
The doorbell rang. Maeve snapped her head to the side and leaped to her feet. Then it rang again. And again, and again, and again. Her annoyance out ruled her common sense, and instead of looking through the peephole, she frowned and threw the door open.
“I heard you the first time,” she snapped. A tall, middle-aged man stood in the hall, balancing himself with one hand on the doorframe. A trail of dark dribble spots made their way down his gray T-shirt, the overwhelming stench of alcohol pouring through the door.
“You aren’t Madoc,” he said with slurred words. “What the hell are you doing in Madoc’s apartment?” He scrunched up his face and pointed a finger, swaying on his feet.
Maeve moved to close the door, but the man caught it. “Oh no you don’t, cutie. Never you worry. I’m only interested in Madoc.” He shoved the door open, and Maeve jumped back in surprise as he wobbled into the apartment.
“This is—this is breaking and entering! You leave or I’ll call the police!” Maeve held out her cell phone for him to see.
“You do that, sweet cheeks.” He plopped down on the couch in the center of the room and flipped the television to a sports channel.
“Who do you think you are?” Maeve demanded.
“Devereux Grob. Pleased to make your acquaintance, small fry.” He saluted her and returned his gaze to the television.
Maeve chewed on her lip, glaring at the man on the couch. He was completely hammered. What was she supposed to do now? “Are you looking for Candace?”
The man snorted—an ugly, bitter sound. “I’m going to rip the little bitch’s throat out.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. She edged toward the kitchen and slipped a knife from the counter. If there was anything she had learned from her father’s lectures about self-defense, it was to be prepared. Though this guy didn’t seem at all interested in her presence, but he also didn’t seem quite in his right mind. She couldn’t be too careful.
The far wall exploded into the room with an earsplitting bang, shards of glass filling the air. One minute the wall was there, the next, a gaping hole.
“Holy sh—” the man started as Maeve fell to the ground behind the kitchen counter, covering her head with her hands. Broken plaster, pieces of metal from the terrace, and shards of glass rained down on her. She kept her face pressed to the floor, concealed by her arms and hair. When she looked up, the air was full of swirling dust. Her lungs heaved as she coughed and waved her hand in front of her eyes to clear the air.
“What happened?” Maeve coughed and climbed to her feet. The farthest fall laid agape, the floor littered with debris and a fine layer of dust. When her vision finally cleared, she froze, eyes popping, heart ceasing.
Devereux Grob stood with his back pressed to the shattered surface of the television screen, two figures standing before him. They were as tall and long as full-grown males with putrid, pale skin stretched continuously over their bodies. There were no eyes or noses on their faces, only mouths with rows upon rows of jagged teeth. They stood hunched on all fours, moving toward him in a slithering fashion, hisses escaping their mouths.
Devereux Grob’s eyes flickered to her. He was silent, but mouthed run.
At this, the two monsters snapped their heads in Maeve’s direction, eyeless but somehow seeing. Something registered on their faces as they took in Maeve. Both straightened. All of their limbs were skinny. The skin was so suctioned to the bones Maeve could see every detail of the inner workings of their bodies. Thick, black liquid pumped through their veins, which protruded their skin, branching down their arms.
Before Maeve had a chance to scream, they were upon her.
#
Goose bumps covered Maeve’s body when she woke. The air around her was thin and icy, layers of scratchy straw beneath her. Specs of moonlight streamed in through a window a few feet above her head, but other than that, she was in darkness. She pushed herself to a sitting position, only to smack her head against something hard.
“Ow,” she breathed and looked up to see rusty, metal bars stretched overhead. Identical bars surrounded her. She gripped a pair of them, freezing beneath her hands, and shook as hard as she could. Flecks of rust rained down on her, but the structure didn’t budge.
A face appeared in the darkness a foot from her cage. Well, maybe face was too generous of a word. The creature had an oval head with monochromatic skin, almost like raw turkey, but without an adequate amount of pigmentation. Its body was engulfed in shadows, but she could sense its slightness and fragility. Fear prickled in her fingers. Its blood red eyes peered at her through the bars, and she pressed herself as far back as the cage allowed.
“So she wakes,” it hissed, each s making Maeve cringe.
“Where am I?” she whispered.

The creature smiled, exposing what appeared to be a toothless mouth. When she looked closer, she realized farther back, there were two giant teeth horizontally jutting into its mouth. “Oh she will want to speak with you,” it hissed and slithered back into the darkness, leaving Maeve alone in her cage, fear piling on her shoulders like boulders.
The moment it was gone, Maeve slammed her foot against the rustiest looking bar on the far side of her cage. Fire shot up her leg, but she kicked again, and again. A fine layer of rust settled on her clothes, but the cage didn’t move. There was no breaking out.
Hysteria mounted inside her. She had to get out. She had to. But this time there was no Allie or Tack or Zeke to get her out of this mess. She was on her own.
Maeve rummaged through the cage for anything to defend herself with, but came up empty handed. She sighed and rested her head in her hands.
There was a jangling sound followed by footsteps as the lights flickered on overhead. Maeve squinted, the intensity of the brightness burning her eyes. Blinking, she peered out the front of her cage, the rest of the room now visible. A door lay ajar on the far wall, a line of identical cages facing her. The rest of the cages, however, were empty. She was alone.
A young man with inky black hair stood before her cage. For a moment, he looked human, but there were obvious mutations to his body. His fingers were curved like claws, an eerie, glowing tint to his skin.
The man unlocked the cage and tossed the rusty door aside. His bored eyes flickered to Maeve. He had no irises, just deeply black pupils rimmed with a startlingly bright shade of white in contrast. Despite the abnormality, Maeve could see a shade of sadness embedded in them.
She was probably seeing things—she had been knocked unconscious and left to rot in some kind of barbaric prison, after all.
He leaned as if to snatch her. Maeve recoiled, deflating against the back of her cage, alarm pounding in her chest. The man seemed to have rolled his eyes. “Child.” His voice was airy and light, directly contradictory to his appearance. She gritted her teeth at the word—he didn’t look much older than she was—definitely not old enough to call her child. “There is no use in fighting. You will not be harmed. She merely wishes to speak to you.”
“Who is this she?” Maeve demanded.
His claws twisted into fists at his sides. He wore an unreadable expression, his body rigid. “I said you would not be harmed, not that you were permitted to ask questions. Shall you stand on your own or must I drag you against your will?”
He looked at her as if he was trying to set her on fire with his mind.
She crawled from the cage, her back aching as she stood. The man wrapped his hand around her upper arm. His claws dug into her flesh, but his skin was smooth and even, much like her own.
“I can walk on my own,” Maeve snapped.
“Don’t become comfortable, child. While I may not harm you, if you attempt to escape, the other beings in this Manor will not be so kind. Do not give them a reason to feed on you as they already wish to do. I am escorting you for your own protection. ”
Maeve fell silent.
He pulled her toward the door, his strides much longer than her own, forcing her to half-run to keep up with him. They ascended a set of stairs, which fed into an elegant ballroom with polished floors and red tapestries. Maeve wondered where they could possibly be. She recollected no building like this anywhere she had ever been in New York.
The man’s pace didn’t falter. He pulled her along the wall and turned into another door, the ballroom disappearing behind them.
He led her into a narrow hallway. There were no light fixtures overhead, but torches periodically popped up on each side. In the distance between torches, they walked in complete darkness, making Maeve’s skin crawl.
“So you don’t want to eat me like the rest?” Maeve asked, looking up at the side of his face. From the side he almost looked human, the claws and frightening eyes not visible. He looked young.
He flinched, but remained faced forward. “I do not eat humans,” he said.
“So that thing I saw when I woke—”
“A Maaike.” There was a hint of disgust in his voice, or perhaps she was misinterpreting him. “They are merely messengers. She has vast numbers in her possession.” He slowed his walk, thankfully—Maeve was nearly out of breath. “Too many of them,” he mumbled to himself.
An unexplainable desire to fill the silence consumed Maeve. The silence allowed time for thinking. For panicking. “Do you have a name?” she asked.
He turned to look at her. For a moment, she thought she saw a smile on his face, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Why so curious?”
“So you do. Have a name, then.”
“Xavier.” He turned away from her, a smirk obvious on his lips this time.
For a moment, the fear lifted from her chest. But as a door came into view at the end of the hall, it returned full force, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. Xavier felt her hesitate and tightened his hold on her arm. “You will not be harmed,” he repeated in a quiet voice.
Maeve followed him through the door, her feet like lead in her shoes, and entered into another large room. This one was noticeably less extravagant and beautiful than the ballroom. The large windows on the far wall peered down on the streets of New York. An oak desk with intricately carved legs lay before the windows, a woman seated behind it with her back to them. Piles upon piles of papers, manila folders, glossy pictures, and stacks of phonebooks littered the surface.
Maeve cringed toward Xavier at the sight of the creatures placed at each corner of the room. They were large, with decaying skin, their faces vacant of eyes and noses. The monsters that kidnapped her.
The woman turned at the sound of their footsteps. After all the things she had seen in the past few days, Maeve expected to be immune to the shock, but she wasn’t.
Long and straight colorless hair trailed down the woman’s concaved shoulders. Her skin was smooth and so light it was nearly translucent. Her eyes were large and purple, glowing in the light. They fixed on Maeve. She wasn’t human. She couldn’t be.
“Hello there,” she said, her lips curling into an aberrant smile. She came out from behind the desk and walked toward Maeve, her feet barely touching the ground. Her eyes locked on the spot Xavier’s hand touched Maeve’s arm, and he dropped it. Maeve swayed, not realizing how dependent she had been on his hold to keep her up.
The woman stopped in front of Maeve, her eyes curiously scrutinizing her face. “She is much younger than I expected,” she murmured to no one in particular. Maeve flinched as the woman cupped her chin in her cold hand. There was something animalistic in her eyes.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Maeve demanded.
This only made the woman’s smile widen. “My name is Violet, and you are here to help me.”
“Do you normally keep people you want to help you in cages?” Maeve demanded.
Violet laughed and glanced at Xavier. “She is very outspoken.”
“So it seems,” murmured Xavier.
“Child—”
“My name is Maeve, not child.”
The woman’s pale eyebrows shot up, not pleased Maeve was talking back to her. “Maeve,” she said. “If you prove to be of any use to me, then I will not require you to stay in the cages. But if not.” She and the monsters stationed in the corner shared a laugh. “Well, that is something you will learn very quickly about me. I feel no need to keep around dead weight.”
Great. This Violet bitch was going to kill her. Maeve looked at Xavier out of the corner of her eyes. He was staring at Violet with an unreadable expression on his face, the line of his jaw taunt. He didn’t look at her or talk about her as the other creatures did, with starry eyes and pure admiration. If Maeve didn’t know better, he looked like he was glaring.
“You said she would not be harmed.” His voice was level, indifferent almost, but his stature was alert.
Violet shrugged one of her shoulders, cocking her head to the side. “I said I would not harm her right now. But if she proves to be useless, why deny my beloved servants a decent meal? They haven’t had human since we arrived. I imagine they are starving.” Her eyes lingered on Xavier’s face a moment too long. She looked back to Maeve and held up her hands with a sickly amused smile. “Shall we begin?”

33. Candace

Candace’s apartment lay in utter chaos. To classify the mess as disarray would be insulting. Candace could see the red and blue glow of the police lights spiraling on the street below through the gaping hole that used to be the wall to her apartment. The policeman to her right was speaking in a fast and low voice, but she couldn’t hear him. Everything, everything she owned was destroyed. Her home had been ripped apart.
“Miss Madoc?” the man grunted.
“Yes, what was that?”
He looked at her and sighed. “Those are all the questions I have. We will get to work on your case right away, don’t worry.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Thank you, officer.” Candace forced a smile as he turned to speak to a colleague.
“Oh my God, Ace.” James hurried through the door and folded her in his arms, his hands finding her hair as she pressed her face to his chest. She wasn’t crying, though she thought she ought to be. “I’m so sorry, Ace. I’m sorry about Liz, I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” Candace put her finger to his mouth and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I know.”
He exhaled, his chest rising and falling against Candace’s body. He stroked her hair and rested his chin on top of her head. “This place is a wreck, Ace.”
“They have no idea what happened,” Candace mumbled.
“You think this has something to do with Extermination and Violet?” he asked quietly.
“I’m beginning to think the answer to that question is always yes,” said Candace.
“Holy—”
“What happened here?”
Candace looked up to see Tack and Allie standing in the doorway, identical expressions on their faces. Wide eyes. Open mouths. The sight of the two of them, their eyes alight with excitement and energy made Candace want to throw something heavy. No positivity. No optimism.
“Not now,” Candace groaned and buried her face in James’ chest.
The two teenagers strode into her apartment. “We found Jeremiah,” said Allie.
“Well isn’t that just fantastic?” Candace snapped. “Look at my apartment!” Candace pointed at the gaping hole, tears finally beginning to form.
Tack set his jaw to the side. “He wants to see you—Jeremiah. He sent us to bring you to him.”
Candace closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. As much as she wanted to wallow in self-pity about the destruction of her home, this was something she had to deal with. This was bigger than her. So much bigger. “Fine.”
“You’ll probably want to go soon, he didn’t really come across as patient,” said Allie, rubbing at the back of her neck.
Candace snorted, the sound coming out sharper than she expected. “Of course. Of course.”
Tack and Allie exchanged a sidelong look, probably questioning her sanity. And rightly so. Candace could practically feel the hinges in her mind coming undone, everything inside of her turning to useless mush. She wondered if there was some kind of limit, a capacity of insanity allowed in a person’s life. If so, she had surpassed it long ago.
She glanced down and noticed jagged claw marks etched into the floor below her feet, blackened blood stained into the wood. Candace detached from James and followed the line to the kitchen where an abandoned knife lay on the ground along with the note she’d left for Tack and Allie.
James knelt beside Candace, trailing his fingers along the claw marks. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he whispered.
A shrill, wailing sound filled the room, making Candace jump. She whipped around to see Allie ease the phone out of her pocket and raise it to her ear. “Hello?” she asked. She sighed and covered her eyes with her other hand. “I know, Brandon, I’m sorry. Yes. I’m fine. Everything’s—what?”
Candace, James, and Tack looked up as Allie gaped at the floor, her hand lowering from her eyes. “No, I’m not with Maeve, what are you talking about? She did what? Brandon, I’ll have to call you back.” She turned the phone off and looked up at them with wide eyes.
“What is it?” James asked.
“Maeve was here, in this apartment earlier. She was looking for me.”
Candace’s eyes fell on the claw marks beneath her feet, then the knife on the floor beside the kitchen island. “She was here?” Candace asked quietly.
Allie covered her mouth with her hands. “You don’t think whatever was in here—”
“Allie,” Tack spoke. He ran his hand through his hair once, and then trailed it down his face. “Do you remember what Jeremiah said to us? About Violet’s creatures?”
“But that’s impossible,” she squeaked. “What would they want with Maeve?”
“Can someone tell us what is going on?” James demanded.
Tack looked to Candace, his eyes wide and blue. The expression looked strange on him—on someone who always seemed so together and confident. “I think whatever did this to your apartment took Maeve.”
“She has a point though.” Candace nodded toward Allie. “What would they want with some human teenager? And from my apartment?”
“A meal,” James muttered.
“What if it was looking for you, but snatched Maeve instead?” Tack offered.
“Why would it want me?” Candace demanded.
“No, think about it. This Violet chick wants to manipulate your invention.” He pointed to Candace. “And since you’re the inventor, maybe she wants your help to do whatever it is she’s trying to do. She sends her lackeys like Jeremiah said, they see a girl—how would they know the difference?—and take her back to their master.”
Candace stared at him in silence. She didn’t have a response to that.
“I say we don’t take any chances. She’s just a kid who shouldn’t be tangled up in this mess,” said James. “We go see this Jeremiah guy and go from there.”
“Okay.” Candace covered her face with her hands, her eyes burning. “Where is he?”
“The sewers,” said Tack.
Candace laughed, removing her hands from her face. “Of course,” she muttered. “Let me go get my best sewer hunting outfit on and then we can go.”

34. Maeve

“I’ve told you twice now. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Maeve was breathless, the adrenaline pulsing so vigorously through her veins she was able to block out the fear for a moment. In her peripheral vision, she could see the eyeless creatures inching from the corners. Violet stood behind her desk, elevated on a pedestal of granite, her hands flat against the surface, black veins protruding her skin.
“Did you or did you not create the machine that brought us to this land?” Violet demanded.
“I don’t even know what machine you’re talking about!” Maeve ran her hands through her hair. She was useless. She didn’t know anything, and they were going to kill her for it.
Xavier stood against the windows behind Violet, watching Maeve closely with his black, tormented eyes. That look made a million questions emerge within Maeve. Why did he always look so sad, so hopelessly lost? His mouth was set into a thin line, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He almost looked…scared for her.
Violet slammed her hands against the desk and stomped toward Maeve. Before she had a chance to react, Violet had her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Maeve’s head crashed against the wood with agonizing intensity, her vision blackening for a moment. Xavier pushed himself from the wall, his eyes wide. “Violet—”
“Stay back, Xavier, this does not concern you,” Violet growled. She leaned toward Maeve, her breath splashing across her face. It smelled of rotting and vitriol. “If you continue to fake ignorance, if you continue to refuse to cooperate, I will be forced to end you.”
Tears burned in the back of Maeve’s eyes, her lungs scraping together for air. She clawed at Violet’s hand around her throat, gasping. She was too weak. Pathetic. She couldn’t even defend herself.
“You’re killing her!” Maeve could tell it was Xavier’s voice, but she couldn’t see the room in front of her. Everything began to drip away in a blurry haze, murky paint dripping down a canvas.
Violet released her throat and Maeve fell to the floor wheezing. Her throat throbbed with rushing blood, the room swimming back into view. The creatures slunk into the center of the room, standing in an anxious circle. Their tongues, black as night, slithered across their lips as gurgled growls ripped through their throats.
“Not yet,” said Violet in a pensive voice.
“Maybe we have the wrong girl. Perhaps she does not know anything—” Xavier started, his eyes never leaving Maeve.
“And what is she to you?” Violet demanded, whipping around to face Xavier. “Perhaps she is the wrong girl. Then we merely have to kill her. If you cannot compose yourself, Xavier, then you are dismissed.”
He gave her a long, hard look before taking a step back and leaning against the windows again.
“That’s what I thought,” Violet snapped. She grabbed Maeve by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Maeve cried out, and Violet grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, their faces so close their noses brushed. “Will you be of any use to me or not?”
Maeve swallowed hard, her heart beating frantically in her chest. If she said no, she would die right here and now. And it probably wasn’t going to be a quick and painless death. “I didn’t create the invention,” she said quietly. Violet’s eyes flashed, but Maeve continued before she could strangle her again. “But I know who did.”
Violet released her hold on Maeve’s shirt and took a step back, a slight smile on her face. Before the fear had a chance to subside, Violet brought the back of her hand across Maeve’s face. Maeve gasped, pain flashing across her skin. A suppressed burning glowed behind Violet’s eyes, evoked by Maeve’s failure to submit unquestioningly as everything else seemed to do. In a way, it was humorous; she was like a small child throwing a fit for not getting her way.
Xavier took a step toward them, his jaw set, but stopped when Violet gave him a hard look. “You should have disclosed that information the first time I asked, child.”
Maeve wanted to throttle her.
“I do not play games. I advise you to refrain from any form of insubordination. You will do well to remember I will not be as forgiving the next time.”
Maeve held her cheek with both hands, her body trembling. The office was much warmer than her cage had been, but she felt colder than ever.
“The name. What is the name of this inventor?” Violet demanded.
“Candace, I—I don’t know her last name.”
“And where can we find her?”
“You had the right place. I was at her apartment when…they took me.” Maeve’s eyes flickered to the monsters in the corner for a fraction of a second before flinching away. “I was waiting for her to come back.”
Violet whipped around to glare at the creatures. “You brought me the wrong girl, you useless little—”
“You instructed us to bring you the girl from the apartment. How were we to know there would be another girl?” one hissed frantically, cringing away from Violet.
“I’ll deal with you later,” she growled and nodded toward Xavier as she fell back into the chair behind the desk. “You may take her to a room now. I am finished for the time being.”
Xavier strode toward Maeve, but didn’t meet her eyes. He led her from the room, his arms lifeless at his sides.
They walked in silence down the hallway until they reached the ballroom. He led her up another staircase opposed to the one leading down to where her cage had been.
The hallways contained antique paintings and displays, tapestries covering the majority of the walls. Maeve was unable to look around and appreciate the beauty of everything. Now it all looked evil and daunting. This place, wherever it was, was inhabited by evil. Evil that was going to use her and kill her when she ran out of purpose.
Xavier stopped at the first door in the next hallway, his clawed fingers curled into fists at his sides. “You will be staying here now,” he said quietly, finally making eye contact. “Your meals will be delivered to your door. There are clothes inside for you and a bathroom for you to use. Once you step inside, I must lock the door. If Violet wishes to speak with you, you will be escorted by myself or one of her guards.” There was a conflicted look in his eyes, as if he didn’t want to do this.
Maeve stared back at him, struggling to hate him as much as she wanted to. “Okay,” she said.
His hand rested on the doorknob. “I must apologize to you. I did not believe that Violet would harm you.”
“I’ll live,” she said more forcefully than she intended.
He nodded once and opened the door. Maeve started into the room, but paused in the doorway. “Xavier?”
He looked up, the blackness of his eyes a soft shade of gray.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why do you act so differently toward Violet than the others? They seem to adore her, but you—”
“Hate her?” he said, one corner of his mouth twisted up. “I may be the only one in this Manor who is not here by choice.”
“Why—”
“It is probably difficult to believe given the way I appear to you now, but not long ago, I was human. Violet stripped that from me and has forced me to remain with her since then.”
Maeve stared at him, her mouth open. “Violet turned you into—”
“A monster, yes.” He licked his lips and looked away from her. “I implore you to do as she says. Though now you simply fear death, I concur there are far worst things. She is not human nor was she ever. She does not feel remorse. She will not hesitate to punish you as she sees fits.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Maeve asked.
Xavier met her eyes, his mouth in a straight line. “I don’t know. Goodnight,” he paused and looked at the ground. “Maeve.”
Maeve nodded once and allowed him to close the door behind her. The lock clicked into place, and she stood with her back rested against the door, listening to Xavier’s footsteps fade down the hall.

35. Allie

“Of all places,” Candace muttered, walking on her tiptoes to prevent the sewer water from reaching her jeans, her arm around James to steady her. Allie and Tack walked behind them, Allie resisting the urge to splash Candace to shut her up. Every time Allie saw her, she managed to get more annoying.
“Al?” Tack asked.
“Mmhmm?” Allie’s eyes were on her feet, concentrating on not tripping.
“How are you holding up?”
Not at all. “I’m fine,” she lied.
She could feel him looking at her from the corner of her eyes, but she kept her gaze down until they reached the archway where Jeremiah had his equipment set up. He stood hunched over a machine, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his muscular forearms gleaming with orange scars. The three brothers were against the back wall, each holding a different blade, talking in hushed tones.
Jeremiah turned at the sound of their footsteps, his eyebrows high. “This is Candace?”
“I guess that makes you the lunatic, huh?” Candace shook her foot to the side, sending water everywhere. She must have stepped in the stream at one point. Allie hadn’t noticed, nor did she really care. It was infuriating that Candace cared about something so petty right now. Allie’s best friend could be dead and Candace was worrying about ruining her shoes.
“I’m going to wait out here,” Allie mumbled and strayed from the archway as Tack, James, and Candace disappeared into the room. Allie braced her back against the curved wall of tiles and sunk to the ground. It was slick and slimy, but far enough from the stream that she wouldn’t get too wet.
Surrounded by the stench of sewage and mold, Allie covered her nose with her hand and breathed through her mouth, her chest shaking.
She didn’t know how long she sat there before letting her head fall into her hands, a sob breaking through her guard. She hated how helpless she felt. Maeve was missing and she couldn’t do anything but sit around and wait.
It was her fault Maeve was in this situation to begin with. If Allie hadn’t gotten involved with Tack, none of this would have happened. Maeve wouldn’t be missing, Zeke wouldn’t hate her, and Brandon wouldn’t be spending his entire summer worried sick about where she was.
Footsteps echoed against the tiles and a pair of hands circled her arms. Tack crouched beside her, all but a small line of his face encompassed in shadows.
Her lungs twisted, her face contorting out of her control. Tears burned in her eyes and the back of her nose. She didn’t care if he saw her cry now, and if she did, there was nothing she could do to stop it this time.
Tack sat and wound his arms around her. She pressed her face to his chest, allowing the convulsions to rock her body. The harder she tried to contain them, the more violently they erupted.
“Violet has Maeve,” she gasped. “She took her to God knows where and could be torturing her or killing her or—or—”
“She’s going to be fine,” Tack said, his voice firm and sure.
“We don’t even know how to find her!” Allie pulled away and stared at his face. She could feel her anger weighing heavily on her features, but she couldn’t soften her expression.
For once, there was no humor in his eyes. “Jeremiah has one of her creatures. He’s going to get it to lead us there.”
“You saw that thing! It would die before it gave up its master!”
“We just need to find something stronger than its loyalty to Violet,” said Tack, hesitantly reaching his hand toward Allie. When she didn’t pull away, he tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Like what?” Allie asked in a small voice.
He shrugged. “We just need to find something it wants.”
“It’s a monster whose sole purpose is to please that woman. It doesn’t want anything else. Nothing we can give it.”
“Everyone wants something,” he said quietly, staring thoughtfully ahead of him.
Allie stared at his profile, memorizing the way his eyelashes curled, how she could see his eyes sparkle even in the dark. “What do you want?” she whispered. She wasn’t sure what made her say it; maybe sitting in the dark lulled her a false sense of security, offering her bravery she’d never have in the light.
His tilted his head to the side to look at her, his expression soft. “You,” he said simply. Neither of them moved for what felt like a long time. As warm as her cheeks felt, Allie couldn’t find it in herself to look away. Tack’s gaze trapped her, and then he was inching forward, his eyes never leaving hers. She stared back with her breath caught in her throat until the tips of their noses rested against each other’s cheeks.
He closed the rest of the distance between them, his lips finding hers.
Heat flooded to Allie’s chest. There was a stunning gentleness in the way he kissed her; he didn’t seem like the kind of person who was gentle with anything. He had spent his entire life around sharpened metal and blood, brought up to be adept at killing. His lips, however, were soft, his hands gentle, pulling her closer to him. She slid her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck, a tingling sensation shooting from his skin to hers, filling her with the same deep ache she had felt in the abandoned house.
Kissing Tack felt easy and natural, as if she’d done it a thousand times before. Like breathing air. There were no other worlds, no problems to solve. There was no second life Tack couldn’t remember, one where Allie didn’t exist. But it was also like she had never been kissed before. Like she had never breathed, she had never lived before this moment.
He pulled her closer, the gentleness of his lips deepening and shifting to a sort of desperation, as though he was afraid to let go. Then his hands slid under her shirt to her stomach and she wanted to die right there, only she didn’t because then she wouldn’t feel the fire that was his fingers against her skin. It was all she ever wanted to feel again.
Her hands traveled up his shoulders, around his neck, her fingers finding the metal chain of his necklace. Feeling the cold surface of the metal somehow anchored her back to reality, and the truth hit her like a punch to the gut. She planted her hands against his chest and pulled away, her breath shaky.
“No,” she said.
He looked at her through his lashes, his breathing uneven. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to.” Genuine hurt sparkled in his eyes.
She pressed her lips together and leaned back, hoping the increased space between them would clear her head. “I did.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I—I just can’t.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes. It made the desire to kiss him again too difficult to ignore. He was one of the fictional characters brought here by Candace’s invention. That meant he was one of the many set to return to their worlds the moment Candace and Jeremiah figured out how to reverse the process. He would return to his world with no recollection of this world. With no recollection of her. And she would still be here. Alone. She would remember everything, but she would never have him. “I can’t care about you, Tack,” she whispered.
His fingers traced her chin, lifting her face, forcing her to look at him. She wished he would stop looking at her like that. “Why?”
“Because soon enough you’ll be gone. You’ll leave like everybody else.” With her parents always in and out without warning, Brandon heading off to college in California, and Maeve—Allie’s stomach flipped. And who knew if Maeve would even be around anymore after tonight? She couldn’t take another absentee in her life.
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest, just above his heart. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
She had to look away, unable to hold his gaze. “You’re going home as soon as Candace and Jeremiah figure out how to do that.”
“Small fry! Get in here!” Jeremiah’s voice rang through the tunnels, breaking the wall of tension built between her and Tack. He released her hand, which fell to her side, suddenly cold in the absence of his skin.
“Aren’t you going in there?” Tack asked quietly.
Allie sat up straighter. “Not if he addresses me like that. I’ll go when he has the decency to use my name.”
Tack smirked. The tip of his necklace peeked out from the collar of his shirt, reflecting the light. Indecipherable markings coiled in a small circle. “What does your necklace mean?” she asked.
“My what?” He looked down, his hand lifting to his throat. His eyes widened as he turned the metal over in his hand. “I’ve never seen this before in my life.”
“You were wearing it earlier—”
“This isn’t mine,” he said.
“What does it say?”
He ran his thumb over the surface. “I have no idea.” He pulled on the chain to take it off, but stopped short, wincing. “What the hell…” He tried again, and this time, Allie saw the line go taunt. He couldn’t get it off.
“Let me help, there has to be a clasp in the back.” He turned around and Allie pushed the neck of his shirt down to see the chain. She ran her fingers over the back of his neck in confusion.
“Did you find it?” he asked.
“Tack…” Not only was there no clasp to the chain, but there was also no way to remove it. The metal was burned into the skin at the back of his neck, the two materials suctioned together with no possibility of separation without cutting his skin off.
“What?” He threw his hand against his neck.
“How have you never noticed something that can never be taken off?” Allie asked.
Tack turned back to her, both of his hands clamped around the necklace. “I don’t know.”
“Allie!” Jeremiah yelled. “Get in here!”
“What do you think he wants?” She frowned at the archway.
“A mediator.” Tack smirked. “He and Candace have been at each other’s throats since they met.”
Allie couldn’t help but remember how Kai and she had been the same way up until he died. Thinking about Kai made the panic mount in her chest all over again. She may not have loved him, but he was still a person and he was buried alive.
She had her cell phone out before she realized what she was doing.
“Who are you calling?” Tack asked.
“Brandon. Zeke hates me. He’s never going to believe a word I say, but I can’t just leave Kai and everyone else that’s died from this damn machine underground. And I think I know someone who will be willing to help.”
“Hello?” Brandon’s voice came over the speaker.
“Brandon, I need you to do me a favor.”
She explained the situation, bracing herself for his disbelief and disgust of her request.
“I don’t suppose you’ll explain what’s happening?” Brandon finally said.
“I promise I will, but I can’t right now.”
He sighed. “I’ll call Shane. We’ll take care of Kai, but what do you want us to do about the rest of the people? How are we supposed to know what people to dig up? And isn’t that a crime?”
Allie ducked into the room where Jeremiah and Candace were arguing. They stood on opposite sides of a worktable, both leaning over it, hands braced on the surface, their faces twisted in frustration. Jeremiah looked up at her with an exasperated expression. “There you are. Can you please tell her she’s being ridiculous?” He nodded his head sharply at Candace, but Allie waved her hand at him, her attention on James. He was sitting in a chair in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the two of them with a bored expression.
“You’re not listening to me!” said Candace.
“Because you don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Jeremiah countered.
“It’s my invention!” Candace threw her hands up in disbelief.
“And look where that’s gotten us sweet cheeks!”
“This is not my fault—”
“Can you two shut up for one second?” Tack demanded.
“James,” Allie said before they could start up again. “I hate to pull you away, but do you think you can help with the people who’ve died?”
“Oh thank God.” James leapt up from his chair. “Anything to get out of here. What do you want me to do?”
She handed the phone to him. “My cousin Brandon’s on the line. We need to figure out a way to differentiate which recent deaths have been because of Candace’s invention and which people actually died. And then get them out of the ground. I thought with you being a detective and all…”
“I can do that.” James took the phone from her and disappeared into the tunnels.
“You just can’t take that I might be smarter than you!” Candace yelled in the background.
Allie interjected before Jeremiah could retort. “Have you made any progress with Violet’s mutant spawn?”
Jeremiah threw his arms up, and let his hands slap against the table. “One thing at a time, small-fry. There aren’t exactly heaps of archives lying around on befriending psychopathic mutant minions. And besides, I’m a little preoccupied dealing with little miss ice princess over here.”
“Ice princess? You’re the one—”
“Candace,” Tack interrupted. She looked up at him, startled. Tack rarely addressed her directly; he rarely spoke around her at all. “I need the name of the author of my book.”
She lowered her brow. “Why?”
“Because I need to see them.” Tack’s jaw was set, his hand busily running over the necklace. “I need to see them now.”
“Of all of our problems right now, that hardly seems—” Jeremiah started, his marred face a deep red beneath the orange scaring.
“Here,” Candace cut him off, handing Tack a scrap of paper with a name scribbled in blue ink.
Hazel Nash.
Yet another task to add to ever-growing list of dire matters to attend to.

36. Brandon

“You know.” Shane hoisted a shovel from the back of Brandon’s Jeep. “Most people just go to the movies for date night.”
“Well, aren’t you glad I’m not most people?” Brandon grinned, his own shovel in hand. “This is way more glamorous.”
“Yes, digging up bodies that may or may not be dead does have a certain sparkle to it, doesn’t it?” Shane’s tone was lighthearted, but there was an edge to the look in his eyes.
“I can do this alone if it’s too much…” Brandon rocked back on his heels. He and Shane had gone out of their way to avoid talking about Kai—or any past relationships for that matter. The entire situation was unnatural. What was he supposed to say when they were digging up the body of the guy his boyfriend used to love?
Shane shook his head. “I want to help. Isn’t some James guy supposed to be here?” He glanced around the cemetery.
“He’s meeting us here with a list of names and locations. We can start with Kai though—” Brandon stopped short.
Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. You don’t have to look at me like I’m about to shatter.”
“I don’t think you’re about to shatter.” Brandon shrugged and started into the cemetery, maneuvering through the various tombstones, the grass wet and soft beneath his feet. “Explode in a spontaneous fit of rage, maybe, but never shatter.”
Shane fell into stride beside him, balancing the rusty shovel on his left shoulder. “Can honestly say, this is a first for me.”
They neared Kai’s grave, where flowers and candles of different colors and sizes covered the tombstone.
“Really? Huh. I do this all the time.” Brandon smirked.
Shane gave him a reluctant smile. He let the shovel swing to the ground, the tip lodging itself into the earth. Stray locks of his dark hair coiled around his ears, his hazel eyes shining in the moonlight. Brandon noticed each of his fingers were red and raw surrounding the nail; he was picking at them again. For as little time as Brandon had known him, he had already picked up on all of Shane’s nervous traits, of which there were many.
Brandon sunk his shovel into the dirt and heaved it to the side, Shane quickly following. Every few moments or so, Brandon glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure some guard or officer wasn’t trudging up the hill, prepared to charge them with grave robbing.
“Brandon,” Shane said through a bursting breath. “What exactly are we supposed to do with all of these bodies after we dig them up?”
Brandon paused, his shovel full of dirt, a shaky breath passing his lips. “That’s a very good question,” he muttered and stabbed the earth again.
“You hadn’t thought that far ahead, had you?” There was amusement in Shane’s voice.
“You don’t always have to be smarter than me, you know,” said Brandon.
“But you make it so easy.”
Brandon whipped his head around at the sound of a roaring engine, followed by the outline of a man making his way toward them. Shane dropped his shovel. “Should we run for it?”
“I think it’s just James,” Brandon said, clutching the handle of his shovel until his knuckles felt like splitting open.
The man’s face emerged in a pool of light—he didn’t look angry or disgusted, so that was a good sign. He had a crown of sandy hair spiking up in all directions, and a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
“You’re Brandon and Shane?” He stopped at the edge of the discarded pile of dirt.
“Yes,” answered Shane.

“James.” The man nodded his introduction and handed the paper to Brandon. “Sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t make any mistakes. Didn’t want to dig up anyone that was actually dead.” He winced slightly and scratched at the back of his neck. “Still weird though.”
Brandon smoothed out the paper, and then did a double take at the amount of ink on the page. “There’s like a hundred names on this list!”
“More.” James popped his eyebrows up. Brandon noticed a peculiar pattern of freckles—identical to the color of his hair—framing his cheekbones. There seemed to be a line circling his face they could not surpass, so instead they accumulated about the borders. “I guess I’ll grab the shovel from my car and get to work on another grave.”
Brandon nodded as James turned and sprinted back the way he’d come.
“It looks like it’ll be a long night,” muttered Shane.
“Now I really don’t know what we’ll do with all these bodies.”
Shane stabbed his shovel into the dirt and tossed it aside. “I really hope none of those people opted to be cremated when they died.”
The thought made Brandon’s blood run cold. After that, they lapsed into silence save for their struggled breaths and the pounding of metal against the earth.

37. Maeve

Maeve stirred at a knock on the door. She threw the covers over her head and buried her face in the unfamiliar pillow. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night. The bed was too firm, the sheets too heavy, and the pillow smelled of sandalwood instead of strawberry shampoo like hers back home.
The door creaked open, but she didn’t come out.
“Maeve,” said Xavier. “Are you awake?”
In response, Maeve grabbed the pillow on the opposite side of the bed, blindly chucked it in his direction, and retreated under the covers. “Go. Away.”
“Hey!” Something shattered. “I’ve only brought you breakfast.”
“I don’t want it,” Maeve said through her teeth as her stomach growled. She was starving, but didn’t want anything from Violet or anyone else in this God-awful place. She would sooner starve to death.
“You must be hungry,” he insisted.
“I’m not.”
He sighed. “I’ll leave the food here in case you change your mind. You have twenty minutes to eat and dress, then I must escort you to see Violet.”
Maeve looked up then, shoving the covers to the end of the bed. She supposed she should have felt self-conscious doing so—she slept only in a T-shirt and her underwear—but she was too angry to care.
“Why does she want to see me?” Maeve asked. She wasn’t sure why she was asking. It was easy to infer it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Xavier’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know.”
Maeve eyed the plate of food balanced on the dresser beside the door. A bowl of oatmeal lay shattered beside it, the brown mush splayed across the carpet. Xavier must have dropped it when she ambushed him with the pillow. Good. She hated oatmeal.
“Someone will clean that up while you are speaking with Violet,” said Xavier.
“Don’t you mean something?” Maeve snapped.
Xavier’s body went rigid, his teeth grinding together. The stature of his body looked angry, but there was something poignant in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast. Remember. Twenty minutes.” Before Maeve could respond, he turned, closed the door, and locked it behind him.
Maeve groaned, hoisted herself from the bed, and stumbled toward the dresser. She rummaged through the first drawer until she came across a pair of jeans. The food on the tray enticed her, her stomach clenching, but she wasn’t giving in. She grabbed the tray and threw it across the room before her weak will power had the chance to give in. The contents flew everywhere, the sound of glass breaking against the wall deeply satisfying.
She dressed in the jeans—which were at least a size too big—and a red short-sleeved blouse. After French braiding her hair down her right shoulder, she slipped on a pair of tennis shoes.
For the first time since the monsters took her, Maeve glanced in the mirror, and immediately recoiled from the sight. Her face was pallid, her skin lifeless, deep purple bruising stretching over her neck. She felt the urge layer on makeup to look like her usual self, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. Why pamper and pretty herself up to go see Violet?
Xavier returned, and he threw the door open without knocking. His gaze lingered on the mess Maeve created with her breakfast, but didn’t comment on it. He stood in the doorway with his hands dangling at his sides, his eyes lingering on the bruising along Maeve’s neck.
“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t have much of choice.” Maeve stormed past him into the hallway. “I’m a prisoner, remember?”
All conversation ceased at this, their walk to Violet’s study encompassed in complete silence. The path was becoming sickeningly familiar. A sharp turn from the hall, down the master staircase, across the glossy ballroom, into the damp and dim hall until they arrived at the large wooden doors.
The doors were already open when Xavier and Maeve made it to the end of the hallway. “Please,” Xavier muttered under his breath before they ducked into the room. “Do not provoke her. You will not win the battle.”
“She deserves much worse than provocation,” Maeve muttered, skimming her fingers across her sore neck.
Violet sat behind her desk, her fingers fiddling with a pen as she watched them enter. The piles of papers and phonebooks seemed to have doubled in size since Maeve had been here last. “Come here, child.” Violet’s voice was impassive as she waved her hand.
Maeve gritted her teeth, but before she could hesitate, Xavier gave her a small push. She glanced back at him, but he just raised his eyebrows. Right. No provocation. The bruising along her windpipes throbbed—it was probably worth sacrificing a fraction of her pride to prevent another attack.
Maeve stopped in front of the desk, wringing her hands in front of her. Violet lifted a glossy paper from the piles on the desk and held it up. It was a picture of a woman with auburn hair and bright red lips. She was beautiful, though dozens of small scars littered the surface of her face. “Is this Candace Madoc? The inventor?”
Maeve’s mouth went dry. Violet wanted her to identify Candace? She had never seen Candace before in her life—she couldn’t do that. “I—I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Violet stood, shoving the picture in Maeve’s face. “Is it or is it not her?”
“I’ve never seen her before,” Maeve admitted. “I don’t know what she looks like.”
“You’re lying to me!” Violet sidestepped the desk and stopped an inch from Maeve’s face. “Why are you protecting her?”
“I’m not lying. I swear.”
Violet’s hand twitched forward and Maeve braced herself, but Xavier’s voice cut in before she struck.
“I believe she is telling the truth.” There was urgency in his voice, but Maeve couldn’t look at him. Her eyes were frozen on Violet, her purple irises burning down on Maeve in return.
“Xavier.” Violet shot him a glare so cold the hair on Maeve’s neck stood on end. The amount of anger and power she compacted in that one word seemed immeasurable.
He fell silent. Violet turned her gaze on Maeve, her expression amused. Maeve froze, her breath catching in her throat as Violet trailed her index finger along her cheek. “Humans are such delicate, useless beings. So fragile. So cowardly,” she mused and began circling her, tracing her finger along Maeve’s collarbone. “That’s twice you’ve proved yourself useless.” She stopped in front of Maeve, holding two fingers up. Smirking, she inclined her head toward Maeve and whispered in a hair-raising voice, “I wouldn’t try for a third.”
“Why do you want me to stay here?” Maeve demanded. “I’m not who you’re looking for. I’m not any use to you.”
“Though you cannot solve one problem does not mean you are not the solution to another.”
What did that mean?
“Is there another reason you called me here?” Maeve lifted her chin, a slight act of defilement, of protest. Her parents had always said her stubbornness was her greatest flaw, but Maeve disagreed. Perhaps it was her greatest strength, the reason she was able to hold on.
“Yes, in fact.”

Maeve didn’t like the look in her eyes. Violet snapped her fingers and retreated behind her desk. Clawed and slimy hands grabbed Maeve’s arms from behind and yanked her back. She cried out, and looked back to see the eyeless creatures dragging her to the back of the room.
“What are you doing?” Xavier demanded.
“They’ve been so patient.” Violet regarded the creatures fondly. “I promised them a snack.”
The creatures strapped Maeve to a small metal chair, her hands restrained by metal manacles. She struggled against them, the sharp material digging into her skin.
“What?” Xavier broke off in a run toward Maeve, but Violet was in front of him in a flash. Maeve stared in disbelief. It was as if she hadn’t moved it all.
“Calm down, Xavier. They won’t kill her. I said a snack.”
Maeve watched the creatures make their way toward her, curved blades in their hands.
“She has done all you asked,” he said in a low voice, pointing a shaking finger. “I have done all you asked.”
“And therefore, I am sparing her life.”
Maeve couldn’t see Violet’s face, but she suspected she was smiling with her characteristic terrifying amusement. Violet’s head popped up, like something brilliant just occurred to her. “Wait.” She turned to the creatures, which stopped in their tracks. She dragged Xavier across the room by his shirt. “I think you should be the one to draw her blood, Xavier.”
He looked at her in horror, the creatures mimicking his expression. “Oh calm down,” Violet said to them. “You will still receive the food; he will simply retrieve it for you.” They calmed at this.
“No,” Xavier said through his teeth, his eyes solid and black.
She inclined her ear. “No?”
“Yes. I said no. I will not harm her.” His hands were fists at his sides. He refused to meet Maeve’s eyes.
She strained against her restraints to no avail, the inability to speak like cotton in her throat. The shock pressed so heavily into her lungs she couldn’t string together a single thought, a single thing to say.
“If you refuse, then I suppose I can do it myself,” Violet said dramatically. “But you of all people, Xavier, know I have little self control.” She grinned a knowing smile. “I may just kill the girl.” After plucking a blade from the creature’s grasp, she turned to Maeve, her eyes alight with joyful fire.
Maeve glared back. She was going to kill her—fine. That had been inevidable from the beginning. Maeve had always known it. But she wasn’t giving Violet the satisfaction of her fear, regardless of its undeniable presence in the pounding of her heart.
“Wait,” Xavier gasped, his voice barely perceptible. “I’ll do it.” He took the knife from Violet and knelt before Maeve. He shot a murderous look over his shoulder at Violet. “Do you mind? I don’t appreciate your breathing down my neck.”
Violet simply chuckled and wandered back toward her desk. “I suggest striking a major artery if you’re feeling philanthropic. It’s faster that way,” she called over her shoulder.
Why was she doing this? What did it matter if Xavier did it?
“I’m sorry.” He placed his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”
Hot fear made its way through her bloodstream, and she couldn’t control her breathing. Each breath came in faster than the last, unable to satisfy her lungs. He drew his hand away from hers and turned the blade over.
“Close your eyes.”

38. Allie

“I’m pretty sure we just passed a prostitute,” Tack muttered as they neared the apartment complex where Hazel Nash lived.
Allie glanced back at the woman standing on the corner with deep streaks of eyeliner and teased hair. She wore extremely high heels and a skimpy skirt, but had a kind face. “You really don’t get out much.”
“Am I wrong?” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“I think your world and mine are very different. That.” She nodded toward the girl. “Isn’t unusual.” She pushed through the rusty gates, the hinges squealing in protest, and jammed her finger against the buzzer.
The door unlocked with a faint click. Allie hurried toward the door and yanked it open, glancing down at the paper in her hands for the apartment number.
The outside of Hazel’s apartment smelled like roses. Not the nice, fresh scent of the flowers, but the cheaply made artificial versions in store-brand perfumes. Outside of her door lay the only welcome mat in the hallway, blooming flowers coiling around the letters. She knocked on the door, and a familiar face threw it open, her black hair braided down her back.
“Allie,” said Cindy, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
Allie stood speechless.
“What are you doing here?” Cindy asked.
“We—we were looking for Hazel Nash.”
Cindy scoffed, crossed her thin arms over her chest, and popped her hip to the side. “You’ve avoided me all summer and now you come looking for my mother?”
“Hazel Nash is your mom?” Allie demanded, beginning to feel light-headed. They were going to have to deal with the woman who gave birth to Cindy of all people? Of course she had known Cindy’s last name was Nash, it was such a common last name, she hadn’t thought anything of it. How was she supposed to know she was Hazel’s daughter?
“Nothing gets by you, does it?” Cindy called for her mother over her shoulder and glanced at Tack with a bored expression. “I see you finally figured it out.”
“You knew—?” Allie started, but was cut off as a woman in flannel pajamas appeared in the door. Large, ovular glasses sat low on her nose, an orange cat circling her feet. She looked to be in her late thirties, faint traces of gray in her dark hair.
“Can I help you?” She smiled at Allie and then looked to Tack. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back a step. The cat hissed as she stepped on its tail and darted back into the apartment. Licking her lips, Hazel composed herself and pushed the glasses up on her nose. “You’ll have to excuse me, it’s just—you look so much like—”
“Tack Slater?” Tack inquired, smiling.
Hazel laughed once. “Well, yes.”
“That’s because I am.”
Cindy rolled her eyes at her mother, who still hadn’t caught on, and retreated into the apartment. Anger boiled in Allie’s stomach. Cindy knew. She knew and didn’t say anything. Then again, Allie had been avoiding her and didn’t exactly give her the chance. But still.
The woman scoffed, glancing at Allie for some kind of sign that he was joking.
“We don’t mean to impose, but may we come in?” Allie asked, pressing her hands to her sides. “Tack has a few questions…”
“Who sent you?” she demanded. “Derek? My mother? Whatever they’re paying you I will pay double for you to leave me alone.”
“No one sent us, Tack just wanted—”
“That’s quite enough!” Hazel set her jaw. “That is not Tack. Tack Slater is not real!”
“We have a lot of explaining to do, I know, but you have to listen—”
“I mustn’t listen to anything!” Hazel straightened herself and tightened her hold on the door as if she was about to slam it in their faces. She didn’t look very intimidating. Maybe it was the glasses, or maybe it was the rubber ducks on her pajamas. “But you must leave!”
“You don’t believe us?” Tack laughed once, speaking for what felt like the first time since Cindy opened the door. “Then explain this.” He turned and pushed his hair away from his neck, revealing the chain of his necklace suctioned to his skin.
Hazel paled. “Very well,” she whispered. “You may come in.”
#
“No thank you,” Allie said, forcing a smile as Hazel offered her tea for the third time. It smelled like roses and dust, and had a watery-pudding texture. Allie didn’t think she would be able to choke it down regardless of whether it was polite or not. Tack accepted a cup just so she’d stop asking.
They sat on the sofa swathed in gray fabric and orange cat hair in the center of her living room. Allie had to bite down on her lip to stop from giggling at Hazel’s choice of décor. Countless portraits of her and her cat were proudly displayed—in some, they wore matching outfits, others had fancy backdrops and props. The one closest to Allie had a western them to it; the poor cat had a miniature cowboy hat on. It appeared to be scowling at the camera.
Cindy lurked in the doorway of the room on the far wall, her arms folded over her chest. It seemed strange there were no pictures of her hanging on the walls, just the cat.
Hazel sat crossed legged on a chair across from them, her tea balanced in her lap. “I still can’t believe you’re really here,” she said. The orange cat leaped onto her lap, its tail submerging itself in her tea. Hazel didn’t seem to notice, and to Allie’s horror, she took a sip of it moments later.
Tack set his untouched tea on the coffee table and leaned toward Hazel, his hands balled in his lap. “I just have a couple of questions for you, if that’s okay.”
“You have questions for me?” She giggled and ran her hand down the length of her cat. “Well, go on then.”
“This.” Tack held up the necklace with a serious expression. “What is it and why don’t I remember it? Why can’t I take it off?”
Hazel was still giggling as she rested her chin on her fists. “You are just as handsome as I pictured, you know.”
“Mom,” Cindy complained.

Tack glanced at Allie with pleading eyes.
“Can you tell us about the necklace?” Allie asked before Tack could find use for Hazel’s cat portraits.
“Well.” Hazel sighed and leaned back in her chair. The cat jumped from her lap and darted from the room. “It’s been so long since I wrote your story, but if I remember correctly, I constructed a fairly intricate backstory for your character. However, the story began much after these events—many of which I decided not to include in the novel. I’d anticipated including it in the sequel, but never got around to writing it.”
“Like what?” Tack asked quietly.
A wide smile stretched across Hazel’s face, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. “Your story was set in New York—as you already know—but I pictured it much differently than what it is today. There were no cities and cars, busy people flocking everywhere. I imagined it as what it may have been before—beautiful land with country houses and the kind of landscapes captured in nature photography. Your family lived in a country home not far from here—”
“Yes,” said Allie. “We’ve been there.”
“Yes, well, your home was one of the few based off an actual place. I came across that house by mistake—I was lost, you see—and deemed it the perfect location. Anyway, you probably don’t know much of your family history, and I presume you were too young at the time to remember anything that happened—this is just so strange!” She laughed. “Speaking of a character I created as if they are my own fond memories.”
“What happened?” Allie insisted.
Hazel sighed, disappointed no one shared her amusement in the situation. “Your father was a fickle man. He seldom thought ahead or considered the repercussions for his rash decisions. One day, before they had children, your parents ventured out to the Games. I wonder if you would remember them, Tack?”
Allie glanced over to see Tack sitting up straight, his back rigid. “My parents participated in the Games?”
“Participated? No. Observed? Yes. Your father found them widely amusing.”
The color drained from Tack’s face.
“What are the Games?” Allie asked.
“In my book’s world, those living on the planet were much more diverse than here. Creatures and monsters nearly outweighed the population of people. There were constant wars amongst the different species, fights toward dominance and power. However, within the human species, there were,” she paused, cocking her head to the side. “Well, there were different kinds. I suppose that in other works of literature you could call these people magicians of some sort, people who hold magical ability. However, in my book, they were simply people with extra abilities, so common amongst the race that they were rarely considered special.
“These groups of people sought to make the war against the creatures easier—in favor of the humans, of course. The Games were held as a sort of ritual or ceremony, held twice a year, and provided humans with—with a bit of an edge.” She smiled wickedly, as if her own cleverness impressed even herself.
“The healing,” Allie murmured.
“Yes. Because of the Games, humans were able to heal, were harder to kill, and lasted longer in battle. The ceremony also increased strength and agility, allowing them to become better warriors.”
Allie remembered that night in the alley and the way Tack had moved. He had been faster than she thought possible, his reflexes perfect. “What exactly were these Games then?” she asked. Tack had lapsed into silence, and was leaning back in the couch, glaring at his hands.
“Much of my inspiration came from Roman Gladiator battles—sacrifices, fights to the death, that sort of thing. They tried to keep it interesting, though for the ceremony to work, they simply required a certain number of lives lost so the human with magic could harness their souls’ energy. It was sort of like an opportunity for warriors to test their skills, only they hunted each other instead of monsters.
“The man who was in charge, who came up with the Games and was responsible for their success, was not one to be messed with. He had such power that he had made himself immortal. He was the most powerful of the humans in the entire land. He was probably my favorite character to write. Nearly seven feet tall, intimidating, devilishly handsome. Took me ages to name him. It’s actually quite a funny story! An old homeless man used to live just outside the building, and before the book was published, he took great interest in my writing. I told him the story, and he asked me to name one of my characters after him, the sweetheart. How could I refuse? Harold wasn’t a very threatening first name, so I couldn’t use it, but the last name Mcullough did have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“What about this immortal man?” Allie demanded. She didn’t care about Hazel’s writing process or some bum named Harold Mcullough.
Hazel sighed. “Well, one of the nights your parents went to witness the Games.” She nodded her head at Tack, who looked up, still glaring. “Your father did a sure good job of pissing him off.
“Your mother only accompanied your father to the Games because she enjoyed seeing the Oracle, who always observed the Games from a private room. Your father would go off and sit with the men with magic, and your mother would have her fortune told time and time again. That night, the Oracle informed her that darkness was coming for her family, and the only way to protect them was to protect her children. She was pregnant at the time and immediately agreed to do whatever the Oracle said. He handed her that necklace you’re wearing and instructed her to place it on the neck of her first-born son the moment he was born. To her surprise, two months later, she gave birth to a daughter, not a son.”
“What?” Tack demanded, leaning forward so quickly he almost knocked Allie off the couch.
Hazel waved her hand with a short flick. “Yes, you have a sister.”
“What happened next?” Allie’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Well, little did your mother know, her husband was up in the stands, exceedingly drunk, digging himself in a deep hole with the immortal man. Insulting him and his ways. Calling him derogatory names for not being a ‘normal human.’ He was drunk, but that was no excuse.”
Allie glanced over at Tack. He looked like he might throw up.
“Your mother had three miscarriages before she bore her second child six years later, and it wasn’t until then that the immortal man sought his revenge on your father. She gave birth to a son—you—and immediately placed that necklace on your neck as she was told to do six years before. And that same night, the immortal man showed up at your home, and stole both of the women from your household when everyone was asleep to get back at your father.”
Allie had pulled her knees up to her chest, her arms tight around them. Tack looked like he was going to break something. Cindy still stood in the doorway, her face pinched together.
“Your father searched and searched for them, and finally, one night, he attended one of the Games. He went to the immortal man, practically crawling on his knees, begging for the return of his family, only to have the immortal man force his gaze on the ring, where his wife stood in the center as a sacrifice.”
Allie let out a small squeak and Tack ran his hand over his face.
“After the Games, your father ran to the room of deceased bodies for your mother, but your sister’s body was never found. He ran into the Oracle as he was leaving the arena, and begged the man to tell him where his daughter was. The Oracle simply informed him that she was no longer in this world, and taking that as she was dead, he hurried home to you and raised you as the warrior you are.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound Hazel’s cat scratching against a cat-post in the other room. Tack removed his hands from his face and exhaled slowly. “You still didn’t tell me what this is.” He held out the necklace. “Why I never noticed it?”
Hazel let out a small laugh; it was almost a bark. “Because it didn’t exist until you came here—how did you get here, may I ask?” Her eyes were alight with excitement, magnified by her glasses.
Tack shook his head. “What do you mean it didn’t exist until now?”
“The moment your mother placed it around your neck, it disappeared—it contains the kind of magic you would only require once you left your world. The Oracle foresaw that you would require it one day. I remember dreaming that part of the story up. I just—I just can’t believe it’s real! I’m like a real live fortune teller!” She jumped from her chair, the remainder of her tea splashing against the carpet. She began pacing, barely acknowledging the mess she had made with the tea.
“Mom!” Cindy stormed through the room toward the yellow-painted kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels. Hazel continued pacing, as Cindy bent over and began cleaning up the mess. Allie felt a flicker of pity for Cindy. No wonder she was so bitter.
“But what does it do?” Tack demanded. “Why do I need it and why can’t I take it off?”
Hazel pursed her lips at him, an amused spark in her eyes. “You can take it off if that is what you wish to do. But the necklace anchors you—like a net or a tether—to whatever world you choose. That way you will not be subjected to outside forces. Since it has just been activated now, you had no choice but to come here, correct?”
Cindy gathered the soiled paper towels in her hands and stomped back to the kitchen in sulking silence. She proceeded to disappear into one of the back rooms and slam the door behind her. Hazel didn’t blink.
“Are you saying that as long as that thing is stuck to Tack’s neck, he’s stuck here? He can’t go home?” Allie demanded.
Hazel looked at her incredulously, as if she had slapped her in the face. “It was a gift from the Oracle! He’s not stuck anywhere,” she said the word like it disgusted her. “It’s attached to him like that for security—so no one could steal it for themselves. And I don’t expect there’s much that’s appealing for him back there as it is.”
“And there is here? In a completely different world that he was dragged to against his will?”
“He wasn’t sent here by accident.” Hazel rolled her eyes. “The Oracle made that necklace before his mother had him or his sister. Because he knew they would need each other more than their parents. Because he knew they would find each other again.”
“Wait what?” Tack demanded. “You mean—are you telling me that my sister’s in this world?”
“You hadn’t figured that much out for yourself, yet?” Hazel sighed and fell into the chair she had been sitting in before, even though the fabric was soiled with her spilled tea. “In fact, I suspect she’s the one who brought you here.”

39. Maeve

Maeve glared at the small hole in the wall to the left of the bathroom door. She had been staring at it for an hour, her eyes beginning to burn with exhaustion. She couldn’t look at the itchy bandaging Xavier wrapped around her forearm. The wound beneath it still stung and prickled, but she refused to acknowledge it.
All she could think about was warning Allie. She had to get out of here. If that Violet woman went after Candace, she was sure to come across Allie, Zeke, and Brandon. There was no way Violet would simply allow them to walk away unharmed. She would find a reason to implicate them, whether she could justify it or not. Who needed reasonable justification when they had dozens of horrifying monsters at their disposal?
Her friends couldn’t die because of her. But the door was locked, and Maeve only knew how to pick a lock from the outside—something she had learned from her Pot-loving, modern hippie father. He had also taught her how to hotwire a car when she was ten. His idea of necessary life skills tended to differ from other parents.
Her lungs concaved at the thought of her father. He would not want her to miss him right now. He would not want her to be sad. He would want her to fight back.
Perhaps it wasn’t so different. After all, if the door locked from the outside, wouldn’t that make it backwards?
It was worth trying.
Maeve rummaged through the bathroom cabinets until she found a pair of bobby pins, and paced back into the room. She knelt, bent the pins out of shape, and eased them into the lock.
She closed her eyes, allowing her hearing to heighten, going by feel. Her father’s voice echoed in the back of her head. “There are five pins in most locks. Now concentrate, Maeve. Feel for the one furthest back and push it into the unlocked position. Now work your way forward. Picking locks is a greatly underrated skill.”
Then her mother walked in and scolded her father for teaching an eight-year-old how to pick locks.
A faint click sounded as each pin snapped into place and she yanked the doorknob to the side, grinning. At least something from her bizarre childhood paid off.
The hallway was dark and silent. At least Violet hadn’t stationed some of those creatures to guard her door.
As Maeve tip toed down the corridor, she longed for Allie’s poise. Though she was obviously unaware of it, all of Allie’s kickboxing training provided her with immense grace. She almost looked like she glided across the floor, her feet barely brushing the ground as she walked. Maeve, on the other hand, had about as much grace as a cow with severed feet. Each of her footsteps squeaked against the floorboards, but despite the noise, she managed to make it to the staircase without some kind of alarm blaring.
And yet.
Her foot made contact with the first of the carpeted stairs and she was thrust against the wall from behind, a pack of human-like creatures grinning wickedly down on her. They had the shape of humans but with skin as black as the night sky, razor claws and pit-less eyes. Though Xavier looked mutated and compromised, he still had an air of humanity about him. These creatures did not. The insides of their mouths were blue with rows upon rows of needle-like teeth.
The closest one held her by the shoulders, pressing against her into the wall. All Maeve could do was stare in horror, knowing she had no hope of fending them off. “You are not supposed to be in the corridors,” it hissed.
“Violet gave us permission if she disobeyed her again,” the one to its right chuckled in excitement.
“My, she is a small thing, isn’t she?” a faceless voice grumbled from the back of the pack.
“I want to feel the warm human flesh before we drain the life from her,” one purred.
Ice shot through Maeve’s veins, bile rising in her throat. Oh dear God, she thought. Fight back. Her father would want her to fight back.
The closest one hooked its claws around the collar of her shirt and ripped through the fabric. The absence of the restrain on her body gave her the opportunity she needed. Bracing her back against the wall, Maeve thrust her feet forward into the chest of the closest one, sending it and the one behind it stumbling backward.
The two at her sides lunged at her with outstretched claws. She ducked and rolled to the side, her back cracking against wood as she tumbled down the stairs, arms tucked to her chest, blonde hair showering her eyes. The two creatures slammed into each other, hissing. Maeve’s back ached as she grabbed the wooden railing of the stairs to stop rolling. The sleeve of her shirt hung by threads, but the rest of her clothing seemed intact.
She climbed to her feet and sprinted down the remaining stairs, taking four at a time. Three of the creatures leaped over the railing and landed on the stairs in front of her, blocking her path, the others filing in behind. They had her surrounded.
Maeve ripped the torn sleeve from her shirt and tossed it aside, her hands squeezing into fists. There was no way out. There was nowhere to run, and she had no hope of taking the whole lot of them. But that didn’t mean she was going to go down without a fight.
The creatures pounced and shoved Maeve against the railing, their claws a mass of blurs tearing into her clothing. She felt sharp pain rip through the skin in her arms and let out an agonized scream. They ripped the gauze from her arm and reopened the raw wound. Tears sprung to her eyes.
Her vision was a jumble of rancid limbs. Her hands clamped around the narrow neck of the one to her left. She yanked it back and its body slammed into the railing, the old wood giving way under its weight. With a surprised yelp, the creature stumbled over the edge and fell. Maeve couldn’t tell how far up they were and if the fall would manage to kill it, but she hoped.
A hand full of claws gathered the fabric of her shirt from behind and shoved her to the floor, her face scraping against the carpet. As she rolled onto her back, her hands covering her face, the creature picked her up by the neck—just as Violet had—and slammed her head against the wall. Her lungs burned for air. She swung her legs forward, unable to stretch far enough to reach the creature. It stared at her with burning eyes, its teeth gritted, a hungry desire underlying its every feature. She couldn’t tell if it was a hunger for actual food, or a sick desire to hurt her.
Her eyes closed.
“That is enough,” a stern voice sounded above her, and the creature released her neck. She crumpled to the floor, coughing so hard her entire body convulsed. She squeezed her eyes closed, flinching at the sounds of yelps, kicks, and hits that followed. Then massive amounts of footsteps tramped down the remaining stairs.
A pair of cold, soft hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. “Maeve? Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes to see Xavier staring down at her. “Why didn’t you just stay in your room?”
She jerked away from him, pain spreading through her body. He dropped his hands. “Why didn’t I just stay helplessly captive, you mean?” She wished she sounded fierce. Strong. But her voice shook and her lower lip wobbled. “What was I supposed to do? Sit around waiting to be chopped up and served like Christmas dinner again?”
He chewed on his lip, his gaze sweeping over her body. “Are you badly harmed? Do you need medical attention?”
She rubbed at the dried blood on the back of her hand. “I’ll be fine.”
His eyes fell to her arm, the gauze long gone, color rising to his face, his hands clenching into fists. “Maeve—I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I hurt you—”
“I’m a big girl,” she snapped. The thought of him apologizing to her was too much. It wasn’t him she was angry with—he had obviously been protecting her—it was the rest of the world. “I understand why you had to do it and I’ll live.”
There was hesitation in his face, but he nodded. “May I help you back to your room, then?”
“No.” It was stupid to think she still had a chance of escaping now. He wasn’t going to continue on his merry way and leave her here to run.
He took a deep breath, and glanced over his shoulders at the vacant halls. He leaned in, his voice so low she barely heard it. “I’m going to help you escape, but not tonight. You must stay and cooperate until the time is right.”
Maeve paused, squinting. “Why would I believe you? Why on earth would you want to help me?”
He smiled sadly and shrugged a shoulder. “Who else do you have to trust here?”
“I don’t like being locked up like a prisoner.”
“The lock did not seem to stop you.” He smiled, amused.
“Perhaps you underestimated me.” She raised her chin.
“Undoubtedly.” Xavier stood and offered her a clawed hand. He noticed her staring at it and looked away. She took it and stood, the pain diming to a dull, unpleasant thrum in her body. She covered the gash on her arm with her other hand. The blood was warm and slick against her skin.
“Xavier?” Maeve asked. He glanced at her uneasily. “Why are you being nice to me?”
His expression didn’t change. “I do not desire to see you end up like me. You seem…much like the kind of person I would have acquainted with before—before it all happened.” His eyes stared off at something worlds away.
Maeve stared at him, her lips pressed together. She shouldn’t trust him. She knew she shouldn’t, but her heart hadn’t quite gotten the message. She couldn’t explain it; there was just something about him that made her feel safe. “You can take me back to my room now,” she whispered.
He led her up the stairs, a hand on her back to steady her. She didn’t flinch away from his touch this time. “Do you mind my asking how this happened to you?” she asked as they neared her door.
“That is a very long story,” Xavier whispered and opened the door. “I wish you would allow me to treat your wounds.”
“I can do it,” said Maeve.
His expression softened. “There are medical supplies in your bathroom. I hope you will learn stay in your room during the nights. Violet allows all creatures free rein of the Manor after the sunsets. You were lucky you ran into such negligible members.” A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Tonight could have been much worse and could have ended very differently.”
“Well,” Maeve said, self consciously holding the shreds of her shirt against her body. “Thank you, Xavier.”
He flinched when she said his name, his eyes locking on her face. “I promise to help you escape, whether my word means much to you or not. My only request is that you trust me and wait for the appropriate time.”
“Okay,” Maeve agreed. Escaping on her own seemed futile, and although trusting Xavier was an enormous risk, it was the best hope she had.
“I will help you with whatever you need.” There was an earnest gleam in his eyes. “On one condition.”
Maeve’s throat tightened. “Which is?”
“No one is to kill Violet.”
“I thought you’d want her—”
“If anyone is going to kill her,” said Xavier. “It’s going to be me.”

40. Candace

“I’m not kissing the thing if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Candace crossed her arms over her chest, watching the writhing creature in disgust. It didn’t seem to have any sense of pain—regardless of the dark blood oozing from its wrists, it continued to yank against its restraints.
She and Jeremiah stood in the small room in the sewer tunnels, Violet’s lackey still refusing to cooperate. No matter what they tried, what they offered, its allegiance to Violet was stronger. Always stronger.
“No.” Jeremiah mimicked Candace’s stance, his orange scars prominent on his forearms. “We’ve tortured it enough. Plus, you might turn it to stone. Then we’d be back to square one.”
“That’s Medusa.” Candace scowled.
“I don’t know what that is, but I still think we should try a different approach.” He scratched the top of his head and heaved a sigh. “Any ideas?”
“You mean you actually want my help?” Candace brought her hand to her chest in mock surprise.
“You don’t have to be a smartass about it.”
“I just need to hear you say it.” Candace grinned, tilting her ear toward him.
“If you haven’t noticed we are on a bit of a tight schedule!” He gestured toward the creature, which seemed to be smirking at them. “You may treat this like a joke, but I do not.”
She wiggled her fingers near her ear, waiting.
He exhaled in frustration. “Fine. I need your help. Happy?”
“Exceedingly.”
The creature growled low in its throat. Candace turned to see it foaming at the mouth, snapping its teeth in their direction. “That’s just disgusting,” she muttered.
At her side, Jeremiah was staring at the thing with narrowed eyes. He tapped his chin once and licked his lips, as if a solution was circling his brain and he was straining to grasp it.
“Do you—” Candace pressed her lips together. “Do you think it’s hungry?”
Jeremiah’s head snapped up. “That may be the first intelligent thing you’ve said since we met.”
Candace pinched her face together. “What would it eat? It doesn’t look like it has a whooping appetite for eggrolls.”
His eyes met hers, his jaw set off to the side.
She made a noise in the back of her throat. “You can’t be serious.”
He nodded his head to the side.
“I’m not offering up an arm just to get it to talk!” Candace took a step back.
Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “Not your arm, you idiot. I think it just wants some of your blood.”
“Why not yours?” Candace demanded. If she tried to bribe it with her blood, Jeremiah would notice her healing abilities. The last thing Candace wanted was to be a science experiment again.
He pushed his sleeves up further and held his arms out to her. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed these,” he said, indicating the scars.
“And?”
“And so the chemicals that did this permanently altered my blood. It might kill it. That would be rather counterproductive.”
Candace looked back to the creature, her eyebrows still pinched together. “How do we know that if I give it some of my blood it will lead us there? It’ll probably just screw us over.”
Jeremiah held up a small pocketknife and shrugged. “We don’t give it any until it tells us what we want to know. Can you do it or shall I?”
“I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” She snatched the knife from him and paced toward the creature. As she neared, it struggled more against its restrains, snapping its teeth. She brought the blade against the back of her thumb in a short, horizontal line and held it tauntingly in front of the creature’s face.
It went crazy. The restrains dug so deeply into its wrists as it struggled toward her that, for a moment, Candace thought it was going to allow its hands to be chopped off to get to her. Her blood dripped slowly to the concrete in front of her feet, and then the cut was gone, a shadow of red across her skin the only indication it had been there in the first place. The creature didn’t notice. The sight of the wasted blood on the ground seemed to pain it. It writhed and cried out in desperation. “Tell us where Violet is and you can have it,” she said in a hard voice.
Jeremiah walked to her side, watching the creature carefully. He hadn’t seemed to notice her healed hand, either.
It glared at them both for a moment, its face contorted with anger and exertion. “Okay,” it gasped—its voice only a hiss—and collapsed back into the chair.

41. Brandon

Brandon flopped down on the couch beside Shane with a groan. Every muscle in his body ached, exhaustion pounding at the backs of his eyelids. “I feel like a serial killer with hoarding tendencies.”
“It’s all over the news,” Shane murmured, the remote clutched in his hands.

They had barely made a dent in James’s list—but that was twenty-something less people buried alive. Unfortunately, they were all piled in Allie’s basement now. That would be a pleasant surprise for her when she got home, Brandon thought with a wry smile. However, she was obviously right. The bodies were still in perfect condition. They didn’t smell—they hadn’t started to decompose or anything. Those people weren’t dead.
“Brandon, it’s all over the news,” Shane repeated.
Brandon looked at the screen, his eyes half closed. They had been out all night, working as fast as they could because they knew they would have to stop at sunrise. The news reporter was talking about the numerous graves found this morning that had obviously been dug up. Police were looking for suspects, blah, blah, blah.
“Don’t worry about,” Brandon muttered as he rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
Shane hit him in the face with a pillow. “What the—” Brandon jerked back in surprise.
“Don’t worry about it?” Shane demanded. “We’re criminals!”
“Need I remind you they’re not actually dead?” Brandon pointed toward the basement.
Shane nodded toward the television shortly. “They don’t know that!”
“Well by all means you’re free to tell them.” Brandon flicked his hand and closed his eyes again.
“Well, I’m glad you find this all so damn amusing.” Shane was on his feet. He threw the remote into the couch, only to have it bounce off the cushion and go flying across the room.
“Oh calm down, Shane.”

“I can’t get arrested!”
Brandon pushed himself to his feet, swayed for a moment, and walked over to Shane. There were deep bags under his eyes, a thin layer of dirt coating his face, dusting his dark hair.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Brandon wrapped his arm around Shane’s shoulders, who then leaned his head against Brandon’s chest. “If it makes you feel any better, you can imagine the looks on their faces when all of these people are walking around again.”
The front door rattled and the two of them broke apart. Brandon walked over to the foyer as Lauren and her husband came stumbling through the door, multiple bags in their hands. “Mr. and Mrs. Cross,” Brandon sputtered and hurried to help Lauren with her bags. “I—I didn’t realize you were coming home tonight.”
Lauren had her wavy hair pinned back with a black pen, her feet bare. There were lines of mascara smeared beneath her eyes—she had obviously been sleeping in the car. Mr. Cross, on the other hand, wore a perfectly pressed business suit, his hair combed and styled to perfection. It was the exact hue of Allie’s hair, but other than that, there was no resemblance.
“My work trip ended sooner than expected,” Mr. Cross grunted and pushed into the house, depositing his armful of bags at the end of the foyer. “It’s nice to see you, Brandon.”
Brandon glanced back at Shane, who was still in the living room, awkwardly shifting his weight. “I didn’t realize someone was over,” Lauren said. “You’re Shane right? You go to school with Allie.”
“That’s right—”
“Where is Natalie?” Mr. Cross interrupted, not at all interested in Shane’s presence. He must have talked to his brother—Brandon’s dad—about why Brandon had come to New York. Disgust for gays seemed to run in that side of the family.
“She’s out with some friends,” said Brandon.
“Huh.” Lauren frowned down at her bags. “I suppose I can give her the souvenir tomorrow.”
“It’s not like Natalie has never been to Philadelphia.” Mr. Cross rolled his eyes and impatiently stomped into the kitchen muttering something about wanting chicken.
Lauren scowled in the direction of her husband and lifted the large suitcase into her arms. “I suppose I’ll just put this down in the basement then.”
Brandon’s heart wavered. He sprinted past Lauren and stopped in front of the stairs to the basement, slapping his hands against the wall to block her path.
“Brandon,” she gasped and jumped back in surprise. “What on earth are you doing?”
“You can’t go down there.” Brandon strained to grasp an excuse—a palpable excuse. He wished Allie were here; she always had a way of putting people under her spell, getting them to go along with anything she said.
“And why can’t I go in my own basement, may I ask?” Lauren demanded with that familiar condescending look of hers. Brandon had gotten it often when he and Allie were kids.
Shane stood in the arch of the hallway, staring with wide eyes, frozen and unhelpful. Brandon looked back to Lauren and smiled sheepishly. “Is there any way you’d just take my word for it?”
“What is going on?” Mr. Cross stomped over from the kitchen, a cold chicken leg in his hand, a large chunk hanging from his mouth.
“Excuse me.” Lauren took advantage of the distraction and slipped under Brandon’s elbow.
“Mrs. Cross, wait!” Brandon hurried after her, but she was already at the bottom of the stairs. Brandon took the stairs four at a time, but by the time he reached the end of the hall, Lauren had already set her suitcase down, thrown the door aside, and started screaming.
“Brandon!” She whipped around, her complexion a deep shade of red. “What have you done?”
“Mrs. Cross, please, you don’t understand—”
“What the hell is going on—” Mr. Cross froze behind Brandon, gaping at the dozens of bodies. His eyes shot to Brandon, accusation all over his face.
Brandon held up his hands, desperately looking between Allie’s parents. Where was Shane? “Look, I can explain.”
“Explain?” Lauren covered her face with her hands. “We have a murderer in the family! Do you think this makes us an accessory?” She pointed to the bodies. “Oh god what if they put me in one of those orange jumpsuits?”
“I’m calling the police.” Mr. Cross stomped down the hall only to freeze at the sight of Shane at the top of the stairs, a lump of ropes in his arms. Brandon met Shane’s eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. “I’m really sorry Mrs. Cross,” Brandon mumbled.
“For what?” Lauren looked up at Shane, noticed what he was holding, and let out a small squeak.
Brandon cringed as Shane descended the last of the stairs, determination and horror warring in his eyes. “I really wish we didn’t have to do this,” he muttered.

42. Maeve

Maeve stood frozen in her room as the door handle began to turn. Her current injuries were still throbbing in raw pain—she couldn’t take another beating from Violet already. But when the door swung open, Xavier stood in the doorway, his face calm. The abnormality of his eyes failed to faze Maeve now; it was a part of him. In fact, she had been around him and Violet so much lately that regular eyes would probably be a shock when she saw them again—if she saw them again.
“Violet wants to see me again?” Maeve asked.
“No.” Xavier almost smiled—an odd expression on him. “She’s busy in her study planning her day. I wish to show you something.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my room.”
He shrugged and extended an arm toward her. “You aren’t.”
Maeve returned his smile and allowed him to lead her down the hall. The Manor was still and quiet—Maeve suspected Violet had sent out her packs of spawns to search for Candace. The thought made her shiver.
They ascended a set of stairs Maeve had never seen before, bright lights shining overhead. It made her wonder what the rest of the Manor looked like; what else lay in the hall where she slept, what was on the other side of the ballroom, where they were going now. She had only seen the inside of her room, the cages, and Violet’s office. There were so many mysteries hidden behind hundreds of doors that poked furiously at Maeve’s curiosity.
She still could not fathom where they could possibly be in New York. If she had seen a Manor of this size and eloquence before, she was sure she would have remembered it.
Xavier shoved the metal door at the top of the stairs open and led her out to the roof.
Maeve gasped in relief, the fresh air filling her lungs—as fresh as the polluted air of New York could ever be. But she loved it. She loved the smog and the thickness of it. It tasted familiar. It tasted safe. It tasted like home.
She ran to the edge and looked down at the city, the familiar sounds of car horns and bikes, scrambling voices and footsteps wafting up in a comforting haze.
“I thought you might want a bit of fresh air,” Xavier said behind her.
“This is wonderful. I thought I was going to explode in there.”
Maeve closed her eyes and looked up, allowing the warm sunlight to soak through her skin. When she reopened them, Xavier was staring at her with an unreadable expression.
He was still standing back in the doorframe, as far from Maeve as he could be. “Are you afraid of heights or something?”
“Slightly,” he admitted and joined her on the ledge. She could see his body stiffen as he glanced down.
“I’m probably not allowed to ask you this.” Maeve rested her arms against the railing and stared down at the busy streets. “But I was wondering why Violet wanted Candace so badly. I’ve only managed to put bits and pieces together since I got here, but I can’t fathom what she wants with another human. She hates me enough.”
Xavier was staring at her mouth, his pressed into a tight line. “I’m not supposed to tell you that. But,” he sighed and leaned against the railing. “I no longer care to follow Violet’s orders. She wishes to find the inventor because she has never seen anything like this invention. She has enlisted the help of every type of creature, but as you can imagine, they haven’t been much help to her.” He laughed. It was a good sound, a bit strange coming from Xavier, but Maeve liked the lightness of it. The humanity of it. “She understands this invention has brought us all to this land, so she seeks to take us, and everyone from this land, back to ours.”
Maeve squeaked. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Power. To have this population under her control—she would have everything she wanted. Enough food to keep all creatures under her rule, enough slaves to do her bidding, and—” He coughed and looked away. The muscles in his shoulders bulged, his back tense.
“And what?”
“Violet is not human. She has power—power that I have never seen. And the life of another being, well, that fuels her power like no other source. With millions of new lives at her disposal—well, I can’t even begin to imagine what she could or would do with that power.”
“So you don’t know what she wants with us all, then.”
He shook his head. “I am afraid to know.” There was a sad look in his eyes, something hopeless.
“I will help you escape today,” he added. “I cannot risk Violet harming you again. She is growing impatient with the search for the inventor.”
Maeve’s chest warmed with the excitement of getting out of here, of going home. But there was also a trace of fear. She had already tried to escape once, and it hadn’t ended very well. “Are you sure?”
“Violet told me that she would accompany her creatures in searching for the inventor today. She leaves in a few hours. I suspect you wish to help your friends, so you can tell them that Violet keeps the invention in the storage room to the right of the ballroom.” He paused, licking his lips. “I will come to your door when it is time.”
Maeve stared at him in surprise, something unidentifiable squeezing in her stomach.
He was staring at her mouth again.
Maeve exhaled in frustration, her palms slapping against her thighs. “Are you going to kiss me already or not?”
Xavier looked rather taken aback. He opened and closed his mouth twice before managing to get audible words out. “You would want me to?”
That was it. Maeve grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and brought his lips to hers. He immediately responded to her touch, sliding his hands around her back. Despite the obvious damage Violet had done to Xavier—physically and emotionally—right then and there, he was unequivocally human. His hair curled around her fingers as she ran them along his neck, his hot breath mixing with hers. The skin beneath her fingertips was human—the rush of heat and life and electricity that pulsed between the two of them.
He took a step forward and pressed her back to the railing, his body weighing down against hers. There was no barrier of humanity between them—Maeve didn’t care that Violet stripped him of whatever he used to be. All she cared about was who he was now. And who he was now felt pretty damn good. His chest was hard and warm against her, the beat of his heart colliding with hers, blending into the same quickened, uneven pattern.
He pulled away, breathless, looking at her from beneath his lashes. “I don’t understand. How can you—with the way I look—”
“Oh for God’s sake, Xavier, you’re not that bad. You might think of yourself as a monster, but you’re not. Violet didn’t take away your humanity. She changed the way you look, that’s all.”
He ran a finger along the line of her jaw, watching her with pained eyes. The softness of his breath tickled her skin when he spoke. “How can a girl as beautiful as you care for someone like me?” he whispered.
Maeve slid her hands down his neck, her thumbs resting at the hollow of his throat. The thrum of his heart, strong and fast, pounded against her fingertips. “You don’t give yourself much credit.”
Shattering glass sounded through the door to the stairs. Xavier immediately dropped his hands and stepped away from her, his face ashen. There was a tortured longing in his eyes, his guard slapped back into place. “Violet can never know,” he whispered. “This cannot happen again. Do you understand me, Maeve?”
“What just happened?”
He ran his hand across his eyes slowly, then, took her hand in his with incredible gentleness. “There are so many things you don’t know. But all that’s important right now is that Violet cannot know of what happened here. She would kill you if she knew.”
“Is she in love with you or something?” Maeve snorted.

Xavier was silent. He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Oh my God, she’s in love with you!” Maeve covered her mouth with her hands.
He took a deep breath, his exhale slow and shaky. “Violet has been obsessed with me since I was fourteen. She slaughtered my family and abducted me to her Manor in our land. She made me look like this so no other woman would look at me that way again. She did everything in her power to make me hers—no one else’s. Though the only thing she couldn’t force was my affection. Though she has tried for the past four years, she has yet to find a way to force my love. So instead, she has threatened those I love in order to keep me in her presence. The moment she suspected my feelings toward you, she—”
“She’s been threatening you with me?”
His hands traveled over his face and back into his hair. “That is the reason she has kept you here so long. In this new land she had nothing to hold over my head—nothing to keep me here. Until you. That’s why—with her creatures—she made me—”
Lead dropped into Maeve’s stomach. “Have you been with her since I came here?” she asked in a small voice, the words slicing against the inside of her mouth like razors.
He looked at her through a veil of pain, his face pale. “You have to understand, there was no other way to protect you.”
Maeve felt like she was going to throw up. Violet was vile and terrifying and it was sickening the way she acted like some arbitrary queen. The fact that she was in love with him was nauseating enough, but the thought of him actually being with her was unbearable. She wished she could pluck the thought from her head and burn it. Its presence inside of her was tormenting. She didn’t want to know this. She didn’t want to think about it ever again.
It wasn’t his fault—she knew that. He was trying to protect her. But she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “We should go back now.”
He reached for her, but she jerked away, taking several steps back. “You need to leave before she realizes where you are.”
There was a long and painful pause, during which Maeve conceded and finally glanced up. There was pleading in Xavier’s eyes. She wanted to tell him it made no difference, that she didn’t care. She wanted to tell him she understood and wasn’t angry, but her body was vacant of her voice, not even a ghost of its presence lingered within her.
He set his jaw and nodded once. “Goodbye, Maeve.”
He disappeared down the stairs, leaving her alone on the roof. She knew she should return to her room before one of Violet’s spawns caught her, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because the thought of willingly going back under Violet’s control was sickening. She couldn’t because the thought of playing prisoner in that building for another second made her want to fling herself off the side of the roof. And she couldn’t because all of the strength in her legs rushed from her body at once, forcing her to crumple to the floor, cradle herself into ball, and cry.

43. Allie

Allie stumbled into her house, her mind still whirling from Hazel’s story. She rounded the corner to the kitchen and froze, her car keys slipping through her fingers. “Brandon?” she called.
“Shit, Al, I didn’t know you were home.” Brandon came running from downstairs, his golden hair sticking up every which way.
“Why the hell are my parents tied to my dining room furniture?” Allie waved her hands at her mother and father sitting before them, duct tape over their mouths, thick rope restraining their arms.
Brandon shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “I couldn’t stop them from going into the basement. I’m sorry Al; they were going to call the police. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So you tied them up?” Allie paused, his words sinking in. “What’s in the basement?”
“Come with me,” he sighed and dragged her toward the stairs. Muffled sounds of her parents’ protests disappeared behind them. Allie felt guilty for leaving them, but not enough to do anything about it. They’d done their fair share of leaving her.
He led her into the unfinished section with concrete slabs for the floor, old Christmas wrapping paper and ice skates from when she was ten pushed against the far wall. The rest of the room was full of bodies. Still and unmoving bodies. Allie suppressed a scream, her eyes darting from corpse to corpse in the center of the room. It looked like Brandon had at least tried to make them comfortable, most were lying flat on their backs, or pushed up against the wall in a natural sitting position. The body nearest the door was Kai, his skin pale, eyes unseeing.
She whipped around. “You stored them all in my basement?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Unfortunately, that’s not nearly all of them. Those are just the ones in New York. People dropped dead all over the world—I don’t know what you want us to do about the ones in China and Iceland.”
She hadn’t thought of that. She put her head in her hands and retreated from the room. When she closed the door, she leaned her back against it, and took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t work. She was still far from calm.
“Where’s Tack?” Brandon asked.
“He needed some time to think.” Allie took her hands from her face. She couldn’t talk about Tack now. That was a whole other un-calm situation in it of itself. “Can we untie my parents now?”
“They think I did this, Al.” He pointed back toward the bodies. “They want to call the police, and they wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain.” He rubbed his eyes. “Not that I could if I tried.”
“So naturally keeping them hostage in their own home is the better option of the two.”
“You want them to call the police and have them come down and see this?” Brandon demanded.
Allie sighed and glanced at the door behind her. “Maybe we should tell them the truth. I’m so sick of lying to everyone.”
“And what is the truth, Al? You haven’t exactly explained it all to me either.”
She threw her hands up in defeat. She tried to leave everyone out of it. She thought she was protecting them—preventing them from thinking she was out of her mind. “Well, come upstairs then. You might as well all hear it at once.”
#
Standing in front of large crowds wearing only your underwear seemed to be a common nightmare. Allie had never personally had one, but now, standing in the kitchen with her mother, father, and Brandon staring at her with open mouths, she imagined it was the same kind of feeling.
Her parents were no longer restrained—faint patches of red covered their mouths in the wake of the duct tape—but they sat unmoving in the same chairs, Brandon standing behind them.
“Allie!”
She turned to see Tack rushing toward them, deep shadows under his eyes. His gaze skirted Brandon and Allie’s parents, barely acknowledging their presence. There was a manic look in his eyes. “They found her.”
The instant relief loosened the tension in her shoulders. “We need to go, then. We have to help—”
“Are you talking about this Violet person?” Lauren demanded from her chair.
“Mom.” Allie held up an exasperated hand.
“I absolutely forbid you from going after this woman, Allie!” Lauren insisted, followed by a grunt of agreement from her father.
“I’m sorry, but neither of you get a say,” Allie snapped.
“We are your parents, and you will not speak to us like that!” her father bellowed, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, so now you’re my parents?” Allie turned to face them, her arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Where have you been the past three months? Hell, the past sixteen years? Brandon’s more of a parent to me that both of you combined!”
Lauren and Allie’s father whipped around to glare at Brandon, who took a step back, his palms raised. “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Cross…” he started, but Allie’s dad cut him off.
“I don’t care whether or not you approve of our parenting methods. You’re still our daughter—”
“Your parenting methods?” Allie yelled. “Is that what you call it? Because it seems more to me like you knocked mom up when she was my age, and neither of you wanted a kid, and you still don’t.” If Mr. Cross’s face was red before, it was nothing compared to now. Allie had wanted to confront her parents about their absence her whole life, but now that it was out in the open, the anger of their abandonment was almost too much. Her whole body began to shake. Tack laced his fingers through hers. “You guys travel all over the place just so you don’t have to deal with me, so you can pretend I don’t exist. Maeve is more of a family to me than either of you, and that psycho has her. You can’t stop me from saving her.” Her parents’ expressions changed, and they both leaned back in their chairs. That couldn’t be guilt on their faces, could it?
“Who has Maeve?”

Allie and Tack turned to see Zeke standing in the hallway, his hands deep in his pockets. His complexion was pale, his cheeks appearing hollow. “I didn’t mean to barge in. Your door was open.”
“Nothing—no one,” Allie snapped and tightened her hand around Tack’s. “We’re leaving.”
“If Maeve’s in trouble then I’m coming with you,” Zeke insisted.
Allie threw her other hand up. They didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Just don’t slow us down.”
“I’m coming, too.” Brandon came around the corner, exhaustion clear in his face. “I don’t want anything to happen to Maeve, either.”
“Brandon you need to stay here—” Allie started.
“I’m not letting you run off without me—”
“Because after all this is over, our basement is going to be a little crowded and confused,” Allie said through her teeth. “I need you here to handle them once Candace fixes her invention and sends everything back. Call Shane. Have him help.”
Brandon glared. She knew he wasn’t angry with her. He was angry she was right. His eyes shifted to Tack, looking him in the eyes for possibly the first time. “I need you to take care of Allie. I need her to come home in one piece.”
There was a fierce look in Tack’s eyes, his shoulders tense. He squeezed their intertwined fingers tighter. “She’s safe with me.”

44. Violet

Violet sat with her hands firmly folded on the surface of her desk, now cleared of papers and books. “Bring it to me,” she ordered.
Two guards approached with a black bowl, their heads inclined as a mark of respect. It was so nice to be around creatures like these, mindless and obedient. Humans on the other hand—Xavier included—never seemed to grasp the concept of respect. There was an annoyingly dominant influence of humanity on Xavier despite her efforts to shed him of that. And that stupid human girl wouldn’t know respect if it slapped her upside that nauseatingly perky head of hers.
The bowl contained the remainder of the girl’s blood, which she had instructed her creatures to save. Xavier had been compromised—he felt for the human girl—therefore, he could not know. He believed her torture was purely for the sake of the creatures’ hunger, and it was to stay that way. He could no longer be trusted with the truth.
“Thank you,” Violet breathed as she took the bowl from them and mixed in a small vial of powder.
Although it drained her in this land, she required the assistance of her magic. The use of it made her frail and weak here, but she was out of options. The search for the inventor was dwindling, as was her patience. She needed to find the woman and find her now.
Dipping her fingers into the warm liquid, Violet closed her eyes and exhaled deeply through her nose. For a moment, she saw only blackness, until the backs of her eyelids lit with color, a picture forming before her.
A woman with auburn hair and scars—the inventor—accompanied by a group of other humans stood at the entrance to her Manor. Was that—one of her Maaike’s was on a leash? It must be the reason they found her. She had exhausted herself at first arrival creating this Manor and shielding it with magic. After that incident, she hadn’t attempted her powers again.
Her hands shook with anger at her sides. That Maaike had betrayed her. It would be the first to die.
The sun behind the group of humans indicated it was midday, so she needn’t wait long. It appeared they would be arriving just as she had originally intended to embark.
With the inventor stepping directly into her palm, they would return to their land soon. That meant she could dispose of the human girl. She would no longer require her presence to threaten Xavier. The realization brought extreme joy to her heartless chest.
Violet removed her hand from the bowl and looked up at the four guards gathered in the center of the room, regarding her with anxious expressions. “There has been a change of plans. Announce this to all in the Manor except for Xavier and the human girl. We will not be seeking the inventor today. It appears she shall come to us.”

45. Candace

“It’s not a vacation, Ace. How much stuff do you need?” James stood in the doorway to her bedroom, his arms folded over his chest. He wore Candace’s favorite jeans of his and a loose white T-shirt, making him appear tanner than usual. His sandy hair was in disarray around his face, curled back to expose his freckles.
Candace yanked the heavy purse from her bed and entered the kitchen. “It’s best to be prepared.”
“So where’s the mutant thing that’s supposed to take us to Violet?” He followed her and fell into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Jeremiah’s got him on some kind of leash down in the sewers. We agreed it was probably best not to bring that thing down the middle of Madison Avenue. It might cause a scene.” Candace glanced around the room once more to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything and hoisted the bag onto her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Eliza called again,” James said quietly.
Candace set the bag back down. “What did she say?”
He looked away, a crease between his eyebrows. “She’s has my mom at her apartment, and wants me to come see her.”
“Do you want to?”
“I’d feel like a jerk if I didn’t.” James shrugged, a sad expression on his face. “She’s my mom.”
Before Candace could respond, the doorbell rang. “I swear to God if Jeremiah brought that thing up here—” Candace threw the door open and recoiled. Mcullough stood in the hall, his hands in his jean pockets, his hair disheveled and sticking up in the back. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’ve come to apologize for the other night. I was completely inappropriate. You are too valuable of a Member for the Center to lose over my poor judgment.” There was nothing sincere in his eyes. He still looked angry with her for walking—well, running—out on him.
“Wait.” James came around to Candace’s side. “You’re Mcullough?”
Mcullough straightened himself, although despite his slouching, he still towered over both of them. “I am.”
“Oh.” There was a smile on James’s face for a fraction of a second. He gently pushed Candace to the side, then slugged Mcullough across the face.
“James!” Candace shrieked in surprise.
Mcullough stumbled back, blood dripping from his nose as James shook his hand out. James exhaled out his nose, his nostrils flaring. “That’s for kissing my girlfriend you prick. Come on, Candace.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall.
“Have you told him about Reid?” Mcullough called behind them.
Candace froze.
James furrowed his brow. “Who’s Reid?”

Mcullough chuckled as he calmly walked down the hall and stopped in front of them, blood smeared between his mouth and nose. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“This is not the time for this—”
“I think this is exactly the time,” said Mcullough. Candace expected him to wear a smug expression, or at least hold onto some of his previous anger, but his eyes were soft. Upon further examination, she noticed there was no damage to his nose or face. He was completely healed. A chill shot up her spine, but James didn’t seem to notice the oddity, so maybe she was imagining things. There was no way he was like her.
“Can’t you understand that I’m trying to help you, Candace?” Mcullough said.
“What the hell is he talking about?” James demanded, his hands flinching at his sides. He looked like he would leap forward and strike Mcullough again at any moment.
“Did you even bother to read The Ring Brothers?” Mcullough crossed his arms. “Do you have any idea what you’re up against?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Candace snapped. “We’re ending this. Tonight.” She grabbed James by the wrist and turned.
“Violet. She’s gotten help from some of the creatures from The Ring Brothers. She’s gotten help from the one that keeps showing you Reid!” He sounded frantic, desperate for her to believe him.
She whipped around and stomped toward him.“Either you tell me exactly what you know right this second or I leave. And consider it my resignation from the Center as well.”
Mcullough rubbed his eyes with one hand. “A shape-shifter. There was a shape-shifting monster in The Ring Brothers. Its only desire was to torment its victims until they were driven mad by what it made them see. You do realize I have cameras in the building, don’t you?”
“The basement,” Candace whispered.
“Yes. The basement. I couldn’t see the creature—only its subject of torment can see it unless it wants others to—but I heard you say Reid’s name. I suspect it has been following you around, trying to wear you down like prey. And now I have reason to believe Violet has it under her possession.”
“And how would you know that?” Candace asked, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Can someone tell me who Reid is?” James demanded.
Candace leaned against the wall in exasperation. “Reid Thomas. We used to work together. He died—”
“We went to his funeral, I remember,” James cut in. His eyes were still on Mcullough, hard and cold. “What about him?”
Mcullough waved his hand once, laughing. “Your girlfriend here thinks she killed him. Feels guilty about it and so the shape-shifter has been tormenting her by showing her his dead body.”
James finally looked to her, concern in his eyes. At another time, she would have been touched by the way he was looking at her, like something precious and beautiful. Now it made her want to kick the wall. She didn’t want sympathy. Not now. “Candace?”
Something burned in Candace’s chest, the memory flooding her eyes. It wasn’t something she chose to think about often. “He was helping me with an experiment, an early version of this invention. He had been the only person in the Center who talked to me. He was kind to me. Something went wrong. I should have known it wasn’t ready—”
“Reid should have known, too. He was more experienced at the Center, if anything, his own carelessness and ignorance got him killed.” Mcullough dismissed her words, annoyed at her guilt.
Candace fumed, her skin crawling. “You don’t know a thing about Reid,” she snapped, wondering how she had ever held any kind of respect for the man standing in front of her. “We’re leaving.” She grabbed James by the arm, and stormed down the hallway.
#
“Where’s your guy?” Jeremiah asked.
The sewer stream rushed beside his feet, the putrid creature curled into a ball on his other side, a dog harness and leash attached to its back.
“He has family stuff to deal with right now,” said Candace as she made her way toward him. “I told him to go take care of it.”
“He trusts that I won’t let you get slaughtered?” Jeremiah cocked an amused eyebrow.
“He trusts that you need me to get what you want. So naturally, I’ll be fine. That’s how you operate, right?” Candace crossed her arms.
His face tightened. A sullen look sparked behind his eyes—vanishing as quickly as it had come—but, surprisingly, he offered no wry retort. “Yes.”
The Ring brothers stood off together a few feet away, piles of weapons at their feet. They wore identical medieval white shirts with leather strings laced up the front. Candace noticed the dark-haired one was the lone brother who laced the shirt properly; the others allowed the collar to lay open, exposing their bare chests in obvious contentment. Sweat and humidity matted the fabric to their skin. Leather straps holding various blades and weapons crisscrossed their bodies.
The two blond ones—who looked so similar Candace could never tell them apart—were sharpening a pair of curved daggers. The shorter, dark-headed one—who always reminded Candace of a Viking—swung a triple mace, testing the strength of the chains. The broader blond with a ponytail mumbled something to his look-alike, and deep laughter filled the tunnel. The short one glanced up, the spiked ball lodging itself into the wall at his distraction. The two blonds laughed harder at this.
Candace remembered the dark-haired one to be Naoise, and felt a slight twinge for him. He always seemed to be the punch line, though he never realized it.
The vile stench emanating from the water brought water to Candace’s eyes as she hopped over the stream and steadied herself on the slick tiles. She reached Jeremiah and noticed a group of people making their way up the tunnel, muffled voices drifting through the air.
As the group reached them, Candace realized it wasn’t just Tack and Allie. With them stood a lanky boy with pasty skin and dark, emo-floppy hair. She threw her hands up in frustration. “Who is he?”
“This is Zeke. Maeve’s boyfriend,” said Allie. She stood with her hands deep in the pockets of her black jacket, suctioned to her every curve and zipped up to just below her chin. Her dark hair fell down her shoulders in perfectly straight lines. She looked different. Tough.
Zeke averted his eyes and shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the attention drawn to him.
“You do realize what we’re doing is potentially dangerous—” Candace started.
“Of course we know that—”Allie interrupted.
“And I am not in the mood for babysitting today.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Zeke said. “We can take care of ourselves. This Violet chick has my girlfriend. No one wants this to work more than me.”
She glanced at Tack, whose vapid eyes were trained on the ground. His shoulders were drawn up under his ears, veins protruding around his tense muscles. Candace wondered what his problem was, and then why she kept noticing him. Something about him demanded her attention. It was an enigmatic, maddening feeling.
Naoise clamped his hand on Allie’s shoulder, grinning. “Good to see you, Miss Allie.”
“Naoise.” Allie smiled back at him.
Candace couldn’t keep the smirk from her face at Zeke’s reaction to the warriors. His entire body stiffened, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.
Caden and Agro approached, their arms full of weapons. They took in the sight of Zeke and made a coughing sound in the backs of their throats. “More children?”
“I surprised you, didn’t I?” Allie said in a surprisingly firm voice. “Don’t get all pretentious on him just because he’s younger than you.”
The one with the ponytail raised his eyebrows. “I am Caden, and this is my brother Agro,” he nodded toward the slimmer version of himself. “And Naoise.”
Naoise nodded, still smiling.

After setting the weapons down, Caden turned to Candace. He looked like he was frowning, but it was hard to tell around his scars. “You are quite small,” he said and handed her a small dagger with a curved blade. Her stomach twisted at the sight, much like it had when James gave her the gun. She would never feel comfortable wielding weapons. “That should be the easiest for you to handle.”
Agro began to hand a bow and sheath of arrows to Allie, but Tack stopped him. “She’s a kick boxer. Good with her hands. She would probably be better off with small knives. She’s used to hand to hand combat—”
“And she has terrible aim. Best stick with the knives,” said Zeke, who snickered and covered his mouth when Tack said good with her hands. He smirked at Allie with a knowing look.
“I suck at throwing knives. I could probably handle arrows,” Allie argued.
“I agree with Tack.” Agro handed two daggers identical to Candace’s to Allie, both bound in leather straps. “Best to stick with what you’re already comfortable with. I hope that you won’t have to use them, but it is best that you’re prepared. Tie these to your waist.”
Allie looked as uneasy wielding the weapons as Candace felt. She obediently strapped the weapons to her narrow frame, the leather concealed beneath the black hem of her jacket. The straps bulged in distinct lines beneath the tight fabric.
Candace glanced to the side to see Jeremiah watching the creature with a look of disgust as it rolled on the slick tiles on its back, strange noises coming from its throat. He looked like he was about to punt it across the tunnel.
“You kept saying you wanted a pet, Jeremiah,” Caden snorted.
Jeremiah glared at him. “Consider that wish retracted.”
Agro proceeded to pass larger, thicker versions of Allie and Candace’s daggers to Zeke and Tack, but Tack held up a hand in protest. “I would prefer a sword. That one.” He nodded toward a large sword atop the pile, suspended teeth carved into the hilt.
Agro cocked an eyebrow. “That is too heavy for you, child—”
In one swift movement, Tack slipped the sword from the ground, spun it around in his hand, and pressed the tip to Agro’s throat. “I think I can handle it.”
Everyone looked slightly shocked, but Candace did recall in Tack’s book that his weapon of choice had been a sword. If anything, he was probably better trained than the Ring brothers were.
“Very well.” Agro stepped back and handed both of the knives to Zeke, also bound in leather holdings. “The straps work best wound over your shoulders,” he told him. Zeke took the weapons from him, his face drained of color.
Candace tied her own dagger around her hips, the weight unfamiliar as it rested against her side. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.
Tack strapped the sword to his back, the amusement gone from his face.
The brothers distributed the remaining weapons amongst themselves, strapping them to various parts of their bodies. Candace wondered why Jeremiah wasn’t taking a weapon. Perhaps he already had one on him. The creature jumped up from the ground, making a shrieking, wailing sound, and took off down the tunnel.
Jeremiah lurched forward, leash in hand, and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking directly on Candace’s face. “I suppose it’s time to go.”

46. James

“Liz,” James called as he knocked on her door. “Come on, open up.”
His mind was whirling, only half of him standing on Eliza’s doorstep. The other half was still with Candace, worrying about her, wondering why she hadn’t told him about Reid. If she was being tormented, why hadn’t she confided in him? Why would she keep something like that from him? And now he was safely visiting his sister and mother while she was off to fight some evil, crazy woman out to kill them all.
He would slip in, say hello to his mother and Eliza, and then catch up with them. They couldn’t have left yet, right?
The door swung open and his sister grinned at him. “James!” She threw her arms around his neck, the scent of sandalwood overwhelming his scenes. That was strange. Eliza had worn vanilla her entire life. He wondered what initiated the sudden change. “Come in.”
He followed her into the apartment, and glanced around, taking in the empty living room and kitchen, every seat vacant. “Where’s mom?” he asked.
“Do you want some coffee?” She was already in the kitchen, holding up a red mug.
“No thanks.” Anxiety was pushing down on his chest. He had to hurry if he was going to get to Candace in time. “Where’s mom?” he repeated.
Eliza’s lips smashed together in a hard line. “You have no desire to see your dear old sister?”
James narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on? Is she even here?”
Eliza paced toward him, noticeably less graceful than usual. As a dancer, she had always glided across rooms, each movement deliberate and precise. Now, her movements were sloppy and heavy, unnatural to her body. She grinned as she reached him, and ran the back of her index finger along his cheek. “So clueless. So easy,” she whispered.
James took a step back. “What’s going on?”
Eliza pounced forward and knocked him to the ground. His back slammed against the table near the door, a vase of flowers shattering against the floor. He fell, his head cracking against the ground. Pinning him with her knees, she laughed—a short, dark sound. Not the laugh that belonged to his sister.
He writhed under her hold, but she—it, whatever it was—was too strong.
“Humans,” she cooed. “I was hoping you would make this a little more fun.”
It sounded like Eliza—the little girl James had grown up with. The one he had walked to school each morning and tucked into bed after their father died. The girl who had insisted on playing baseball with him in the backyard even though she couldn’t throw to save her life. It looked like that Eliza. But it wasn’t, and so he felt no guilt in grabbing the remains of the vase beside his head and jamming the jagged tip into the side of her neck.
She fell back in surprise, crying out, blood raining down her neck.
He pushed her off with enough force that she went flying into the opposite wall. Her right arm bent at an unnatural angle as she landed on it, but the broken bone didn’t seem to faze her.
After scrambling to his feet, he skimmed the room. “Where is my sister?”
The Eliza look-alike laughed and reset her arm with a sickening crack. It seemed to have no sense of pain. It slunk toward him like a cat circling its prey, its eyes alight with enjoyment. Her eyes. His sister’s.
“Perhaps this will be more interesting after all,” it said in Eliza’s voice.
“Where is my sister?” he screamed, then noticed the red liquid stained on the floor in the kitchen.
The fake Eliza lunged. He dropped to the floor and rolled to the side. Once he righted himself again, he sprinted toward the kitchen, a deep ache spreading across his back from the impact. The real Eliza sat behind the sink, thick ropes binding her hands and legs, a thin pool of blood surrounding her.
“Liz,” he cried and shook her shoulders. “Wake up, please wake up.”
A pair of icy hands gripped him from behind and threw him across the kitchen. He slid across the floor on his back, his eyes catching sight of fake Eliza just as she raised the large cooking pan in her hands and brought it down over his head.

47. Maeve

Xavier stood in Maeve’s doorway, his dark hair perfectly swooped away from his face, revealing what had obviously been handsome in his humanity. Even now, with the altered skin tone and dark eyes, Maeve thought he was striking. He wore a black button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans. He had never looked more human.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “Violet was to leave ten minutes ago.”
“Are you sure?” Maeve asked.
“I questioned her of her plans this morning. She informed me that nothing had changed.” He held out an arm to her, and she barely noticed the claws. She looped hers around his forearm and allowed him to lead her down the hall.
“You don’t have to stay here, you know.” Maeve said, stopping him as they neared the stairs. “You don’t have to let her control you. She has nothing to hold over you here. You could run. You could run with me.”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His fingers skimmed her jaw, warm and gentle. He rested his forehead against hers. “When I’m around you, I almost feel human again,” he whispered.
“You are human.” She skimmed her hands up his shoulders and knotted them behind his neck. “That’s not something anyone can take away from you.”
His eyelashes brushed her cheek as he blinked. As he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, her shoulders relaxed. This time there was no hesitation or caution, wondering if someone—or something—was lurking around the corner. Blackness surrounded them, the rest of the world melting away. This time, they were both free. They were both escaping Violet.
The thought made Maeve smile around his mouth and she pulled away. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “I’d like to kiss you away from this God-awful place.”
“If you insist, Miss Maeve.” He grinned and they turned back to the stairs.
Maeve jumped back. Beneath the stairway in the ballroom, dozens upon dozens of terrifying creatures had assembled, Violet situated in the center. She was watching them with her head cocked to the side, a wide smirk on her face. Maeve had never seen her look so amused.
How had they filed in so silently? Maeve hadn’t heard a thing, but more importantly, Xavier hadn’t heard a thing. And he had superhuman hearing or something, didn’t he? Maeve realized she had never actually asked him about the extent of Violet’s alterations.
She wasn’t sure she’d get the chance now.
“Amusing show,” Violet mused, followed by a clamor of screeching noises around her. It appeared to be the laughter of her creatures. She snapped her fingers once, and all of the creatures’ heads snapped in Maeve and Xavier’s direction, their glowing eyes greedily sizing them up. “Kill the girl.”

48. Allie

Allie opened the Manor’s doors to a wide ballroom. It would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the rows of countless creatures that occupied the entirety of the space. Their attention seemed to be directed on the opposite side of the ballroom, but once Allie opened the door, all nightmarish heads snapped in her direction. She shrank back at the sight, Tack stiffening beside her. They were so outnumbered it was laughable. The Ring brothers, however, didn’t hesitate in plowing into the room, weapons raised. And with that, deafening pandemonium erupted, the room turning into a massive blur of turmoil.
“Well this should be interesting.” Tack pulled the sword from his back, his face set. “Allie—”
“I’m not leaving until we find Maeve.”
He didn’t have a chance to argue. A long and thin creature launched itself at him, its face vacant of eyes and a nose, its mouth full of tiny, jagged teeth. Tack swung the sword in a small arc, decapitating the creature with ease. Three more identical creatures replaced the first, eagerly launching themselves toward Tack, claws extended.
“Find Maeve,” Tack yelled over the raucous, grabbing Allie’s arm and pushing her forward.
Allie ducked to the side of the room, narrowly avoiding the splattering blood of the unfortunate creatures that decided to take on Tack. She glanced back to see Naoise, Caden, and Agro with their backs pressed together, each swinging a menacing weapon, slaughtering anything that neared them. Behind them stood Candace, a knife gripped firmly in her small hand, Jeremiah in front of her, shielding her with his body.
Where was Zeke?
“Allie, behind you!”
Allie thrust her foot out behind her and spun once she felt the impact, her fists guarding her face. A small creature with slithering limbs and a snake-like tongue stumbled back from her kick, its eyes flashing red. Before it could pounce, Allie brought her foot forward. Her heel connected with its neck, and it smashed against the wall. As it scrambled to its feet, Allie slipped the dagger from the sheath. Closing her eyes, she thrust it forward. With a howl, the creature went limp, something warm and thick spraying her arm.
It’s only blood. Don’t get sick. Don’t get sick.
The room was full of wails and cries of pain, monsters and humans alike.
Maeve. Allie yanked the knife back and took off in a sprint, not bothering to look back and see where the rest were. As creatures approached, she slashed the dagger or threw her fists out, pretending they were merely the black leather bags she had been practicing on for years. She didn’t stay long enough to kill any more, just to halt their progress so she could find Maeve. She had to find Maeve.
“Allie!”
She turned, her fists guarding her face, only for a thick tentacle-like appendage to smack her in the stomach, flinging her to the floor on her back. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her heaving and gasping in desperation. She looked up to see an octopus-like creature similar to what she had seen at Kai and Zeke’s house slithering toward her.
Before she had a chance to scurry to her feet and escape, it pinned her to the ground by her shoulders, its black tongue flickering toward her.
Allie screamed and writhed under its hold, but it was too strong.
“You look delicious,” it hissed and brought its tongue along the side of her face. The skin of its face was cakey red, its eyes black and small. It opened its mouth, exposing dozens of razor teeth. When it leaned in, hot and disgusting breath washed over her face. She thrashed with every ounce of her strength, but remained locked in place. She couldn’t reach the dagger she had dropped a few feet away, and its other tentacles pinned her by the ankles. There was no moving. There was nothing. There was only the time in which the monster allowed her to live before taking everything away.
“Allie!” Tack. He sounded far away. Too far away to get here before it—
In a flash, Naoise’s face was visible behind the creature, the blade of his ax cutting through the red skin of its neck. Allie closed her eyes and snapped her head to the side, warm liquid raining down on her as the weight lifted from her body.
Coughing, Naoise helped her to her feet, streaks of blood smeared down his face.
She wanted to thank him, but her heart was pounding too violently in her throat. If it weren’t for him, she would be dead right now. Turned into monster chow.
“Go.” He pushed her forward. “Find your friend. Go.”
Maeve. Allie turned, scooped the dagger off the ground, and sprinted, her balance wobbly, a flurry of blonde hair visible at the top of the stairs. She wiped the blood from her face, and surprisingly, she didn’t feel like vomiting.

49. Candace

“Candace, get out of this ballroom.” Jeremiah gripped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Go find the invention, you hear me?”
“I can’t fix it without you!” Candace looked around the room, her hand still tightly gripped around the dagger. She hadn’t expected this many creatures; she hadn’t expected to have to fight. Even when handed the dagger, the reality of battle hadn’t sunk in.
“Yes you can.” Jeremiah smirked. “It’s your invention. Remember?”
“I don’t even know where to look.” Candace swallowed hard. She and Jeremiah ducked as a wolf-like creature launched itself at Caden, his ax held in the air in anticipation. Candace averted her eyes as the body crumbled to the floor. “This place is huge.”
Jeremiah released her shoulders and looked around the room, his hair falling into his eyes. His gaze fell on something in the center of the room and his back stiffened. “Candace, do you see that?” He pointed to a woman standing in the center of the ballroom, smirking with devilish amusement.
“Is that Violet?” Candace asked.
“Come on.” Jeremiah yanked her forward, away from their protection behind the Ring brothers. When the brothers noticed their movement, they dispersed and lunged into the battle, all smiling. How were they smiling?
“Candace, duck! Don’t let her see you—” Jeremiah was throwing his body in front of hers, but it was too late. Violet turned her head to the side, took in the sight of them, and grinned so wide it looked like her face would split in two. She snapped her fingers—the act itself was inaudible, but Candace saw the movement of her fingers—and a group of eyeless creatures sprinted toward them.
“Run!” Jeremiah yelled.
With Jeremiah’s hand on her arm, they sprinted through the raging crowds toward the stairs, the overwhelming activity a roar in Candace’s ears.
Claws dug into her back and jerked her away from Jeremiah’s touch. She cried out as her body fell backwards, and the creatures slithered around her.
“Candace!” Jeremiah called somewhere in the distance. Wherever he was, it was too far away. The creatures had already hoisted her up and begun to carry her off like some kind of tribal sacrifice.
“Get your disgusting hands off me!” Candace writhed and attempted to pull herself from the creatures’ grasps, but the more she moved, the more their claws dug into her skin. They lowered her to the ground at the side of the ballroom, shoved her through a door, and locked it behind her. She pounded her fists against the door. What kind of doors locked from the outside? “Let me out!”
“Candace,” a chilling voice spoke behind her.
She whipped around to see a woman with inhuman features and colorless hair standing in the center of the small storage room, the invention at her side. Violet.
Candace glanced at the door, and then back to Violet. How did she get here so fast?
“I’m so glad to finally make your acquaintance,” said Violet, her face twisted down in deep malice.
“What do you want?” Candace wasn’t sure why she was asking. She already knew the answer.
Violet was suddenly in front of her—Candace hadn’t even seen her move. She grabbed Candace by the collar of her shirt and yanked her toward the invention. “You are going to rewire your invention. You are going to make it so I can transfer all that is here to my world and you are going to do it now.”
She released Candace with a shove of her head, making Candace topple over onto the ground.
“Why would I help you?”
“Because.” Violet smirked and snapped her fingers, dark amusement blazing behind her eyes. Eliza stepped out from behind a pile of boxes, holding an unconscious James in a headlock. “Otherwise, I’ll kill him.”

50. Maeve

Xavier broke the neck of the last of the creatures with his hands and tossed it over the railing. More accumulated at the base of the stairs, charging toward them. It seemed that Violet sent packs, only a few at a time—though why she was doing that, Maeve didn’t understand. If she wanted to finish them off, why not send all of the creatures up and mercilessly slaughter them both? Maeve glanced down at the ballroom, but the creatures were no longer looking to them, waiting.
They were in chaos. Utter chaos.
The air was full of blades and blood, a flurry of bodies and movements. Violet’s numbers were clearly dwindling. Even though she started with so many creatures, they didn’t seem well trained. She watched three large men work their way through the room, slashing their blades through flesh like butter. The people were outnumbered, but kept the monsters occupied.
Beside the battle, a girl sprinted toward the stairs, pin-straight brown hair flying behind her shoulders. Allie. “Those are my friends down there,” Maeve called in relief. “I have to tell them where the invention is.”
Three of the eyeless creatures stood at the top of the stairs, teeth bared. They pounced at Xavier, who pushed Maeve behind his body. When one tried for Maeve, Xavier blocked its path, sending its body flailing over the railing and down to the battle below. Maeve wished she knew how to fight, wished she could do something useful.
Her eyes caught the glint of something mounted on the wall beside her. An antique display of two crossing swords. Maeve yanked at the hilt of one and it slid from the wall, the blade crashing against the floor. It was heavier than it looked. Bending her knees and gritting her teeth, she hoisted it into the air, the muscles in her arms already quivering. She looked over to see that one of the creatures had Xavier pinned to the railing, holding him by the throat, pushing his head downward.
“Hey, Stankface!”
It turned at her call, and the blade of her sword connected with the side of its neck. The sharp metal lodged into its flesh and it fell to the side, taking the sword with it. Maeve’s arms burned. She had hoped to take its head off, but that would do. “Come on!” she screamed and caught Xavier’s hand. He was laughing as they sprinted down the stairs, slick with discolored blood.
Allie reached the foot of the stairs as Maeve stumbled onto the floor. Relief washed over her face as she threw her arms around Maeve’s neck. “Thank God you’re okay. Come on, we have to get Candace. We have to keep moving.”
“The invention. It’s in that room over there.” Maeve pointed to the door to the right of the ballroom.
Allie opened her mouth to say something, her eyes widening.
“Maeve, look out!” Xavier yelled and shoved her into Allie. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, pain searing up Maeve’s arm as her elbow cracked against the glossy floor.
She looked up to see one of the eyeless creatures—twice the size of any Maeve had ever seen—stab its claws into Xavier’s chest. It yanked its hand back and turned to them as one of the large men with blond hair brought his ax across the creature’s body, slicing it promptly in half.
For a flicker of a moment there was nothing. Xavier was fine. Everything was fine. Then Maeve watched his body slump to the floor, and the nothingness was replaced with something cold. Something burning and excruciating. Pain she had never known.
Her chest concaved and she heaved for air; strangled, incomprehensible noises escaped her throat. She crumpled to her knees. Allie’s hands yanked at her to get up.
“Come on, Maeve, we have to keep moving,” she urged. “We have to keep moving.”
“No,” Maeve wailed. “Xavier!” She broke from Allie’s grasp and sprinted to his body, face down in a dark pool of scarlet. “No,” she wept and rolled him onto his back. His eyes were open and unfocused, his skin ashy. There was something peaceful about his expression, his lips slightly parted, muscles relaxed. She pushed his dark hair from his eyes, his skin still warm beneath her touch. A thin line of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth and a violent sob rocked her body. “You’re not dead. You’re not dead.” She grasped his shoulders and shook him firmly. “You are not dead!”
“Maeve, we have to leave him.” Allie yanked her by the waist. “He’s gone, Maeve.”
“No!” Maeve screamed and jerked away from her touch, throwing her body over Xavier’s. “He’s not. He can’t.” Sobs overtook her body, his blood seeping through her clothes.
Allie pulled on her again. The sounds of battle—metal on metal, shrieks and cries, heavy thuds as bodies fell—surrounded them. “He’s gone.”

51. Allie

“You need to get away from me, Al,” Maeve said through her teeth. A swarm of dozens of different types of creatures had them surrounded, no breaks in their lines. “They’ve been ordered to kill me. I’m a target.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Allie handed one of her daggers to Maeve.
The creatures charged.
Allie ran forward to meet a group of the small, slithering monsters identical to the one she had killed before. She kept the dagger in its sheath, using her fists and the heels of her feet to knock them back. Although her punches and kicks didn’t kill them, it was more natural and lessened the anxiety in her chest. Here she was in her element, her punches flowing with her breaths. She could protect herself like this; she could fend them off. There wasn’t that kind of comfort when she held the dagger.
Tack, Zeke, Jeremiah and the Ring brothers flooded through the break in their lines and jumped into the fight. Tack came to Allie’s side and sliced through the slithering creature approaching her. She noticed blood seeping from somewhere deep in his hair, the red liquid staining his face. The wound was probably healed already, but the blood was fresh.
“Where’s Candace?” he asked in a frantic voice, his eyes wide with worry.
Allie took a quick glance around.“I don’t know.”
She turned to see Jeremiah stab a large knife into a snake-like creature, his skin a mess of red blood and orange scars.
Tack leapt over the fallen bodies of the creatures surrounding them and took off after another bunch as Allie sprinted toward Jeremiah and pulled him away from the fight.
“I can’t find Candace! They took her!” he yelled.
“I know where the invention is,” Allie replied, yanking him toward the door.
They neared where Maeve and Zeke stood, standing away from the chaos. When a creature targeted them, they were able to protect themselves, but didn’t willingly place themselves in the middle of the fight. Zeke stood in front of Maeve, shielding her, the bloody blade of his dagger extended in front of him.
Allie grabbed Maeve’s arm as they passed and pushed her toward Jeremiah. “Show him the room where the invention is. Get him there and he’ll fix this. And it will all be over.” She turned back toward the battle, but Maeve caught her wrist.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes were empty. Poor Maeve. After what happened with Xavier…Allie was surprised she was still standing. She had never seen Maeve so broken.
“Helping,” was all Allie said before turning away and sprinting into the heart of the fight.

52. Maeve

For a moment, all was still. Those gathered in the small storage room glanced up at Maeve and Jeremiah as they entered, each looking slightly stunned. A small girl with sandy hair stood with her arm hooked around a man’s neck, Violet beside them. Candace was in the center of the room on her knees, her hands hovering over the invention. “Stop and I’ll kill him!” Violet snapped at her and Candace tore her eyes away from them. Maeve could see her hands shaking from here.
Violet looked Jeremiah up and down with her lips pursed. “And you are the scientist that has been helping her, are you not?”
“Yes,” said Jeremiah. His voice was low and full of ice.
Laughter filled the room as Violet buckled over, her eyes shooting from Jeremiah to Candace and then the man in the headlock. “Is this some kind of threesome?”
Jeremiah muttered something unflattering and stalked toward the invention. Violet blocked his way within the next second. “Don’t even think about it.”
He leveled a murderous gaze on her. “Do you want the invention to work or not? She’s going to need my help.”
Violet’s snake-like eyes shot between Jeremiah and Candace, her face a mask of ire. “Try anything funny and his blood will be on your hands.”
Jeremiah gave her a sarcastic bow before hurrying over to Candace.
Maeve stood alone in the doorway, her hands still grasped around the dagger Allie handed her. She felt vulnerable with Jeremiah no longer at her side.
Violet looked at her as she returned to the other side of the room. “I’m surprised they haven’t killed you, yet. Would you please?” she asked the girl holding the man’s throat.
Maeve took a step back, making Violet laugh again. Then she thought of Xavier, and charged forward. The girl lunged at her at the same time, sheets of black replacing the surfaces of her eyes. Her hands grasped Maeve’s shoulders and threw her to the ground, her legs straddling her body. The impact knocked the wind from Maeve’s lungs, making her gasp for air.
“Stop it!” Candace cried.
With a hand clamped around Maeve’s throat, the girl leaned forward, grinning. “You humans are just too easy.”
“Are we?” Maeve gasped, her lungs desperate for air. She brought the knife in her hand around and lodged it into the woman’s back, right where her heart would be. The girl’s eyes bulged, a strangled sound squeezing out of her surprised mouth. Maeve rolled to the side as the girl’s lifeless form slumped forward. The body lay still on the ground, blood soaking through the back of her shirt.
Maeve whipped the blood from her face and yanked the knife out of the girl’s back, her head throbbing in pain from the impact with the floor. The room swayed, but all that mattered was Violet, who now stood restraining the man, a surprised look on her face.
If anyone is going to kill her, it’s going to be me.
Xavier. Xavier’s words.
And now she owed it to him to finish her.
Violet released her hold on the man, who didn’t pause before he ran toward Candace on the other side of the room. “You just won’t die will you? I guess I’ll have to finish you off myself.”

She grabbed Maeve by the ends of her hair and threw her against the wall. Maeve tried to duck as Violet swung her arm, but her hand still connected with her cheek, throwing Maeve’s head to the side. Violet raised her hand again, and Maeve thrust the bloody knife forward, straight into Violet’s chest hilt deep.
Maeve felt a rush of triumph. She had always thought she was too small, too weak to be able to defend herself. Her relief disintegrated as Violet smiled, yanked the knife from her chest, and tossed it to the floor. Violet clamped her fist around her throat again as Maeve watched the metal clamor against the ground it horror.
“Stupid girl. I don’t have petty human weaknesses. There is no heart in my chest to puncture.”
Maeve clawed at Violet’s arm, her fingers coming away slick with blood, but Violet’s hold didn’t falter.
“Let her go!” A voice called from the other side of the room, followed by footsteps.
“If any of you make a single move she, and all of you, are dead!” Violet screamed.
The footsteps ceased.
Her lungs burned for air, twisting in on themselves like sandpaper, reaching for something that wasn’t there.
A flash of light caught Maeve’s eye behind Violet’s head. The blade of a sword sliced through Violet’s neck, her hold releasing Maeve’s throat.
Maeve crumbled to the ground and pushed herself away from Violet’s body, heaving for hair and shaking with hysteria. That image would be burned in her mind for the rest of her life. Maeve stared at Violet’s body lying still on the ground in a puddle of crimson, her head separate from her body.
Tack extended his arm to Maeve as his other hand dropped the bloody sword.

53. Candace

“What are you waiting for?” Jeremiah asked.
Candace paused with her finger on the button of her invention. All she had to do was apply a little pressure, and this would all be over. Easy. Simple. So why couldn’t she do it?
“You wanted to stay. We never—we never found a way to keep one person here,” she said quietly.
He nodded and brushed a lock of bloodstained hair from his eyes. “It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I was never meant to be here. This isn’t my life. This isn’t my story.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Candace threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “It’s strange, not hating you,” he murmured.
“It’s strange, being friends with a mad scientist.” Candace laughed and wiped the tears from her eyes before Jeremiah could see them. They pulled away from each other, and if Candace didn’t know better, she could have sworn his eyes appeared damp, too.
“You know, if you figure out how to stop temporarily killing people, we might see each other again, Princess.”
“I’ll get to work on that,” said Candace.
“Do you wish to do the honor or shall I?” Jeremiah raised his eyebrows.
“Well, it is my invention, remember?” She grinned and together, they pressed the button.

54. Allie

One moment, Allie was immersed in the heart of the fight, the haze of battle filtering her vision. The next, the creatures surrounding her, dead and alive, vanished. That’s when she knew Candace succeeded. And that’s when fear spiked in her blood.
Tack.
Did the necklace work?
She whipped around and scanned the ballroom, but he was nowhere to be found. Oh God. She’d given Hazel Nash shit about that necklace, how Tack wouldn’t be able to get home, but what if he had? What if he was gone?
The door to the right of the ballroom burst open and Tack stepped out, his face ashen, eyes searching the empty space with a kind of desperation. When his gaze locked on Allie, his face showed the relief she felt. He was running to her before she could even think to speak, and within the next second, he had her pinned to the wall, his mouth on hers.
“Are you okay?” he asked between kisses. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.” Allie laughed around his mouth, her hands in his blood soaked hair. She knew better than to ask him the same question.
His hands slid around her waist, the kiss deepening into something more serious than a thank-god-you’re-alive kiss. Allie’s chest squeezed, remembering where they were. Why they were where they were. “Tack—” she mumbled against his lips.
“You were worried I’d leave,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. “Candace got the invention to work. She sent everything back and I’m still here. If there’s another reason you don’t want to be with me…” He stared deep into her eyes, then slowly dipped his head, his lips brushing her throat. “Then tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice so low she nearly moaned at just the sound of it. As if she could do that with his lips still touching her neck, his fingers firm against her waist. He didn’t move, but just that stillness, that absolute pressure of his body against hers, his heat turning into her own, turned everything inside of her to useless mush. How the hell was it fair for him to ask her to tell him that in a position like this? He knew she couldn’t, and she could feel his rising smile against her neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again, moving his lips to her shoulder. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She half wished for him to get off her so her brain could start up again and scream at her for this utter stupidity. Half.
His lips regained full force against the hollow of her throat, his fingers trailing down her stomach, his nose brushing along the line of her jaw.
“Tell me to—”
She forced his face back up to hers and they kissed so passionately the idea of resisting him was so laughably insane she can’t believe she managed it. Even if only for a second.
“I hate you,” she murmured in the brief moment he pulled back and looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” he responded. He didn’t even smirk. No grin. No smile. All serious. He meant it.

55. Candace

It was the strangest thing, one moment Candace stood beside Jeremiah in the storage room, blood and bodies littering the floor. Then the next, everything was gone. She didn’t know how long she stood there in silence, taking it all in, but when she looked up, Tack stood in front of her, his mouth set off to the side. She lowered her brow. “What are you—how are you still here?” she asked.
He held up the chain that hung around his neck. “It’s a long story. But there’s something I need to tell you.” There was a conflicted look on his face, as if the words pained him.
“Okay,” Candace said. She couldn’t stop staring at him. There was just…something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. It had been that way since she read his book, since he had appeared in her office.
“I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I think you and I…we are…”
“We’re what?”
Tack ran his hands over his face and sighed. “This is going to sound crazy—”
“In light of everything, I don’t think anything you could say to me right now is going to sound crazy.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I went to see the author of my book.”
Candace frowned. Why was he telling her this? “Oh?”

“She told me—she told me that I had a sister. A sister who was six years older and was sent to a different world when I was born.”
Candace stared at him, the pieces clicking together in her mind. She had never been able to remember the first six years of her life. She had been found in the woods by a police officer, abandoned and forgotten. No one had come to claim her. Even then, she had the scars, and she had never known where they were from, why she had them. She never knew why she healed the way she did. The way Tack did.
Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re my brother?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Candace grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him into a hug. He wound his arms around her back and she closed her eyes. Suddenly the millions of things that had always felt off kilter clicked into place.

56. Allie

“I’ll tell you one thing, those people were not happy when they woke up,” said Brandon as Zeke and Maeve filed into the house, Allie and Tack trailing behind, their hands locked together.
“What did you tell them when they woke up?” Allie asked as they stepped through the threshold.
“Nothing.” Brandon shrugged, stopping them at the top of the stairs to the basement. “I ushered them out and told them to go home.”
Maeve cocked an eyebrow. “And they didn’t ask any questions?”
“Oh they asked plenty of questions. I just didn’t answer any,” said Brandon.
Allie gave him a look.
“What? Was I supposed to tell them the truth? That they’ve been dead for all intents and purposes for weeks?”
Allie started toward the stairs, but Brandon sidestepped her, blocking her path. “What?” she demanded.
His face was suddenly serious. “I—I don’t think you want to go down there.”
“Why not?” she demanded and pushed past him, dragging Tack with her, Zeke and Maeve trailing behind.
She threw the door to the unfinished basement open and froze.
“Al, I told you—”
“Is that Kai?” Zeke demanded. He pushed past them and knelt in front of his brother, who was propped up in a sitting position against the wall. Still unmoving, eyes still unfocused. Still dead. “Why isn’t he—? What did you do?” Zeke pointed a finger at Brandon furiously.
Brandon held up his palms and took a step back. “I didn’t do anything. He just…didn’t wake up with the rest of them.”
“A life for a life,” Allie murmured, glancing at Tack.
“I guess the necklace didn’t take that into account.” Tack stared down at the metal as if it was burning him. “I can’t—I can’t be selfish. If it means that someone else can’t live their life, just so I can live mine then…”
Allie’s eyes widened as his words sunk in. He was just going to leave? “You can’t just go Tack!” she said hysterically. “What about Candace?” What about me?
“That’s what’s keeping you here?” Zeke demanded, pointing at Tack’s necklace.
“Well, yeah.”
“And as long as you stay here Kai stays dead? Why do you get to live but my brother doesn’t?” Zeke demanded, a deep blush of blood creeping up his strained neck. Allie could see dots of tears forming in his eyes. He clamped his hand around Tack’s necklace, staring furiously into his eyes, their noses jamming against each other.
“Zeke, don’t—!” Allie shrieked.
Zeke jerked his hand back.
One moment Allie was looking at Tack, her hand in his. Then the next, he was gone.
Maeve screamed.
Allie stared at where he had been standing in horror, then to her empty hand, still suspended in the space beside her. A hole tore through her chest, a hollowness that ran deep into her bones, burning and destroying everything in its path. “What did you do?” she whispered, tears welling behind her eyes. Maeve put her hands on Allie’s shoulder, but Allie jerked away and began to retreat from the room, shaking her head.
He couldn’t just be gone. He had been standing there, right there, a moment ago.
“I’m sorry, Allie,” Zeke started, blood dripping from the necklace in his hand. “He’s my brother—”
“What did you do?” Allie shrieked and was overwhelmed with the most terrifying feeling she had ever experienced. Not just the feeling that Tack was gone, but that he had never really been here at all.
#
Allie opened the front door, her eyes still burning though the tears had finally ceased. Candace stood on the porch, her hands deep in the pockets of her black raincoat, her eyes not quite meeting Allie’s. “Is Tack here?” she asked.
Allie covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. Oh God. She doesn’t know. Water sparked in her eyes again.
“What is it?” Candace’s eyes widened. “Is he okay?”
Allie coughed, trying to force the lump down in her throat. “He’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Candace’s hands fell from her pockets to her sides, lifeless and heavy.
“Back.”
Candace didn’t need any more explanation. She fell to her knees right there on the porch, her chest hitching forward. “He’s gone,” she whispered.
Allie knelt down in front of her, her throat tight. She nodded. “He’s gone.”

57. Candace

James was being kind and respectful, giving Candace the space she needed after everything. She didn’t go to the Center or call Mcullough to let him know she wouldn’t be coming in. If she lost her job then she lost it. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it anymore.
The reason she had become an inventor, gone to work at the Center, and put up with the other Members, was to create that invention. She came up with the idea as a kid—the idea lingering with her throughout her life.
Now she knew why. There was always something inside her that drew her to that book. That drew her to Tack. Now it was all hopeless.
The doorbell to Candace’s new apartment—a floor below her destroyed one—rang and Candace rolled off the couch, still wrapped in the blanket like a burrito. She held it draped around her shoulders and answered the door. “Grob?”
He shifted his weight, obviously desiring to be anywhere but here. He held a folded paper in his hands. “Madoc.” He nodded to her once. “I heard—I heard about everything that happened. I…” He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. “I suppose I owe you an apology for stealing your invention. And I’m rather impressed by the way you managed to get it all cleaned up.”
Candace stared at him, dumbfounded. Grob had never shown remorse for anything. Not once in the time she had known him—and this wasn’t the first time he screwed up.
Candace licked her lips, struggling to conjure up a reply. “What’s the paper for?”
He handed it to her, his face uneasy. “Mcullough has appointed you as the new president of the Center. He left you everything.”
“What?” Candace demanded, unfolding the paper. “Why? Did something happen?”
Grob shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s gone missing. They found that and all of the legal documents left on his desk at the Center. The rest of his stuff was cleared out.”
“He’s missing?”

“They searched his house, too. Everything was gone, and they can’t find the people who worked for him there. They’ve been coming around asking all of the Center Members about him, so I suspect they’ll get to you pretty soon. They came to me yesterday even though I’m not a Member anymore. They’re desperate to find him, I guess. He just took off without a word.”
Candace stared at the paper in her shaking hands. “I own the Center now?”
Grob’s jaw was set, but he didn’t look as angry with her as he usually did. “Congrats, I guess.”

58. James

A woman with blonde hair twisted into a bun sat on Eliza’s brown couch, a cup of tea shaking in her unstable hands. She didn’t turn as James entered the apartment. He stopped in the threshold, unable to tear his eyes away from the back of her head.
Eliza touched his shoulder gently, and he could see wounds around her wrists from where the ropes had been. Besides a few cuts and bruises, she was fine, and she didn’t remember anything. She didn’t remember that some monster had been walking around in her skin, assisting a crazy mutant woman in her plot to overtake the world. James wondered if she actually didn’t remember anything, or if she simply blocked it out. He wondered if she swallowed the memory and pretended it didn’t exist to make it easier. Eliza had a tendency to do that. “She’s been waiting for you,” she said.
James paced over to the living room. The woman glanced up at him as he knelt in front of her. For a moment, her expression was blank, as if she didn’t recognize him. There were deep creases in her face; her once vibrant green eyes were dull and glassed over, her lips cracked. “James.” Her voice was breathy and weak, the fragility of her appearance making James’ heart sink.
“Hey, mom.” He smiled at her and placed his hand over hers to steady the shaking cup in her hand. “Glad to see you home.”
“Where’s your girl?” Eliza’s voice drifted over from the kitchen, partially masked by the banging of pots and pans.
“She wanted some time alone,” said James. He had insisted on staying with Candace, on being there for her. But she wanted to be alone. And who was he to not respect her wishes right now? Candace, though she would never admit it, always wanted a real family, having never connected with the people who adopted her. Then she found her brother, only to have him snatched away from her as quickly as he had come into her life.
“You two love birds broke up already?” Eliza pulled the corners of her mouth down in mock sympathy as she came to their mother’s side and offered her a bowl of soup.
“We did not break up, Liz,” he said through his teeth.
“Well you should have.” Eliza tossed her brown hair over her shoulder, exposing a line of bruising along her neck. “I don’t like her. She’s no good for you.”
“If you say one more thing about Candace, I’m leaving—”
“Do I get to meet her, James?” his mother asked, flashing him an innocent smile. Even though her presence had been rare in their childhood, she was well acquainted with the difficulties in his and Eliza’s relationship.
“Hopefully soon. Right now’s not—”
“I say you cut to the chase and dump her.” Eliza stretched her arms out in front of her with an amused smile on her face. “We all know it’s going to happen eventually. The woman’s a psycho.”
James curled his hands into fists and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to push his sister off the side of the couch.“I’m not dumping her, Liz. In fact, I was going to ask her to marry me.”

59. Allie

The easiest part was breaking up with Kai. After everything, he had assumed they were still together—and why wouldn’t he? He didn’t know that Allie had spent the summer believing he was dead. Even though their breakup had occurred before his death, he was the kind of person who had to hear things at least twice.
The hardest part was pulling herself out of bed the next morning and sitting at the table with her parents. Brandon had helped relay the story to them—the whole story this time. Allie caught both Lauren and her father watching her over the table during breakfast, but she didn’t care.
She didn’t care if they thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. But who was to judge what qualified as crazy and what didn’t?
Allie wanted to hold onto to that feeling—that out of her mind feeling that made her believe in other worlds revolving around hers. The idea wasn’t terrifying anymore. Because all that meant was Tack was still alive. He was dead to this world, but he was out there somewhere. He was in his rightful story with no recollection of everything terrible that happened here.
With no recollection of her.
She glanced down at his necklace in her hands, the chain still stained red with his blood. All it meant was there was a sliver of hope she might see him again.
And a sliver was all she needed.