When her fingers grazed me, I caught her thoughts. She didn’t know whether her efforts would be enough. A small consolation flared for an instant: no major arteries or veins were visibly damaged and no bones were pierced. But even if she stopped the flow of blood, septicemia was a likelihood.
“Please, Mom.” Tyler’s voice was quiet but insistent, and again, I felt her conflict.
She wanted to protect me. She had to protect her son.
Without another word, she continued to dress the wounds tightly. My leg and back bled. I couldn’t move my fingers on my left hand. Tyler said he needed to be able to help me. Going to any hospital was out of the question, especially since I’d been at Tyler’s house. If they took me to the hospital, Tyler would be the first suspect. And since we couldn’t really explain what happened—I wouldn’t risk it.
“Tyler, I need you to put pressure here.” Margo took his hand and pushed it hard against my shoulder. I clamped my teeth to stifle the cry erupting from my throat.
As soon as he touched me, I was in his mind, in his kitchen, experiencing his memory as clearly as I saw it. The paint was different; yellow and pink wallpaper covered the drywall. A heavyset man—Tyler’s father—screamed, spit flying from his mouth. Yelling about dishes. His huge hands yanked Tyler up from the corner. He was so small—maybe six or seven years old. His father shook him violently, then drew back his beefy arm. He slapped the boy’s face so hard Tyler sprawled across the room, blood gushing from his lip. Then his mom was there, standing in front of him, yelling at the man, shielding her small son with her body.
“Stop,” Tyler said quietly, pushing me out of his memory.
He hadn’t wanted me to see that, but it answered my question about why Margo was willing to risk everything to help me. He let her believe it was my story, too. My stepfather was angry and controlling, sometimes threatening, but he’d never hit me. I wanted to reach up and touch Tyler’s face, but his mom returned and wrapped the one arm that had some mobility. She moved down from my shoulder to the wound in my side. She worked quickly. She was doing all she could.
Once she’d bound the remainder of my open wounds, she returned to the one on the shoulder. Tyler’s hands were red, slippery. Margo removed them. I’d bled through the dressing. Blood wasn’t clotting. Whatever healing powers I had weren’t enough to fix the extent of the damage. Carefully, she pulled the fabric back.
“Normally, we wouldn’t take the bandage off but I need to sew the wounds closed.” Stitches. She was worried I’d bleed to death, although the fear of infection was real, followed by the image of ugly scars that would be left. She glanced up at the other tightly wrapped areas. They were soaked through, too. “Tyler, move to the other shoulder.”
Her voice sounded so calm, so confident.
“This is going to hurt, sweetie.” She cleaned it, pouring directly from a brown bottle onto the open wound.
I tried to focus on Tyler. I failed. A deep, primal groan spread through me. My arm was on fire. Then came a different pain as she stitched. I watched her fingers move along my shoulder. She tied the suture off and moved down to my arm. Again, I felt her concern.
I whispered, “Keep going.” I focused my energy to calm her. She inhaled deeply and her hands steadied, but she was no less angry.
I didn’t know if she would do it, but she really had no choice. Her expression was determined. What would they do if I didn’t make it, and left them with a body to explain? I felt a sudden weight of guilt as I thought about the possibility of leaving them with a mess.
Tyler’s attention shifted, and I followed his gaze through the doorway. Sarah, Dee, and Jonathan were in the room. Their faces were red. Had they been crying too?
Tyler’s mom looked up at three new visitors and, if possible, frowned more deeply. “Why are there people here?”
“My friends,” I explained weakly.
“Involved in this?” When nobody answered, she said sternly, “Regardless of what happened tonight, everyone needs to go home.”
Nobody moved.
She returned to her work.
I wished we were touching so they’d know I was sorry. I didn’t mean for them to be here to watch me die.
“Tyler, I have these two closed, but I’m running out of supplies. And we’ll need antibiotics.” She turned back to the new visitors in the room. “I can write a prescription, but I need someone to run to the pharmacy and—”
“We can’t!” Tyler cut her off quickly. “I’m the only one with a license, and they won’t let me in.”
A vivid image of flashing lights, the back of a police car—he’d been in trouble there before.
“Right.”
She’d bailed him out of jail. He’d been a preteen, but they held him anyway. Later that night, his father nearly killed him.
She got up. “I’ll go.” Looking over the others, she added, “The rest of you—make yourself useful. Put pressure on the injuries. Every wound I wrapped. Vinyl gloves are in my bag.” She walked past them.
Nobody bothered with the gloves. We shared the same blood.
Sarah touched me, and her energy flowed through my body. Her revulsion also washed over me as she pressed her hands on the soaked dressing across from Tyler. Bruises colored my ribs and stomach: black and purple. I was bleeding inside. My skin was cold and white. Dee pressed her hands on my body, too. Her energy joined Tyler’s and Sarah’s, along with her questions and search for answers. They found it at the same time.
The huge creature with black eyes. Fear was no longer in response to my condition but to what they witnessed. They saw my attack. Saw me lose. Heard others coming. Felt them descend on me. I pushed the memory away, trying to separate them from the horror of the attack. Too late. Dee shook as she pressed her hands over the bandages.
Tyler tore his eyes away from mine and spotted Jonathan, lingering at the door. “What are you doing?” His raised voice shattered the quiet of the room. “Help us!”
“What difference does it make?” Jonathan cried. “Look at her! She’s dying! They killed her! They killed her!”
“Thanks a lot.” I wasn’t sure if my voice carried farther than the space directly in front of me. He was right, though. I knew it.
“Stop it,” Sarah snapped coldly. “She’s not going to die. You’re not going to stand there and watch her.” Everyone responded to her words; the fear radiating from them crept back to shadows.
Jonathan sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Tyler growled. “We can help her. That’s why I asked you to come here. Concentrate.”
“How?” Dee stopped abruptly. Her head whipped up to meet Tyler’s eyes at the surge in his energy.
“Concentrate,” he repeated.
The jolt was instant and physical, like a cord of electricity ran through our bodies. Their energies sparked to life—only infinitely more intense than the first time. My back arched, stiffened. The initial pain from my injuries faded. I burned. The roar of blood in my ears blanked out thought.
Their eyes were wide. They felt it, too. Sharp, hot power seared us together. It pulsated through each of their fingertips and my body—drawing out, pouring in. Their energies glowed. An image flashed through my mind: blinding light, light around me, around us.
Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. Sarah removed her fingers in response, and the fire receded, bringing me back to myself, back to the present. I felt pain again, but it was milder and the heat gone. My mind cleared.
Tyler gazed with wonder. There was color in my cheeks; the bruising was fainter and, in some places, gone altogether. Our combined power stretched beyond feelings and thoughts. That’s why Tyler hadn’t wanted me at the hospital.
He’d wanted me where they could heal me.
Margo hurried into the room. Tyler kept his hand firmly against my shoulder.
“How is she?” She glanced around the room. Without waiting for a reply, her gaze homed in on me. Relief crossed her face, easing
her tension. She checked my pulse again, and a strong, steady beat resonated back to me as though she were a living stethoscope. She breathed deeply and then set about examining my other wounds. The bleeding had stopped. She gave me the pills she’d brought with her and wrapped the wounds more tightly but didn’t do any further stitching. “She’s seems a lot better.” Her confusion mingled with relief. “Did you do anything?”
“They just put pressure on, like you said, ma’am,” Jonathan replied quickly from his post by the door.
She frowned down at me. “The next few hours will be critical. There’s a pretty good chance of infection, even though the bleeding helped flush clean the wounds.” She studied my face again, then frowned at the teens. “If she develops any infection, we’ll need to take her in immediately. No matter what.”
I wouldn’t develop an infection. The bleeding had stopped, and I’d already begun to heal. I moved my broken arm experimentally and wiggled my fingers.
“I’ll check on her throughout the night. The rest of you kids need to get home. I’ll take you.”
“We can walk.” Sarah lifted her chin defensively.
“I’d rather not endanger any more children tonight.” She sighed wearily. “Say your goodnights, and I’ll take you home.” She turned to her son. “We have a lot to discuss when I come home.” She quietly shut the door behind us, leaving us alone in Tyler’s room.
“What just happened?” Jonathan asked quietly.
Nobody answered, but Sarah glared at me. “Why would you do that? Go without us?”
I would have shrugged if my shoulders weren’t still painful. I was so tired. My eyes drooped. They talked to each other. I wasn’t asleep yet, but their voices sounded as if they were far away.
“Give her a break.”
I felt a small smile cross my lips at Tyler’s defense, even as I drifted.
“What were those things?”
Dee whispered, “Was it just her mind or were they really that—”
She stopped, but Sarah finished for her. “Big?”
They talked about the last creatures I’d fought. Elliot hadn’t told them about those, I supposed.
Their voices faded away until there was silence. The pain was distant, as if it were somebody else’s. Sleep carried me away.
Chapter Thirteen
Pain seared my shoulders, back, legs, and arm. Especially my arm. I opened my eyes to darkness. A warm body was beside me. Sometime during the night, Tyler must have curled up next to me on the small bed and fallen asleep. I studied his features in the dim light from the hall. Long, black lashes rested on his cheeks, and his eyebrows weren’t furrowed.
I wanted to touch the metal spiral around the edge of his ear—so smooth and seamlessly attached to his body—but I was too exhausted. Instead, I moved my face closer to his, feeling his breath faintly on my forehead. It was nice—safe. I wondered what he’d said to his mother, and what we would say tomorrow. And what were my parents going to think?
It didn’t matter at the moment. Our hands were joined, his palm resting on top of mine. The weight was heavy, secure and warm. I closed my eyes and let our thoughts connect.
Overwhelming grief filled his dream. We stood in a vast graveyard. I read the name on the stone in front of us, Jonathan. He moved to the next. Sarah. Dee. Then his mom. Other names I didn’t recognize. He raised his head, and the field was full of tombstones, covered by names he knew, people he cared about. The sky darkened as he stood there. The sun seemed to be setting, wind increased. Trees on the edges of the graveyard crumbled and disintegrated. The grass blew away as if uprooted.
Tyler walked through the graveyard, around the stones, his eyes scanning everything around him. His lips parted, and the taste of dusty desolation filled his mouth, deepened his despair.
I wanted to wake him but couldn’t tear myself from the devastation in his dream.
He reached the center of the yard where a freshly dug grave yawned open. Wordlessly, he lowered himself in and lay down. It was chill and dark, but he was no longer sad. He no longer felt anything. He wasn’t alone in the hole in the earth, though. A body lay beside him.
In his dream, he touched my face. It was cold, pale, and still. He closed his eyes. From above, the crunch of footsteps was followed by a pause, and then scraping of steel on earth. Dry dirt rained down on us, landing on our clothes and hair. He didn’t flinch or try to get up. Another shovel of dirt, and he closed his eyes, simply waiting.
Abruptly, I pulled my hand from his. I didn’t want to be in that dream, in that place of hopelessness. He dreamed the future, our future if we failed. As I looked through the dark at his still face, I considered what would happen if we let the creatures win. They would come here. They would take our world. And we would die. How could I have almost let that happen?
I pictured the large creature that attacked me again, the wild eyes and powerful grasp. We had to find a way to beat them. Elliot said I had what I needed. Needed to do what? And what was it I had?
The memory nagged at me. When did Elliot say that to me? I could hear his voice. I pictured him standing with me in the field, the meteor shower lighting the sky above us.
He spoke quickly and fervently, whispering encouragement.
You have you what need.
Where was Jared? The memory vaporized. I couldn’t hold onto it for more than a moment. I let it go. Maybe it was something I didn’t want to remember. I studied Tyler’s face again. Deep down, he thought we would lose. We all did.
But what if we didn’t?
When I opened my eyes later, Tyler was gone. The room was bright—too bright to be earlier than noon. Groggily, I sat up and realized, with a start, that I could sit up. I looked down at my hands. Both moved, one more slowly than the other. Cautiously, I slid to the edge of the bed, touching the soles of my bare feet on the soft carpet. I pressed them down lightly. No pain, but dried blood smeared down the side of my thigh to my ankle.
“Whoa!” Tyler stopped at the doorway and turned sideways, averting his eyes. The plate he held clattered against the doorframe.
I glanced down. The reason I noticed the blood was because I was sitting there, on his bed, in my underwear. My skin warmed, and I yanked the tangled sheet quickly over myself, wrapping it under my arms, letting it flow down onto the floor, over my feet. Everyone had seen me last night. The state of undress didn’t really matter in a situation like that. But in his bedroom, alone, with few lasting injuries, it definitely made a difference.
“There are—uh—shirts in the drawer over there.” He pointed with his free hand but kept his eyes fixed on some spot on the wall.
I hugged the sheet closer as I crossed the room and leaned to rummage through his dresser. I grabbed a short-sleeved black band-shirt—something about rock setting you free—and a pair of white sweats.
He angled farther away from me. His shoulders stiffened at the rustle of fabric as I quickly pulled on his clothing.
“I’m decent.” I winced at the awkward sound in my voice.
He turned and grinned. “Wow—you are small.”
The short sleeves of his shirt hung midway down my forearms. I’d tied the sweats tight, but even so, they sat low on my hips. The leg hems covered my feet. I felt like a Muppet.
“I brought you toast.” He crossed the space between us and sat on the bed.
I sat beside him, taking a bite of the offering. It was slathered with butter and, although I hadn’t felt hungry, I devoured it. I swallowed hard and looked around for something to drink.
He handed me a glass of water from the bedside stand.
I downed it. “Sorry.” I was embarrassed.
“Hey, I don’t blame you. You’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours.” I gasped, and he added quickly, “Mom was worried, but she saw you were getting better, so she let you sleep.” He took my chin gently in his hands, tilting my face toward his. He moved his hands carefully over my jaw line, and I saw myself through his thoughts as he looked me o
ver. The bruises were pretty much gone, the one on my eye faded to dull yellow. The cuts had healed. “I convinced Mom that what happened was the result of our—recruitment by Elliot. She’s trying to understand.”
I frowned, thinking about my own parents. I didn’t want them to suffer, but I couldn’t face them like this. One lie was going to be enough.
“Yeah, police were here a couple of hours ago, asking about you. You’re officially a missing person now. Obviously, I couldn’t really tell them anything, but I guess you’ll need to go home and clear things somehow. Still look pretty beat up though.”
The police.
We sat in silence, and I picked at the lint on the front of my—his t-shirt. He stood and took my plate and glass. As he crossed the room, I noticed the floor was bare. He’d cleaned up while I slept. I smiled a little. As if the mess would’ve bothered me.
“So why aren’t you at school?” I called.
In the kitchen, dishes clinked on the counter as he set them down.
“Mom let me stay home.” He returned and leaned against the doorframe. “She called me in sick with the flu. Not that anyone there cares about my absence, but I guess I’m close enough to getting kicked out that she did the responsible thing.”
I remembered the pharmacy and the glimpse of his arrest. One day I’d ask him about it. One day. “Is she at work?”
“Last shift. She works at the hospital tonight. Now she’s confident she can do it.”
“She was amazing!” I thought of Margo’s deft hands, moving assertively along my body, the calm of her voice despite her questions.
“She feels guilty. She broke some pretty big rules.”
I pictured Margo again, the way her thoughts felt. “She’ll move past it. She knows what a great doctor she is now.” I grinned up at him. “I’m proof.”
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