He grins at me, slowly, slyly. "It's nice to see you again, my friend. Very nice."
"What does that mean? You've seen me every day for a week."
"Yeah, but this is the first time I've seen you. Also, I approve of your hunt for Tiffany." Cole knows me well. "I've been in contact with River. He's staked out in front of her house. She hasn't visited her mom since she escaped, but..."
A dog never strays too far from home.
"We'll take care of her," I say, relish in every word.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand. My knees shake--a ten on the Richter scale--but I manage to remain upright. Another day has passed. Eight in total that I've been stuck flat on my back, and I'm not spending another second that way.
Earlier, Reeve removed the tubes and ran more tests. No matter how much antidote she introduced to samples of my blood, the zombie toxin remained. Except, I'm not rotting. I'm not changing. She's not sure what's happening to me exactly, which makes me think the toxin is working on a spiritual level and the changes simply haven't manifested physically. Yet.
It worries me big-time, but I won't let myself wallow. There are things to do and people to save. Whatever happens to me, well, it happens.
As soon as I'm steady, I release the bed rail. I stay on my feet and even manage a shuffle-walk to the bathroom. Win! There's a pile of clean clothes resting by the sink, and for a moment all I can do is gape. Someone anticipated my needs and cared enough to follow through.
These slayers...they really are good people. The best. I never should have betrayed them.
A hot shower invigorates me, and by the time I step out to dry off, I feel human again. I dress in a T-shirt that reads Wanna Taste? and a pair of shorts with pockets deeper than the hemline.
I exit the bathroom on a cloud of fragrant steam and find Ali and Kat perched on my gurney, a dark-haired little girl dressed in a pink tutu twirling in front of them.
The ballerina stops when she notices me. "Hi." She smiles. "I'm Emma."
"My little sister, in case you didn't know," Ali says. "She's a witness, like Kat."
"Actually, I'm the best witness." Emma performs a pirouette.
"Sorry, Em, but I held a vote." Kat stands and anchors her hands on her waist. "I won by a landslide. You need to accept it."
"We tied, Kitty. You voted for you, and I voted for me."
"Right, but as the adult, I had to break the tie. After a completely unbiased deliberation, I had to go with myself."
"Anyway," Ali says with a fond smile. "We heard you stirring." There's more color in her cheeks today, but she's still paler than usual. "You shouldn't be up and about yet."
"You probably shouldn't, either, considering you've been sick, and yet here you are."
She sighs. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. Here." She holds out a cell phone. "Frosty wants you to have this."
I accept the device, my heart picking up speed. There's a text from Frosty waiting for me.
Stay in bed & see my smile. Get up & see my wrath.
I smile. I just can't help myself. My fingers fly over the tiny keyboard before my brain registers I'm messaging him back. Show me UR smile & I'll show U mine. Show me UR wrath & I'll break UR face.
Send.
His reply comes a few seconds later. Still hoping 2 knee my balls in2 my throat, I C ;)
I snort. Not because of what he said, but because Frosty the Ice Man just winked at me via text.
"What?" Ali asks, and I jerk guiltily.
"Oh, uh, nothing. What were we discussing?"
There's a knowing tightness around Kat's eyes, and I understand. I do. She might be pushing Frosty at other girls, random girls, but she'll never push him at me.
"You've healed even faster than abnormal," she says.
I'm about to reply to her when a vague recollection of standing in front of her flashes through my mind. I frown. "Did I go to heaven...and did you shove me out?"
Emma jumps up and claps. "Sweet! You remember. Did you see me? Huh, huh? I was there. I got to watch."
"You were in the holding zone, and yes, I shoved." Kat flips her dark hair over her shoulder. "You're welcome."
"I liked it there," I admit.
"Too bad. It wasn't your time."
Interesting. "Are you saying everyone has a fated time to die, and nothing and no one can change it?"
"No way, no how. Free will...disease...mistakes...bad judgment and a thousand other things can kill a person long before their time. But I'd already petitioned the court for your life. And before you ask, time is different up there."
Petitioned? Court?
"One day can equal a thousand years," Emma says, "and a thousand years can equal a day. Go ahead, try doing the math. I dare you."
A bazillion more questions fill my head.
"Milla," Ali says, "if you're up for it, I'd like to teach you how to use and control whatever new abilities you've acquired."
There's a vibration in my pocket, and I know Frosty just responded to my last text. I want to read the screen so badly I can taste it, but I don't. Not here. Not now. Not until the urge to flirt with him has faded.
"I'm on board. Thank you."
"Uh-oh." Kat tilts her head, her hazel gaze far away. The same transformation overtakes Emma. "I'm sensing something not fun on the horizon. I'm gonna go check it out."
The two spirits are gone a second later.
"Come on." Ali waves me over and opens the door.
I grab a blade from the nightstand before I trail after her. I'd rather go naked than go without a weapon. "I wonder what they sensed."
"Could be anything from one of us breaking a finger to all of us dying. We won't know till we know, so until then, there's no use fretting about it."
Bronx is waiting for us in the hall, and without a word, he tracks after us.
"What's with the shadow?" Is the threat level so high that Cole wants his Ali-gator guarded at all times?
"Before Frosty left, he asked Bronx to look after you," Ali says.
Pleasure warms me--I'm not just a means to an end, I can't be--only to dissipate. He's a good guy, and I can't read more into his actions. He hated that I got hurt on his watch, in a place he brought me, and he's taking measures to ensure it doesn't happen again. That's it.
I glance back at Bronx. "You're dismissed, soldier." I don't want Frosty receiving a report of all the things I do wrong. "Your services are no longer needed."
He doesn't glance at me, and he doesn't reply.
Great. We're playing Milla Is Invisible.
Ali laughs as she tugs me down the stairs. "When I first met Bronx, he didn't speak to me for several months. This is his observe-and-learn stage. Just let him do his thing, and you'll be better for it." She stops in the gym reserved for recruits, the one with treadmills and stationary bikes. Right now, however, we're the only people-- Oops, spoke too soon.
Gavin has Jaclyn pressed against a wall in a shadowed corner. They're kissing as if the world is set to end tomorrow. As if they're starved for each other. The way Frosty used to kiss Kat.
The way I've never been kissed, not even by Mace. I loved that boy with every fiber of my being, and he loved me, too...or so I'd thought. He used to tell me I was so young, only fifteen to his nineteen, we needed to keep our relationship a secret. Not long after his death, I learned he'd loved other girls in secret, too. A lot of other girls.
Now, looking back, I can see my feelings were more about hero worship than love. Mace taught River and me how to fight zombies--and our dad. How to do whatever was necessary to survive the streets and thrive.
I didn't lie to Frosty about believing Mace was supposed to be my happily-ever-after. I believed it the day I met him up until the day he died. It was the day after his death that I began to suspect the truth: I'm supposed to end up alone.
Since Mace, my handful of boyfriends were more concerned with leaping straight into sex than any kind of relationship, and I let myself get caught up
in their haste because I wanted to be wanted. And for a little while, I was. It felt good. But then the sex ended, and the guys took off, and I was left hurting even more than before.
Now a pang of longing cuts through me. I want to be kissed like Gavin is kissing Jaclyn. I want to be cherished. I want to be someone's treasure.
I want to be something worth fighting for.
"Seriously, guys," Ali calls. "We're supposed to be examples, not reenacting porn."
The two leap apart. Jaclyn even slaps Gavin across the face, though the action lacks any kind of force. "Pervert! Don't come near me again."
"Don't worry," he sneers, rubbing his cheek. "I'll wait until you beg me for it. Again."
"You'll be waiting forever." Jaclyn storms out of the room.
Gavin glares at Ali. "As usual, cupcake, your timing sucks." He walks over and bumps fists with Bronx, who then takes a post against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "You can make everything up to me by telling me you and princess are about to oil-wrestle."
"How about I tell you the truth instead? After Milla runs the treadmill for half an hour, you're going to be our test dummy and she's going to practice using her new abilities. Congrats!"
"I'm not sure how we're still friends." He sets one of the treadmills to the highest incline. "But at least I'm your favorite."
"I don't have a favorite man-friend." Ali smiles sweetly at him. "I dislike you all equally. Now hush."
I snicker, liking this girl more every time she opens her mouth.
Gavin focuses on me and arches a brow. "You got something to say to me, princess?"
"Yeah. Why did I get the name princess? And do you realize you're a douche-canoe?"
He waves his arms in the air, as if he's the last sane man in the universe. "What's with the chicks in the place, man? They spit on my best moves."
"These are your best moves?" I climb onto the treadmill. "How sad for you."
His eyes twinkle merrily as he presses the on button. "I hope you enjoy this. I know I will."
The machine lifts to its highest incline, the belt at my feet churning faster and faster, until I'm sprinting. Soon sweat is beading over my entire body, my chest and thighs burning. But it's a burn I welcome. I'm used to working out daily. Before saving zombies became a thing--a practice I'm not sure I'll ever willingly support--an out-of-shape slayer was a dead slayer.
"By the way. I'm making you run for a reason." Ali moves beside the machine. "I want to exhaust you so that only the barest power remains active. That way, if any of your new abilities go haywire, you'll cause less damage to yourself and others."
Makes sense. Normally I can run at this speed and this incline for an hour and still do a few victory laps around the room. Today, not so much. By the end of the half hour, I'm drenched in sweat and shaky, wheezing for breath.
Ali throws me a jug of water. I reach, but I'm as slow as molasses now and it soars past me. Dang. I give chase and drain the contents, the cool liquid heaven to my abused body.
"All right. Phase one complete. Time for phase two, where we kick things up a notch. Gavin, Milla, climb into the ring and stand there and there." Ali points to two spots on the matt. "Gavin, you're going to play the part of mindless zombie, so just act like yourself." Looking at me, she says, "Milla, you're playing the part of determined slayer. Run to him and light up."
Run? Moaning, I set the empty water jug on the bench next to the row of lockers. My legs scream in protest as I climb over the ropes to join Gavin inside.
"Shouldn't we take a cookie break first?"
"What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" He waves his fingers at me. "Let's do this."
"Stop using words. Mindless grunts only," Ali calls.
"Bra-a-a-ains," he says in a singsong voice.
"Better." I jog toward him--it's all my thousand-pound limbs can manage--and push my spirit out of my body at the halfway point. I summon dynamis, something I've done a million times, even while exhausted, but nothing happens. Not even a flicker.
He tsks. "If I was a zombie, you'd already be dinner."
I check my internal faith-o-meter. It's full. I know I can do this. So...what's the prob?
"Come on. Do it again," Ali commands.
I turn my hands over in the light, part of me expecting to see the flames I don't feel. If I can't fire up, I can't kill zombies. If I can't kill zombies, I might as well curl up and die. It's all I'm good at--all I'm good for.
Okay, so maybe my faith-o-meter isn't actually full. Fear is a drain and it can empty an ocean of faith in seconds.
"Again," Ali repeats.
I'm fighting for breath as I backtrack. Calm. Steady. I can do this. I know I can do this.
Again, Gavin waves his fingers. I jog toward him, every cell in my body willing dynamis to come...but once again the flames fail to appear.
"Again."
I remain in place. What's wrong with me? Why is this happening? I'm the same girl I've always been. The only difference is the toxin now swimming through my--
The toxin!
"Tiffany!" A bomb of rage detonates inside me, just boom, and bolts of emotion explode out of me. I stumble back as if I've been pushed, heat consuming me in an instant.
"Milla," Gavin shouts. "Enough! You have to stop."
His voice sounds as if it's being filtered through a long tunnel. I turn toward him, but he's not standing where he was--because he's not standing at all. He's floating in the freaking air. I can't make out his features; his image is too distorted through the flames. Red flames. Deep, angry red. The color of congealing blood. The color of my dreams.
Only, this is real and I'm not dying.
Am I? I'm weak, so weak, and only growing weaker.
Crap! Crap, crap, crap. What did the journal passage say before? Two kinds of fire. One destroys, one purifies. Obviously, the red destroys. But what else, what else?
Covered, covered, covered. Yes. Right. Darkness can only cover light. So, if red represents dark and white represents light, dynamis might still be inside me, simply covered. If I can uncover it, I can stop this.
My limbs shake as more and more energy seeps out of me. Just how am I supposed to uncover the white flames?
Frantic, I try dismissing thanatos...it crackles, spreads and sings, soon blistering every inch of me.
"Milla!" Ali's voice is filtered through the same tunnel. And like Gavin, she's floating several feet in the air. She's curled into herself and clutching at her ears, as if she's battling the worst kind of pain.
I'm doing this? I'm hurting her? Hurting Gavin?
Crap! There's a third body in the air. I'm hurting Bronx, too?
I have to stop, now, now, freaking now, but the more I fight the flames, willing them to go away, the hotter and higher they grow. What should I do? What the hell should I do? I stumble to my body to brush spirit against flesh. In an instant, the two halves of me are joined--but it only makes things worse. My body goes up in flames, too. My skin remains unharmed but my clothes burn to ash, leaving me bare-ass naked.
The cell phone flops to the ground, the plastic already charred, the screen melted. I whimper. Now I'll die without knowing what Frosty said in his message.
And oh, wow, that's my first thought? Really? I'm freaking naked! Hurting people.
I'm so messed up. A menace of the highest order. "Help," I shout. "Help!"
Wait. What if other slayers come in here, and I hurt them, too?
"No! Don't help!"
"What's going on?" a new voice proclaims. Jaclyn maybe.
"You have to leave," I scream at her. "Please. I can't control it."
Bees sting my neck. No, not bees. More darts? A cool rush of liquid spills through me, fatigue fast on its heels. My knees tremble and collapse, but even when I land, I don't have the strength to remain upright, so I pitch forward.
Three heavy thuds echo, followed by three grunts of pain.
"How did she do that?" Gavin demands through panting brea
ths. "What did she do?"
My eyelids weigh ten thousand pounds and I can't open them.
"I don't know, I don't know," Ali says, sounding worried. "I lift zombies with my energy. No one has ever lifted slayers."
"I'll get Cole," Bronx says.
"Gavin," Jaclyn gasps. "You're bleeding from your eyes, ears and nose!"
"This is bad," Ali says. "This is beyond bad."
I did hurt them. And I did it while I was exhausted. What would have happened if I'd been at full strength? Would they have ended up in bits and pieces? Would I have made them explode the way Ali has made zombies explode?
I can't stay here, I realize. I can't stay with Frosty. He'll be safer without me. They all will.
Something I learned last night: another name for stakeout is torture in a hot box.
We don't have Tiffany's GPS coordinates, but we have her home address, so River and I parked our car down the street to watch the house...and watch and watch as nothing happened.
Tiffany is still MIA. But the would-be murderer is only seventeen with a worried mother who's placed missing-person posters throughout town. If the girl hasn't left town--hell, even if she has--she'll return sooner or later. Or, at the very least, call.
One call. That's all we need.
River slams his fist into the steering wheel of the old beater that blends in well with the rusty death traps parked in front of the dilapidated houses along the pothole-infested street. Graffiti decorates many of the curbs, and most of the streetlamps have been busted.
"The longer this girl makes me wait," he says, "the worse it's going to be for her."
I agree. "For someone who disowned his sister, you sure do seem upset that someone hurt her."
"Back to this?" He flicks me a narrowed glance. "I love her. I've never stopped loving her, never will."
"And yet you abandoned her."
"Did I?" His eyes narrow. "I've kept tabs on her this entire time. I've seen her trailing you. At first I thought the two of you were dating, but the way you treated her... I've wanted to kill you a thousand times over. So don't try to tell me you give a shit about her."
"What I give or don't give is my business. She's under my protection." I say the words, and I mean them. I'll protect her with my life, if necessary. Because it's the right thing to do.
He turns in his seat to face me head-on. "Since when?"
"Since Ali's vision."
"A vision no one will talk about with any kind of detail. When is Milla supposed to save your miserable hide?"