"Visions never come with a 'save the date' card." I should know. Before Kat's death, I'd begun having visions with Bronx. Visions of battles and blood and pain. After Kat's death, I couldn't stand the thought of seeing a future without her. Thankfully Ali and Cole had learned how to control their visions by that point; they taught me. Mind over matter. I haven't had a vision since.
River runs his tongue over his teeth. "My sister's actions led to your girlfriend's death. You're not the kind of guy who forgives and forgets, even to save his own skin. You're the type who will go down with a ship if it means you can hold your enemy's head under water."
He's right. "Milla isn't my enemy. Not anymore."
"What is she then?"
"A friend." On a trial basis. At least, that's what I told her. But I think we're already past that. I trust her to have my back.
"A friend. Please." River grabs my collar and yanks me nose-to-nose with him. "She's had a shit life, and the few times she's lowered her guard and allowed someone in, they've cut and run. She doesn't need you to make everything worse."
I wrap my fingers around his wrist and shove him back. "I won't touch her. I don't think of her that way."
That's a lie. I know it the moment the words leave me. I've thought about her that way plenty of times.
A growl rises from low in River's chest. He knows it, too.
"I won't touch her," I repeat. Trying for more than friendship...a romantic relationship, or even just sleeping together...no. Not gonna happen. No matter how many times I picture her naked.
The briiing-briiing of a phone drifts through the speakers of one of the many devices River has stored in the car, a welcome distraction. The dude is no newbie to hunting humans and somehow hacked into the mother's phone, allowing him to listen to every ingoing and outgoing call from a distance. This is the eighth call of the day, and I'm losing hope.
"Hello," the mother says.
"Missing-person posters, Mom? Really?"
"Tiffany?" A whimper of relief crackles over the line. "You're alive!"
River and I go still. Finally!
He works his fingers over a small keyboard connected to the device.
"Where are you?" the mother demands. "Where have you been?"
"That doesn't matter. All you need to know is that I'm fine, and you can call off the pigs."
"Must you be so disrespectful? And you're fine? Really? You're fine? That's what you have to say to me, after all this time? Well, I'm sorry, but that's just not good enough. I've been worried sick about you. My ulcer has flared up."
"Your ulcer always flares up. Don't pretend you care about me," Tiffany snaps. "You think I'm crazy. Well, guess what? I'm not. Zombies are real, and I'm not the only one who sees them."
The two argue about truth versus fantasy--mental instability--about Tiffany going to see her shrink, about the bag of money the mom found in the girl's room, before the mother finally begs her to come home.
"She's not even trying to jack her signal," River says. "I'll have her location in three...two....bingo." He tosses the little machine on the floor and starts the car. We're flying down the road a few seconds later.
"Where is she?" I ask.
"A Taco Bell about five minutes away."
A public place. We'll have to be careful. Nowadays everyone has a camera on their phone. If we're filmed grabbing a teenage girl, we'll be sent to prison on kidnapping charges.
Or maybe not. There's a detective who might step up and help us. She's a civilian and she can't see zombies, but when she investigated the deaths of six of my friends, including Kat, she had to accept the fact that there's an unseen evil out there and slayers protect the rest of the world from it.
Our tires squeal as River parks like a stunt man in an action movie, the car spinning into an open corner slot in front of Taco Bell. I'm racing inside the building before he's even opened his door. I've seen Tiffany's picture. Black hair, brown eyes. Freckles. I've read her stats. Five foot six. One hundred and sixteen pounds. I scan the faces before me. An older couple. A teenage girl--a blonde with too much makeup, zero freckles and a red, angry gash across her jawline. A group of construction workers.
My gaze flips back to the blonde. I compare her face to the picture of Tiffany stored inside my mind. The two have the same bone structure.
Makeup can hide freckles. Bleach can lighten hair.
It's her. Has to be.
Rage takes a few swings at me. This girl callously and coldly sliced open Milla's neck and left her to die.
This girl will pay.
Tiffany spots me and gasps. As she jumps to her feet, her chair skids behind her, its legs scraping over the tile like fingers over a chalkboard. The rest of the diners grimace and either glare or frown at her.
If she was smart, she'd tell everyone the boyfriend who hurt her is back to finish the job. In seconds, she'd have a roomful of rescuers. And maybe that's exactly what she plans as she opens her mouth. But a slight whistle of wind passes me, and she snaps her mouth closed. Her eyes go wide, and she pats at her neck.
Satisfaction cools my rage. River just darted her the way she once darted Milla. Only he used a tranq.
As her knees give out, he rushes over to catch her before she falls. He eases her into the booth and slides in to sit beside her. Her head rests against his shoulder as he casually eats the rest of her burrito.
"I'm so happy to see you again, sugar." He kisses her temple. "Hungry?" he asks me.
Why not? I take a seat across from the pair and select an unwrapped taco. "You came prepared."
"Always do. Now we need to figure out how to get her to the car without looking like we're planning a gang bang or date-rape."
"Please. That'll be easy." I finish the taco, drain what's left of her soda. "Watch and learn." I reach out and rip out a row of Tiffany's stitches. Her wound opens, blood pouring down her chin. "She's bleeding," I announce. Too gleeful? I try for a more concerned tone. "We have to rush her to the emergency room, like, now."
I stand. River is fighting a grin as he follows suit and gathers Tiffany in his arms.
"Poor girl," someone says.
"I hope she's okay," another whispers.
River climbs in back of the car, keeping Tiffany in his arms. As I settle in the driver's seat, he tosses me the keys.
"Way to keep us under the radar," he says.
"Hey. We're not potential date-rapers right now. We're heroes."
"Yeah, but what you did was pretty cold."
"You complaining?"
"Hell, no. I'm impressed."
I snort.
At the first red light, I whip out my phone to text Cole and let him know we're on our way. I expect to see a message from Milla. Earlier, she told me she would break my face if I showed her my wrath and for some dumb reason, I thought it would be a good idea to tell her she needs my face intact more than I do, that she's the lucky one who gets to stare at it. In other words, I flirted. But she hasn't responded, and I'm glad. Really.
Caught Tiff. On way. Need room 4 interrogation.
His response arrives after the light turns green, so I have to wait until I hit the next red to read it. Yeah, I'm responsible like that.
Room ready. But U should know--we had prob w/Milla. Get here ASAP.
The light turns green. I don't care. I type, What kind of prob?? Is she hurt?
I press Send and stomp the pedal to the metal, breaking speed records.
"Slow down," River snaps. "We get pulled over, we'll lose our prize. Not to mention the stint we'll do behind bars."
"Something happened to Milla. A problem."
He sucks in a ragged breath. "Hell. Why are you driving like my grandmother? Go faster."
I take the next few corners so fast, I leave rubber and smoke in my wake. Eight minutes and thirty-three seconds later, we're parked in front of the mansion and running inside. When we pass the door, I notice Gavin coming down the stairs.
"Milla," I say.
&nbs
p; "Back in her room. But I don't recommend going inside."
River tosses Tiffany at him. "Do me a solid. Tie her down and lock her up. Put a guard at her door."
Gavin doesn't catch her, but then, he doesn't really try. "Oops." He picks her up none too gently. "Consider her restrained," he says, relish in his tone.
I take the stairs two at a time and rush around the corner. Ali and Cole are standing in front of Milla's door, arguing about what to do.
"--need to put another tranq in her," Cole says. "She shouldn't have recovered so quickly from the first one."
"I'm telling you, she didn't hurt us on purpose. Trust me on this. We all just need to sit down and talk about what happened. Okay? While we do, Reeve and Weber can run some tests."
"Talking isn't going to solve this, Ali-gator. And how many tests has Reeve already run? And how the hell do you know Camilla didn't hurt you on purpose? For all we know, she and Tiffany are working together."
"But why would she allow her throat to be slit?"
"Because she knew we would use dynamis on her, sharing our abilities with her. Because she plans to wipe us out by using our strengths against us."
"She can hear you," Milla screams through the door. "FYI, she thinks you're an idiot!"
My hands fist. "You are an idiot," I say to Cole. "She couldn't have known we'd reach her in time to save her. And there were better, far less painful ways to hurt herself and gain our sympathy."
"And," Ali says, "none of us knew how she'd react to our fire and our abilities."
"How did she react?" River demands. "Is that the problem?"
"She hurt slayers rather than zombies. Me, Gavin and Bronx." Ali chews on her bottom lip. "She somehow tossed us in the air and held us there while squeezing us as if we were inside a trash compactor. I've never experienced anything like it."
And now, knowing Milla, she fears she'll hurt others and become an outcast all over again.
"Milla...we have to know. When you worked for Anima," Ali calls, "did they do anything to you? Experiment on you?"
"No. Never."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! That's something I'd remember. This is Tiffany's fault. Her toxin somehow screwed me up and now I can't be fixed. If I could, your fire would have done it already."
River knocks on the door. "Let me in."
"No. Stay out. Stay the hell out. Don't you dare come into this room. You do, and I will shove my dagger so far down your throat you'll be shitting metal for days."
Creative.
He hesitates and I push him out of the way. "I'm coming in, Milla. Just remember you're supposed to save me, not kill me."
"No! Don't you dare come in." She's even more frantic now. "Stay out, Frosty. I mean it. Stay away from me."
I pick the lock and twist the dooknob.
I'm cramming my weapons into a black duffel bag when Frosty enters the room. "You're brave, I'll give you that much," I snap. I don't turn to look at him. The thought of harming him or my brother--or anyone!--scares the pee out of me. Staying in the mansion is no longer an option.
"Well, you are a coward," he says. "You had a bad experience with your new abilities--your first time, no less--and you're throwing in the towel?"
"Yes! You weren't there. You didn't see the damage I did to your friends." Humiliating tears leak from my eyes.
He's in front of me a second later, cupping my face in his big, rough hands. His thumbs tenderly brush the tears away. "You're crying," he says, and he sounds amazed. Something changes in his expression, a lingering hardness finally going soft. "You care about us."
"Of course I do." I wrench free of him, his kindness more than I can bear. "You guys are great."
Gently, so gently, he says, "You'll practice. You'll get better. I'll help you."
"You don't get it. If I practice, I hurt people." There's a minicrossbow in the pile I've created, but it's not mine. It's something Cole favors, which means it's most likely his. Whatever. I pack it anyway. I'm going to be on my own. I'll need all the help I can get.
"What about Ali's vision?" Frosty asks.
Argh! Why isn't he yelling at me for harming his friends? Why isn't he grabbing my arm and dragging me to the front entrance, giving my ass a kick for good measure before slamming the door in my face?
"Maybe Ali got things wrong. I mean, I've been with you for a month and nothing's happened. Maybe the vision is merely symbolic. Maybe I save you by not being near you."
"Symbolic? Really?"
"What? I'm dangerous now."
"You've always been dangerous."
"To zombies, yes, but not to other slayers."
He barks out a laugh.
Yeah. Okay. I was dangerous to other slayers before this. And not just because of my ties to Anima.
"I couldn't control the ability, or whatever the hell it was. The disability." I'd been hoping for something great to happen to me. The break I so desperately wanted. Instead, I got this. Something worse. My shoulders sag. "Red flames consumed me, just like they do in my nightmares, and I tossed three powerful slayers into the air without lifting a finger. Energy poured from me, wrapped around them and squeezed. They bled from their eyes, nose and ears. I wanted so badly to stop, but I couldn't."
"You'll practice," he says again.
He still doesn't get it. "No. I'll put others in danger. I'd rather die." Lack of control is an excuse I can't abide.
I'm sorry I hit you, honey. Daddy lost control of his temper.
"Milla," Frosty says, realization suddenly as sweet as it is shocking.
Ever since I woke up from the attack, he's been calling me Milla. Not Camilla. Not "hey, you." Not "bitch." But Milla. As if I'm his friend rather than his enemy. My eyes go wide, and I pivot on my heel to face him--
--in a blink, the entire world stops spinning. The walls of the house fall away, and I'm running as fast as I can, Kat clutched close to my chest. Her collarbone is broken, the edge peeking out of her skin. She's cut everywhere and bleeding. Judging by the way Kat is wheezing, I know one of her lungs has collapsed. She'll die if she doesn't get help.
But she needs antidote more. She's been bitten by a zombie, and the clock is ticking. Damn it! She can't die, can't die, can't fucking die. She's my life. My everything. But shit, shit, there are zombies hot on our trail, and each one has a bomb strapped to his neck.
I veer to the right--a mistake. More zombies glide from between the trees.
Boom!
The ground shakes. I lose control of my left arm, which was broken when the house collapsed, but somehow I maintain my grip on my girl. Can't drop her, can't drop her.
Shadows twist at my left, so I make another right turn and catch sight of a dozen Anima agents plowing my way. Damn it! Where can I go? The agent at the helm raises a pistol, aims at me--at Kat. I have no other choice. I go left.
Pop! Pop!
I curl inward as best I can, trying to wrap myself around my girl, and I end up taking the bullets in my upper arm. My broken arm. The increase in pain is incredible, but it's nothing compared to my determination. Except I've turned us into another hail of bullets.
Pop, pop, pop!
Kat is hit, hit, her body jerking. No. Hell, no. Rage, frustration, desperation--each chokes me.
"Go!" Cole shouts. "I'll hold them off." He's got two semiautomatics in hand and as he sprays the agents with metal I beat feet in the opposite direction, going back the way I came. He'll be okay. He has to be okay. "I'm sorry, kitten. I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of here, I promise. I'll get you somewhere safe, and I'll take care of you. You'll heal. You have to heal."
Pop, pop, pop!
More gunfire sounds in the distance, and panic infuses every cell in my body. Agents race from the left and right, their weapons already trained on me. I have nowhere to go.
Damn it! I have a split second to decide what to do. Keep running and pray they miss, or set Kat down and fight, wasting precious time.
Ali rushes around the bend,
and she's headed straight for me. Her eyes are wide, and I know. It's already far too late for option two. I'm going to have to take the gunfire--risk Kat taking the gunfire.
I pick up the pace and once again contort my body around Kat's in an attempt to shield her.
Pop, pop, pop!
A bullet slams into my thigh, followed by another, and my leg just...stops...working. As I stumble forward, the rest of my limbs go lax. I can't right myself, can only fall, fall. I twist midway to absorb the brunt of impact, but when we hit, Kat rolls from my arms.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I somehow crawl to my feet, the pain, the pain. But it's nothing. She's everything. As I reach for her, another stream of bullets sprays, and I'm nailed in the chest. I fly backward, away from her.
"No! Kat!"
Her gaze finds me. She offers me a sad smile. As I stretch out my hand, her lips part. I think...I think she just took her final breath. Her chest stops rising and falling. Her eyes dull.
"No! No, no, no."
Darkness descends over my mind, but only for a moment. Light returns, and with it, a new scene takes shape.
I'm lying on a tiled floor, surrounded by a pool of blood--mine, River's and Caro's. I hurt. I hurt so bad. I'm certain death has sunk his claws deep, deep inside me, determined to rip my spirit out of my body. I'm having trouble breathing. Every time I try to call for help, blood trickles from the corners of my mouth, choking me.
Though my vision is hazy, I know my father looms above me. He's hit me so many times I've already lost count--but he isn't done.
Right now, I have a reprieve as he screams at me. My ears are ringing, but I can make out most of the words. You're useless. You're worthless. I wish you were never born. You can't possibly be my kid. Your mother must have slept with someone else, the whore. I busted my knuckles, and now I'm going to use a baseball bat.
All this, because I refuse to accept blame for Caro's death. Caro, my other half. My better half.
I never should have kept her out so long. I should have returned her hours before. But I didn't, and Daddy's dinner wasn't ready on time. I took full responsibility, but he blamed her. You're crying. Only guilty girls cry.
I tried to shield her, to take her blows for her, but he just kept shoving me aside. By the time River got home, it was too late. Caro's body...motionless...
Me, broken and bloody.
At least River was able to rip the baseball bat from Daddy's hands.