If we are being chased, every moment is precious. I need better instructions to find my clan than a general direction of southeast and a desert setting. And I need to know not only how to elude Whit, but if he manages to catch me, how I can fight him. And win.
I unzip the tent flap and look at Miles’s motionless form. The special tea I made has done its work. He is deep asleep and will not awake. I almost falter—this is strictly forbidden. No one would consider Reading another human being without their agreement. I remind myself I am doing this for the good of my clan. For the protection of my people.
I duck down into the tent and sit cross-legged by Miles’s side, taking his hand in mine and cupping my opal in the other. He doesn’t stir and keeps breathing deeply. My heartbeat slows to match his. I do still believe that the Yara exists, I think, summoning all my positive thoughts and funneling them into our joined hands. I shudder as we connect to the Yara. Miles’s eyelids fly open. They are unseeing and stare hollowly at the tent above.
“Miles,” I say. “You are my oracle.”
His head moves slightly as he nods, a thick wave of hair tumbling off his forehead. “Yes, Juneau. I am your oracle.”
34
MILES
“HOLY CRAP, I FEEL LIKE I SLEPT ON A PILE OF rocks,” I say, crawling out of the tent and pressing my thumbs hard against my temples as the sunlight burns my eyes.
“Breakfast,” says Juneau, and shakes a box of Cap’n Crunch at me from where she sits next to the impeccably clean fire pit. I glance around the clearing. Everything’s been packed up, and the trunk of the car is open with our supplies stowed neatly inside.
“Does this mean we’re leaving?”
“Yep,” she confirms, and hand-feeds a piece of cereal to the bird, who stands obediently next to her like the freeloading fleabag he is.
I sit a few feet away and pour myself a mug of orange juice and take a sip. I glance at Juneau, and she looks away. There’s an elephant in the campsite, and it’s called last night’s kiss. But if Juneau’s not going to say anything about it, I’m certainly not going to bring it up. I can’t help looking at her lips, berry red though she’s not wearing any makeup, and I feel a hunger that has nothing to do with my empty stomach.
“No more sleeping on the ground,” I moan, setting my mug down and massaging my forehead. “I don’t care if you insist on being out in nature, we’re staying in a hotel tonight.”
Juneau looks at me funny, then reaches over and pulls a tiny pouch out of her pack. She shakes a couple of pills into her hand and passes them to me. “What are these? Hippie moonbeam pills?” I ask without thinking, and then freeze. “Sorry. Bad habit.” I’m determined not to bait her today.
“They’re a miracle pill introduced to me by the owner of the Seattle guesthouse where I stayed,” she says with a wry smile. “She called them . . . Advil.”
I laugh and pop them into my mouth, washing them down with a swig of juice. Juneau pours me a bowl of cereal, plops a spoon in it, and pushes it over to me. “Wow, what’d I do to deserve such service?” I ask.
An odd expression flashes across her face—is it guilt?—but she quickly rearranges her lips into a smile. Something seems wrong. But what hasn’t felt wrong in the last four days? I remind myself.
She holds up the cereal box and points to the mustachioed cartoon character in the blue hat. “This is seriously good stuff, but this”—she points to a family-sized box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts—“is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.”
I laugh. “Is it your desert island food?”
“What’s that mean?” she asks.
“It’s a game. If you were stuck on a desert island and could only have one food, what would it be?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “I could eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of my life. No problem,” she says. A small grin breaks through the habitual stern-face. And there she is again. The normal teenage girl I kissed last night. Who I really want to kiss again. Who I wish wouldn’t keep hiding behind a facade of grown-upness and responsibility. Talk about split personality . . . Juneau could be the poster girl.
I pick up my bowl and inspect its contents closely. I don’t think I’ve ever had Cap’n Crunch before. My mom raised me on a diet of unsweetened granola sprinkled liberally with nasty wheat germ. Thinking of her makes my stomach twist, and I force her from my mind.
Sugared cereal, I think, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. I munch tentatively on the 100 percent artificial puffed squares. And my taste buds melt in ecstasy. Juneau’s right; these are so good.
“Yummy,” I say with my mouth full, and she gives me a full-on beam. Happy Juneau. About as rare as a triple rainbow.
She gets up. “You finish breakfast and I’ll do the tent.”
By the time I’ve washed my dishes in the lake, Juneau and the bird are sitting in the car, waiting for me. “Are we in a rush?” I ask as I settle behind the steering wheel.