There was that.
“Jimmy had—” I paused, uncertain if I should tell her about the momentary meltdown. What happened to DKs who lost their edge? Were they sent into a town very much like Hardeyville without any silver bullets?
“I know,” Ruthie murmured.
Of course she did.
“He seems all right now.” Except for his annoying tendency to poke Sawyer with the proverbial stick.
“He is.”
“Does he do that a lot?”
“Never.”
“Never?” I frowned. “Well, I guess it was pretty bad. All those kids. The—” I glanced at the carriage.
Ruthie’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows lifted toward her salt-and-pepper hair. “You think what he saw in Hardeyville sent Jimmy over?” She made a tsking sound.
“Lizbeth, he’s seen worse than that a hundred and one times before.”
“Worse?” I echoed. I did not ever want to see worse.
“Jimmy’s been doing this since he was eighteen, but he’s been doing it alone.”
“Then you’d think—” I stopped. You’d think it would have been easier for him with a partner, but then again—
“He’s never had to see the carnage through your eyes, never had to live with the possibility of losing you to one of them.”
“He lost me a long time ago.” Or maybe lost wasn’t the right word. He’d thrown me away. “Why would he care?”
“You don’t think it would kill him to watch you die? Wouldn’t it kill you to watch him?”
Considering I’d imagined his painful and torturous death many times, I decided not to answer that. In truth, the idea of Jimmy dying before my eyes did make me a little uneasy.
“Springboard tried to shoot me,” I pointed out. “Jimmy didn’t start gibbering then.”
“That was unexpected. He only had time to react, as did you. Hardeyville was different.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Jimmy always knew you’d become a seer. It was your destiny, just as it was his to become a DK. But seers are protected. They don’t walk the front lines. Until you.”
“Desperate times,” I murmured.
“Desperate measures,” she agreed.
I wasn’t sure what to think about this information. If I believed Ruthie, and why wouldn’t I, that meant Jimmy still had feelings for me. I’d learned to live with the knowledge that we were over, that he didn’t love me, had probably never loved me. But what did I do with the concept that he cared at least enough to worry I might die by werewolf?
I shook my head. I couldn’t deal with this now. There were too many other pressing issues.
“Sawyer says seers and DKs are dying.”
Ruthie’s face went stark. “I know.”
“Is there anyone else who has the list of federation members?”
“There isn’t a list. It was all up here.” She tapped her head. “They would have come to you one by one when it was safe, sent by the voice that guides them to swear allegiance, letting you touch them and gauge their strengths, their weaknesses, their loyalty.”
“If there isn’t a list and you’re dead, then how—”
“Whoever’s controlling the Nephilim has powers well beyond mine. I’ve tried to see who it is, or how our secrets are being discovered, but I can’t.”
I wanted to curse, but my mouth still stung from when she’d smacked me the last time.
“Why am I here?” I asked. “Is there another town that needs saving?” Although after Hardeyville, saving probably wasn’t the right word.
“I’m sure there is, but you won’t be going.”
“I can.” My voice was too eager. “No problem. You need me, I’m there.”
Her lips curved. “Nice try. You’re in New Mexico to learn how to hear me without touching them.”
“Can he teach me?”
“Yes.” Ruthie looked away, her eyes troubled. “But you aren’t going to like it.”
Chapter 20
I woke with a gasp, as if breaking past the surface of the water after a dangerously long dip. I sat up, heart pounding, I wasn’t sure why, until I saw the long tall shadow of a man in the doorway.
At first I didn’t know who it was. Jimmy? Sawyer? Someone I hadn’t met yet? Then I caught the drift of smoke, saw the tiny pinprick of red at the end of a cigarette.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Does it have to be something? Can’t I walk through my own house in the middle of the night?”
I suppose he could, but if he was watching me sleep, that was kind of creepy. Of course he’d always been kind of creepy. I didn’t think he could help himself.
There’d been so many times at the age of fifteen when I’d wanted to leave this place, that man; I’d been desperate to run away and never come back. But running off into the desert was a death sentence. I’d often felt like staying here was one too. But I’d made it out alive.
Last time.