“I could have saved that zombie.” Ali marches over to frown at me, as if I’m the problem. I hate how tall she is, and how tiny she makes me feel. “I could have turned him into a witness.”
“Could you really?” Gavin mentioned seeing toxin underneath Jaclyn’s skin, and I can see it underneath Ali’s, black lines branching from her eyes and mouth. “You were almost completely tapped before you started fighting. Now you’re telling me you’re good as gold?”
Up goes Ali’s chin—a defensive action I know well. “I’m not the problem here. You were supposed to stay by Frosty’s side, not run off to—”
“I told you. I saw someone. A girl. She watched the battle and bolted when I noticed her. I chased her. She shot me up with darts. We need to catch her and question her.”
“If there is a girl out there, and I’m not saying there is—we both know you could have brought those darts with you, intending to feed us this story—she probably doesn’t know she’s a slayer and that there’s a war waging all around her.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the copper tinge of blood. “She was in spirit form. She knows what she is.” Slayers can separate spirit from body naturally, but it’s something we have to learn. Anima long ago found a way to force the action through electronic pulses.
Ali gives me a once-over. “You don’t look like you’ve been tranqed.”
“That I can’t explain. Unless she shot me up with something else.” Like...what? The opposite of a tranq—happy juice? But I’m not exactly happy. Medication of some sort? Poison?
Oh, crap. Bile rises, burning again my sternum. The possibilities are endless, and very few are actually good for me.
“Take these,” I say, shoving the darts into her hand. “Have them tested. Tell me what she’s done to me.”
My panic must penetrate Ali’s suspicions, because she pales. “As soon as I get home, I’ll give them to Reeve and Weber, our new medical advisor.”
Cole massages the back of his neck. “It’s late. It’s dark. We’re all in bad shape. We’re in no condition to go after the girl. I’ll follow her tracks tomorrow.”
I grit my teeth, but also nod. He’s right. We’re all operating on fumes.
“One more thing. Don’t go running around just because you see someone,” Ali tells me. “Next time stick to Frosty’s side as if you’ve been glued.” Like Kat, she has trouble maintaining eye contact while discussing this particular subject. Why? “I want you with him every second of every day. Got it?”
“Am I allowed bathroom breaks?” I ask drily.
“No. Wear a diaper.”
I give her the finger. I’m not wearing a diaper. Ever.
Frosty closes in, the heat he radiates enveloping me, causing goose bumps to break out from head to toe. What the hell kind of reaction is this? I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, rubbing my arms to pretend I’m cold.
“Were you bitten?” he asks.
“Why, are you worried about me?” I hear the hope in my voice and cringe. I think a part of me longs to hear yes, someone—anyone—cares that I exist.
Fury claims his expression, twisting his features. “You are a means to an end. A way to see Kat. Never doubt it.”
Bile rises again, only hotter, but I manage a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Did I really expect him to soften so quickly—or ever?
This is my penance, my only means of atonement, and I’ll see it through to the end. No matter what.
“Let’s go.” His expression is softer, at least. But of course, he takes off without looking back to ensure I’ve followed.
I race after him.
“Don’t forget,” Ali calls. “Hash Town. Seven a.m. If you’re late, I’ll post naked pictures of you all over the internet. And I promise you I’m not bluffing. Kat told me where to find one of her old phones.”
He waves without looking back.
“You and Ali are having breakfast together?” I ask.
“Yes. You’re not invited.”
Ouch. “Try to leave me behind. See what happens.”
He has no reply, but then, he rarely does with me.
We reach our bodies and with a single touch, we’re paired back up. As he stops to answer a question from Bronx—what happened out there?—I pile inside his truck and buckle my belt.
Yesterday, Frosty demanded I walk to his apartment. Tonight, I’m not taking any chances. He’ll have to drag me out of the vehicle kicking and screaming—and then he’ll have to crawl back inside it, because I won’t leave him unscathed.
When he settles behind the wheel, he doesn’t even glance in my direction. And yet, it isn’t until he pulls out of the cemetery that I relax. Or try to. Every muscle I possess is knotted and trembling, the stress of not knowing what’s been done to me jacking me up.
“Great fight,” I say, hoping to make conversation and distract myself. “You worked magic out there.”
He turns up the radio.
I jab my finger at the button, switching the music off. “We’re partners, Frosty. You have to start—”