I’ve been accepted to the University of Alaska Anchorage.
Part of me is elated, another is furious, yet another is incredibly saddened. I fudged my transcripts, but I ensured they reflected my true grades. To know that I got into a school of my choosing is fantastic—but to what end? It’s not like I’ll be able to go anyway. Not with Annar breathing down my neck.
I was so na?ve, thinking I could ever be something other than what I’ve been told to be.
I shred the letter into tiny pieces. Then I shred the envelope. I collapse down into the ring of tattered, unrealistic dreams below me.
So it only makes sense that this is when the screaming I haven’t heard for over eight months fills my ears.
I’m on my feet and at the large bay window in the living room, searching the white neighborhood for any sign of the Elders. They’ve gone silent; it was more of a burst rather than the continual siren I’d grown accustomed to over the years. Although, come to think of it, the last time I was attacked, by a singular Elder no less, it was silent.
If they’ve found me in Alaska . . .
I snap the blinds shut and slide over to one of the walls, willing the house to become impenetrable. A massive earthquake could strike Anchorage and this would be the only building left standing, I’ve made it so sturdy. The windows melt into something better than bulletproof. The roof is hardened into a tough shell. If they’re going to get me, it isn’t going to be in this house.
I weigh my options. If the Elders are here, and the Tracker knows it—well, the Guard is probably on their way. When I was last in the loop, capturing Elders was a high priority for both the Guard and the Council. Which means . . . maybe the Tracker isn’t here for me. Maybe he was scouting the region for Elders and stumbled upon me in some twisted sick joke of Fate’s. But if the Guard are coming, there’s an excellent chance Kellan will be with them, or even Jonah; the Guard had long believed the twins to be more effective working in tandem against the Elders. As much as I want them, miss them, need them, there’s no doubt in my mind that their lives have vastly improved in my absence. Letting anyone find me would be setting them back.
I could run. It’d be the safest thing, especially since I refuse to let the Dane boys get caught in the crosshairs of whatever war the Elders are fighting against Magicals. The nons I love are painfully fragile, and I’m not exactly simpatico with any Shamans at the moment.
But, if I leave the house, it’d be me against who knows how many Elders. I could maybe hold my own against a couple, but against a large group?
Etienne’s words swarm my memories: as long as a Creator lives, the worlds will be okay. It’s the vacuum that will cause havoc. The last time there wasn’t a living Creator, the worlds fell into chaos.
I need to stay alive.
A strangled gasp of a scream sounds nearby. I jump, and then double jump when the backdoor slams shut.
HOLY HELL. I made this place Fort Knox and then forgot to actually lock the doors.
I refuse to go down without a fight, though. Two glowing balls of blazing energy materialize in my palms. The best defense is offense, or so I’d heard from all those sportscasters Jonah used to watch.
Something bangs in the mud porch.
I calculate my odds. I’ve got a wall behind me. The front door to my right. The hallway to the bedrooms to the left. The kitchen to my front. Another hallway to the laundry room and back door. I erase the entryway to the hallway and kitchen and bolt the front door. They can only get me from the one point of entry now.
Goosebumps race up and down my arms, but they’re not from the frigid February Alaskan weather. My heart hammers in my chest. I can do this. I can do this.
My eyes narrow on the entryway. My hands clench the balls. A controlled burst of a scream sounds somewhere behind me, outside, followed by a shadow leaking out of the hall. I hurl the ball in my right hand as hard as I can at the doorway, switching its properties mid throw to act like a gun silencer. No need to freak the neighbors out, after all. Plaster and wood explode in an eerily silent shower leaving the room hazy in dust and smoke.
Something slams against the front door.
And then, “WHAT. THE. FUCK?!”
Will stumbles out from the gaping maw I’d just created, his clothes covered in plaster, his hair disheveled, his hands clutching a partially singed, white to-go bag from the Moose on the Loose. He’s white as a sheet, his eyes saucer wide, and it’s no wonder, because here I am, standing with glowing fireballs in my hands after destroying part of his house in an assassination attempt.
I literally have NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY.