Another question poised at the edge of my mind, but it refused to crystallize. It bothered me, whatever it was. Made me uneasy, even queasy. Or maybe that was the zombie toxin or the antidote or whatever was working through me.
After a pinch in my upper arm, something warm began to wash through me. Dizziness overshadowed that sense of pain, distracting me, and suddenly I was floating through a sea of soft clouds.
Floating…
…away…
*
…floating…
…back…
I fought the return to my body. I wanted to stay in this vast realm of nothingness, where troubles were a thing of the past and nothing could hurt me. But I lost this fight the same way I’d lost the fight with the zombies.
Zombies.
The word was a tether, drawing me back for good. I dropped…settling in…unable to escape.
My stomach clenched, shooting a blistering sting up and another down. A moan left me. My brain felt like a big, heaping bowl of Jell-O, and my eyelids felt as if they’d been glued together. I had to force them to part by blinking rapidly. I tried to focus. I could hear a quiet beep, beep in the background. Could smell the strong odor of room cleaner overlaid by the rank scent of rot.
A too-bright light hung above me, swinging back and forth. Last thing I remembered was the party, the zombies. Running, being chased, fighting. Teeth sinking into me. How had I gotten here? For that matter, where was here?
My heartbeat picked up speed, and the beeping sounds followed suit. I attempted to sit up but something caught on my wrists, holding me down. I twisted to look, cried out. The skin in my neck and arm pulled tight, shooting knifelike pains through every inch of me.
“Calm down,” someone said.
Not alone. Stiffening, I searched the room. The speaker was hidden from view. “Who’s there?”
“And stay still,” someone else added. “You don’t want to rip your stitches.”
“Besides, you can’t get free.” A female voice I recognized but couldn’t quite place. “You’re restrained.”
Restrained? At last my gaze zeroed in on my wrists. They were at my sides, cuffed to the gurney. Calm down? As if! “Let me go! Now!” The words scraped at my throat like glass shards in a blender.
“If you won’t calm down on your own, I’ll drug you again, and you’ll be completely helpless. Do you want to be completely helpless, Miss Bell?”
Reeve’s dad, Mr. Ankh, walked around a curtain. He’d traded in his suit for bloodstained scrubs and a lab coat. A stethoscope dangled from his neck. His dark hair stood on end, and his eyes were rimmed with red.
Beside him stepped a taller man with dark, though no less disheveled, hair. His features were rougher, the shadow of a beard on his jaw. His eyes were an electric blue, and his nose had a slight bump in the center. His face and arms were streaked with dirt, and yet his hands were scrubbed clean.
Beside him stepped Dr. Wright, who had thin, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and her arms crossed over her middle. She’d ditched her dress for a large button-up shirt and sweatpants so long they’d had to be pinned at the ankles. Somehow, she appeared no less authoritative.
“How are you feeling, Ali?” she asked. “You’ve been out for most of the night.”
“I feel like I want someone to let me go. Here’s a hint. That someone is you!”
A newcomer spoke out. “They’re just going to ask you some questions. The sooner you let them start, the sooner you’ll be released.”
Tensing, I watched as Cole eased through the open door. He hadn’t changed his clothes, even though blood streaked his T-shirt and jeans. My blood, I think. A white ball cap perched on his head, his dark hair sticking out in spikes underneath. Shadows fell over his face, blocking his eyes from inspection.
“Who is he?” I demanded, motioning to the only one I didn’t know with a tilt of my chin.
“My father. His name is Tyler.”
My eyes widened as I refocused on the rougher-looking adult. Now that I knew there was a connection, I could tell that his features were similar to Cole’s. Same slightly uptilted eyes, same stubborn chin.
I forced myself to relax against the hard surface of the bed and gave a stiff nod. “Fine. Ask your questions.”
Mr. Holland jumped in first. I just couldn’t think of him as Tyler. It was too informal, too friendly when he was clearly anything but. “How did you know where those traps were? Because I’m thinking there’s no way you could have known where we’d set up an ambush unless you’d been spying on us.”
To tell the truth, or not to tell the truth? Maybe seeing glowing smears was a sign I was meant to be a slayer—one of those “many more” abilities the journal had mentioned. Maybe not. Maybe it would end all the antagonism lancing my way. Or maybe not. Maybe the antagonism would grow.