“Tell Low we’re discussing his driving later,” Cordero says.
“Yes, ma’am.” Suarez hangs up. “Morons,” he says, addressing all of us. Then he checks the GPS again, inputting the address Ben sent. “Fifteen minutes out.”
I settle back in my seat, trying to relax.
I’ve thought about Daryn a lot these past months. Pretty constantly. But I didn’t focus on how to handle seeing her again. I spent my mental energy imagining that things were good between us instead.
I approached it like a math calculation.
Take away all the times she told you she just wants to be friends because she’s afraid she might like you too much. I mean, what? How is that a reason? But it doesn’t matter when you’re imagining. Minus one confusing excuse—check.
Take away the memory of the look on her face when she saw you with one less hand. Maimed. Incomplete. Don’t need that either, so. Get rid of it, too.
Take away the fact that she left one of your best friends to die in a realm with your nemesis. Tougher to delete. More brainpower required but I could get there. I could imagine it never happened.
Take all that out of the equation and what was left was good.
Without it, Daryn and I are incredible in my imagination. Tons of chemistry of all kinds. Physical. Mental. Emotional. Physical. Straight-up chemistry lab. Highly combustible.
I thought it would get old to picture us that way. Didn’t happen. Wasn’t able to get into hanging out with other girls, either. Anna brought her friends over. Marcus made an effort not to monopolize female attention. But being around other girls felt like killing time before the real deal. Before this.
“G?” Marcus says.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I say automatically. I look at my hands. They’re in fists. Flesh and bone on the right, and magnesium alloy on the left. I open them. “Suarez, how close?”
“Five minutes.”
Shit. I need a plan.
CHAPTER 5
DARYN
I have to be imagining this—it’s the only explanation.
How else could it be possible?
But she looks so real.
So happy and real.
“Daryn, honey. It’s me.”
“It can’t be. You can’t be in here.”
“I am, Daryn.” She rises to her feet and spreads her hands. Like she’s waiting for me to come to her, to hug her. Like she has nothing to hide. “It’s me.”
“It is?” My throat’s squeezed up so tight, I can barely get the words out. And I still can’t move. After eighteen months, only two dozen steps stand between us—but I can’t even take one.
Burbling into my thoughts are memories of Malaphar, the demon that could take the form of others. Who fooled Gideon and the rest of us in the fall. But Malaphar was slain then, and demons can’t see into my mind as a Seeker. How would they know about my mom?
I can’t see how this could be a trick, so … maybe it’s really her? But if it’s really her, then how? Did Samrael bring her here?
“Yes, Daryn, it’s me. I’m right here,” she says, her smile going wider. “You’ve gotten so beautiful. I can’t believe how grown you are.”
Reflexively I look down, like I’ll be able to see myself through her eyes.
Have I changed? I’ve never thought about it. I’ve only thought about the things that were changing at home. The things I’ve missed.
“I’ve … I’ve seen a lot since I left.” I only recognize the double meaning in my words after I’ve said them.
I have seen a lot in the past year. A lot of the world. Of people. Of suffering and pain—and of love, and grace, and good, too. And, as a Seeker, I’ve seen.
Mom’s smile wobbles and her eyes well with tears. “I’m sure you have. You’ve been gone for such a long time.”
“I know, Mom.” When did I accept that this is her?
“I’ve missed you so much, sweetie.”
“Me too.” I’m about to step toward her, about to explain, to apologize, to hug her and start to bridge all the days and months we were apart, when her expression hardens.
“How could you do that to me, Daryn?”
The question steals the breath from my lungs.
“Where have you been?” she continues. “What could have been more important than me? More important than your sister and your father? How could you have left us? Didn’t you think we’d worry? Where did you go?”
“Mom, I—” In my worst nightmares, these are the things she says to me.
“You thought I’d be better off without you.”
“Yes.”
“You were wrong. I needed you. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”
My heart shatters into pieces.
I want to run to her. I want to feel her hold me, and I want her to forgive me, and I want her to be okay, and me to be okay, but I can’t move, can’t take a step toward her because do I even deserve a chance? Do I even deserve her forgiveness?
“Daryn, you have to go. Right now.”
“What? Mom, no! I’m not leaving you again.” I don’t understand her abrupt tone until I notice that the branches around me are shaking. Finally, there’s a breeze here—no, stronger. Leaves rustle as wind sweeps past, and the begonias’ white petals shudder.
“Listen to me. You need to leave.”
“No,” I insist, noticing that Shadow is braced, standing at high alert. “I’m not going without you—” When I look back at her, the white flowers at her feet are fluttering like butterflies. They’re moving. Not just from the wind.
They rise up off the ground and settle over her white dress. Covering it. Blending in. White dissolving into white. Quickly reaching her waist and then moving higher. I don’t understand what’s happening, or why she’s just standing there.
I drop my backpack and run.
Faster than I ever did when I ran track. Faster than I did when I was running for my own life in the fall.
I’m too late.
The flowers cover her. They wash her away like a wave. By the time I reach the spot where she was, they’re receding. Returning to the patches along the forest floor.
I look down at the crushed petals under my boots.
They’re all that’s left.
I drop to my knees and rip, tugging them out of the dirt like I can bring her back, my vision blurring with tears. I want to let myself cry, but I’m afraid I won’t stop.
And the wind is still rising, turning into powerful gusts. They shear through the branches and carry an acrid, wet smell that coats my throat like sludge.
Fear slices through me, bringing me to my feet.
All around me branches groan and toss, shedding their leaves. The gusts seem to come from every direction.
I sprint back to Shadow, snagging my backpack by one strap and grabbing the horn of the saddle to swing myself up.
Shadow squeals and jolts forward.
My shoulder yanks, nearly tears out of its socket. I miss the saddle, dragging beside Shadow before my grip gives and I hit the dirt.
Turning, I see the horror that scared her.
From the branches above where I’d just stood, a dark figure drops to the ground.