The gun turns and points at me.

  In a whirl of motion Tarren’s arms come from behind the pole. He snatches the dagger embedded in the concrete next to his face and plunges it into Grand’s foot.

  Grand roars with pain. The gun falls from his mental grip. A scream tears out of my throat as I wrap my telekinesis around the gun, turn it, and lay the last sputtering particles of my consciousness against the trigger.

  I don’t know if the explosion is the gunshot or my skull breaking apart.

  I fall into darkness.

  Chapter 30

  Light prods against my eyelids, and when I crack them open, the room is blurry and listing from side to side. I hear a little whimper, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming from me. My palms feel the cool, smooth concrete of the floor, and this must be another trap. My whole body tingles with the anticipation of the next blow.

  “Thirty-two seconds, thirty-two seconds,” a voice whispers somewhere close.

  It takes some time before I can lift up my head. It feels heavy like, well, like something really heavy and fragile and about to explode. I can’t fucking think at all.

  I see movement across the room and assume it is Grand coming for me. But when I blink, the figure forms into Tarren. He’s on his knees, and he rocks back and forth murmuring, “thirty-two seconds, thirty-two seconds.” Gabe is cradled in his lap.

  My gaze sweeps the room, and I see Grand sprawled on the ground in front of the pole where Tarren was cuffed. His left arm is canted at a weird angle behind his back.

  A line of foam dribbles down my chin. I scrub it away and push myself up to my hands and knees. When the room settles again, I stand up, and this takes some doing.

  Little, careful steps take me across the room. This feels like a dream. My vision keeps shifting in and out of focus. I crouch down over Grand’s body. The bullet went in just under his left eye, making a small, dark hole in his flesh. I rummage in my heart for some courage and find only desperation instead. Desperation works. It gets my fingers on Grand’s neck in search of a pulse.

  Nothing.

  I sit back on my heels.

  There are no trumpets. No fireworks. The fabric of the universe doesn’t shift. The words that I have practiced for this moment every night don’t come. I haven’t time for them anyway, because there are no brothers rushing to embrace me, to give me a proud nod and invite me, finally, into their hearts.

  The metal cuffs that were holding Tarren lie open on the floor, a pair of picks still standing in the lock of the cuffs that were around his ankles. Tarren wasn’t carrying lock picks; I saw his kit in his duffle bag.

  But Gabe was, I realize. I didn’t take them off him when I stripped the rest of his weapons.

  I turn and approach Tarren. His energy is still a polluted sludge, and his eyes are glazed. “Thirty-two seconds,” he whispers.

  I step up behind him, and he hunches over his brother. His aura flares, black and ruby reds.

  “I know that you want to hurt me,” I tell him, “and I deserve it. But not now. Not until Gabe is safe, okay? Please tell me you understand.”

  Tarren looks at me. His skin is pale and clammy with sweat. There’s a twig caught up in his hair from his fight with Grand and dried mud splattered across his jacket. I notice deep, bloody gashes at the top of both his wrists from fighting against the cuffs.

  He nods.

  “We have to go,” I say. “Let me take Gabe to the car.”

  “No.” Tarren’s voice is dry as sand. “Don’t touch him.” His aura flickers again.

  “Tarren, no matter what you feel right now…” My voice suddenly deserts me, and I have to swallow and find it again. “We have to work together so that we can save Gabe’s life. If you want to kill me you can do that later.”

  Tarren doesn’t move from his protective crouch. He’s still panting and shivering and smearing blood on Gabe’s coat. “Thirty-two seconds,” he says.

  “I’ll get the car,” I say.

  ***

  Surprisingly, the world still exists outside the walls of that blood-splattered building. The air is cool and sharp in my lungs, and the sun is halfway up over the horizon, peeling away the night sky and bleaching out the stars. Somewhere, a lone bird calls, and its voice is so clear, so loud that I swear it’s perched on my shoulder singing in my ear.

  My senses are all out of whack, each magnified and overly sensitive, overloading my brain with so many sensory insights that it makes me dizzy and nauseous.

  I run, and the world blurs around me. Such speed, even with my energy puttering on the last fumes of what I stole from Gabe. When I return to building number twelve, Tarren and I pass each other inside the main entrance. Tarren carries Gabe in his arms, and I the two red five-gallon containers of gasoline that we always keep in the trunk. We don’t stop. We don’t look at each other as we pass.

  I wait until Tarren is outside, and then I open the first container of gasoline and start pouring. When I reach the back room, I open the second container and pour gasoline over the little trail of blood drops that lead from the wall toward the nearest pillar. I splash the crimson puddle from Gabe’s cracked skull and then douse the pillar, bloodied and notched from Tarren’s struggles.

  I go to Jane and dribble a circle of gasoline around her body. I try not to get any on her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because I am.

  Last, I come to Grand. His face now sports a gruesome wound—a deep gouge starting under his left ear, tracing his jaw and coming up just under his bottom lip. My dagger stands straight up from his chest, buried all the way up to the bloodied hilt.

  I tip the container, and the gasoline gushes over Grand. I don’t say anything. I don’t think anything. But I do pour every last drop of the accelerant on my father’s body.

  When I’m done, I push open the door of the warehouse and step out of those dizzying fumes. Tarren stands in front of the SUV, shivering and staring at me with hollow eyes. He holds out his hand, and I don’t understand until I recognize the object lying on his palm.

  I take the bloodied matchbook from him and open it.

  Love Me Tender, Veronica.

  I stand in front of the building, tease out a single match, and draw it against the phosphorous strip.

  The match snaps in half. So does the next one. The head of the third makes a single gouge on the strip and then bends back. I’m pressing too hard, but I don’t know how to reign in my shaking hands. I miss the matchbook altogether with my fourth strike attempt. I hold the match in front of me and let out a loud sob.

  The match lights. By itself. And I most definitely did not do it.

  I look up, distinguish the unknown heartbeat from the churn of sounds assaulting my enhanced eardrums, and find the stranger. He stands on the roof of a neighboring building.

  An angel.

  Our eyes meet, and his are a deep blue, spaced far apart beneath a rounded forehead and unruly blond hair. I can’t tell how old he is. Past his twenties, but not middle aged yet.

  He smiles at me.

  Pain. The match. It’s burned down to my fingers. I quickly light the rest of the matchbook and toss it against the building’s door. The flames consume the gasoline with an audible whoosh. I can see the fire running beneath the door, picking up the trail of gasoline inside and following it all the way to the back room where it will devour everything but our memories of what happened there.

  I glance up, searching for the strange new angel who must be Gem. The roof is empty. He’s gone, and I don’t have the time or energy to figure out his game or the meaning of that smile.

  Tarren steps up next to me. I wonder if he also saw the angel. No. He only has eyes for the fire. His aura rises, and I can see a hint of blue in its depths. Tarren bows his head, and his lips form silent words. I look away, let him have his moment.

  We won’t stay long, but we both need this. Tarren and I stand side by side, and we watch the flames feed.

  Chapter 31

  Before we leave, I pull up the Murano’s hatch, rip open my bag, and tuck my Glock into the waist of my jeans. If that angel with his enigmatic smile decides to make another appearance or tries to follow us I won’t hesitate. Not anymore.

  As I reach for the medical kit, I am aware of two black eyes staring at me.

  Sir Hopsalot’s cage is on its side. It smells like piss. The rabbit presses his nose against the bars, sniffing, asking me questions I am not about to answer. I am all too aware of its bright looping aura, but I promised Gabe.

  I close the hatch and toss the medical kit to Tarren as I take my place behind the wheel. I miss the key three times before I get it into the ignition and crank hard enough to make the engine whinny before catching. I don’t look in the rearview mirror, can’t really handle the sight of Gabe carefully laid out on the backseat and belted in place. It’s enough that I can hear his pulse. Steady. Weak.

  “Gabe’s laptop is down there,” I nod toward Tarren’s feet. “Find the nearest hospital.”

  “No hospitals.” Tarren slumps in his seat and doesn’t bother with a seatbelt.

  I back out, cut the wheel hard. Pebbles ping against the SUV’s undercarriage.

  “Gabe needs help now.”

  “They wouldn’t know how to treat him.” Tarren lays his head against the seat and closes his eyes.

  “We could tell them, explain…”

  “They would ask questions, take fingerprints. We’re both in the system.”

  “What?” I yank us onto the road and jam down the accelerator. The Murano bucks in protest, but then the gears shift, the engine revs, and we rocket forward.

  “It was unavoidable,” Tarren says. “Dr. Lee is the only one who can treat him effectively.”

  “Dr. Lee? Farewell is ten hours away!”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Tarren says. “Gabe won’t make it.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  Tarren opens his eyes and stares up. “Grand was right, you held on too long.”

  “Gabe is stronger than that!” My voice quivers, and I hate it for doing that.

  “It’s a biological process, Maya. Willpower is an illusion.” Tarren’s voice is soft, robotic, and terrifying. His mind is working, but his heart—shielded and mysterious as it is—seems lost.

  “No,” I insist, because this is the only thing I can say, the only way I can breathe. “No, no, no.”

  I stare out the windshield trying to think, trying to push away the onslaught of emotions and outside stimuli that tackle my brain. My eyes drag themselves up to the rearview mirror, to Gabe’s pale, blood-streaked face. When I focus on his heart, it seems to be the only sound in the entire world.

  I pull us off the road. We’re going too fast, and the Murano jolts over the uneven surface. We stop in a cloud of dust.

  “Get me the map,” I demand.

  “It’s a straight shot back on the highway,” Tarren responds.

  “Just give me the fucking map.”

  Tarren opens the glove compartment and piles the contents on his lap: Gabe’s angel hunting soundtracks, the spare Glock, the container of Tic Tacs with three left inside, and other random crap. I am very aware of the gun and how close Tarren’s left hand is to it. Tarren reaches in again, pulls out the folded booklet, and passes it to me. As I throw it open across the dashboard, he tucks each item, gun included, back into the glove compartment, stacking the CDs neatly and then closing it.

  My eyes find Wichita Falls, Texas then scour every single road branching out from this small town. I mentally copy the map into my mind, filling my angel-enhanced mental corridors with highways and back roads. It’s like drinking up information.

  Then I drive.

  I adjust the seat to fit the length of my legs, and, for the first time, notice dried blood and fading red streaks on my left forearm. Claw marks. Made by Gabe’s fingers as he struggled to escape my grip.

  My stomach heaves, and I grip the wheel to steady myself.

  I look over at Tarren. His eyes are distant. That steel jaw is slack. The welt on his neck has swollen to the size of a golf ball and is already assuming magenta shades. The whole car smells like the blood still welling from the deep gashes in his wrists. I worry about his injuries, but most especially about his ash-shaded aura. The color of surrender.

  “Get some gauze on your wrists, tape them up,” I tell him.

  Tarren seems to notice the medical kit in his lap for the first time. He drops it to the floor. “Nothing is fatal,” he whispers.

  There’s a pause after this, but I can’t really abide pauses, because they fill themselves with Gabe’s slow heartbeats and hollow breaths.

  “Is it true, what Grand said?” I prod. “About Tammy, about changing her?”

  A faint red glow rises at the edge of Tarren’s aura.

  “Yes,” he says, “it’s true.”

  That hangs between us for a while. We get on the 287 North, and my driving consists of keeping my right leg locked out and dodging artfully around the glacial cars in front of us. The dusky twilight is fading fast. We’ll be getting more company on the road as soon as we hit a town big enough to host a morning commute. More cops too.

  “Is Tammy still alive?” I ask.

  Tarren flinches. After a long pause he says, “She begged me to kill her.”

  Gabe once told me that Tarren would do anything for Tammy; that he would follow her into the gates of Hell if that’s where she wanted to go; that he wouldn’t deny her any request. Not anything.

  The nightmares. The scars he refuses to treat. The daily anguished penance in front of his cracked mirror.

  I understand now.

  I leave Tarren alone after this; let him drift farther and farther away. As long as he’s docile, I can concentrate on the road and on keeping my own weak mind perilously balanced between the duel precipices of panic and guilt.

  Monster Maya is on a mission, and I throw my whole attention towards it. The map lays open in my mind—a perfect copy of those thousand arteries endlessly branching across the country. I nudge the engine up to 100 mph, and the SUV handles the speed well. I scan ahead, tuning all of my senses forward toward the other vehicles. The clarity and depth of my vision seems endless as does the smooth translation of visual stimuli to action. Without a single hiccup of thought, I am cutting between lanes, squeezing past cars with inches to spare, and tapping my brakes to skate by police cruisers at a respectable 70 mph when I see them up ahead.

  I know my hazardous driving will get called in by at least a few of the other motorists I am constantly cutting in front of, which is why I pull us off the highway at random intervals or whenever I hear any sirens coming behind us. I strafe the long, winding back roads, whipping around delivery trucks and other cars on the shoulder or in the opposite lane. After a good stretch of this semi-off-roading, I pop back onto the highway.

  Rinse and repeat.

  This is how the hours pass, broken only by gas stops, which feel interminable. The whole time, Tarren lies against his seat, wrists trickling blood, not wearing his seatbelt, staring out at the empty Texan landscape. Gabe continues dying in a slow, quiet spiral that does no justice to his character.

  We break out of Texas and shave off a corner of New Mexico. The sun peaks and begins its decent. Gabe’s heart starts to flutter. Every single one of his heartbeats seems to stack up on top of me, creating a perilous tower of weight, pressing, crushing, making the strain of each minute almost unbearable.

  We finally cross into Colorado.

  My ears strain to catch the next frail heartbeat, the next soft push of breath. Monster Maya holds back the tides of panic and bitch slaps that small malicious whisper that hisses you knew it would end like this.

  Tarren always understood the truth. It was Gabe who believed in me. Gabe who saved me the first night I became the thing that I am. Gabe who always protected me. Gabe who could smile away the winter storms of my despair. Gabe who has the strongest heart. Silent heart.

  Without checking any mirrors, I twist the wheel and throw us roughly onto the shoulder of the highway. I manage to turn off the engine on my second try. All around us cars rush by, unaware that the world might have just ended.

  All I hear is the nothing.

  The lack of Gabe’s heartbeat.

  Blood dribbles into my mouth from my lip and the teeth I’ve embedded into it. Still, the strangled moan escapes. Tarren studies my face. It must be my imagination, but I think I can see the last real part of him dissolve away in his aura on weak little clouds of white.

  We both turn to look at Gabe laid out across the backseat, his beautiful blue stolen away. By me.

  Blue as blue, true as true.

  The car is filled with the sound of my sobs and of Gabe not being alive anymore.

  Chapter 32

  I shove open my door. Stumble out. A horn blares, and I feel the rush of wind as a truck rumbles past. I don’t know what I’m doing except that I have to get to Gabe. I have to save him. I go round behind the Murano, throw open the passenger door facing the shoulder of the highway and climb in.

  “Gabe, Gabe, Gabriel,” I whimper. Laughing, glowing brother, now so quiet, so cold. I plant my knees on either side of his body, extend my hand, and try to give him back his energy. My tears drip onto his shoulder.

  “Come on,” I croak, “COME ON!” My hand shakes. I imagine all the energy I took from him streaming out of my body, filling him up like water gushing into a dried well.

  Nothing happens. I lean down, hesitate, than lay my hand across his cold forehead. I close my eyes, concentrate, try to believe that if I want this crazy thing bad enough it will actually work.

  Hands grab me and throw me out of the car. I hit the ground, and Tarren is on top of me throwing wild punches against my raised forearms. It only takes me a moment to switch gears. I catch his left fist, then his right, pull them down and flip us so that I am sitting on his stomach.

  I force his arms down at his sides. Tarren fights against me, but today I’m stronger. So much stronger. His face is wild, and I have to anchor the skin down on my palms, because his aura is leaping in torturous peaks and valleys.