“Should we take his shoes off?” I ask.

  “No need,” Tarren says and carefully lets the backpack down near the bed. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I wander over to a plush chair next to the bed and sink down into it. This suddenly seems like the world’s longest day.

  “God, what are we going to tell him?” I say pushing my bangs out of my eyes. “You’d better let me handle this.”

  “You go. I’ll stay until he wakes up.”

  “Yeah right.” Tarren’s got a lot of impressive skills, but compassionate nursing is on the opposite spectrum of all of them. Bastard couldn’t run away fast enough when Mom was in her last days or when I went down for the count in coma land. I look at him and realize he’s serious, which means he has no intention of gently nursing Rain back to health at all.

  “What are you going to say to him?” I ask. Tarren’s face is cold and still. I know what that means.

  “It was an accident,” I say. “Just a stupid accident. Maya didn’t mean to…”

  “That doesn’t change what happened,” Tarren says softly. He’s already judged the situation. Made his decision. Banged down the gavel.

  “They’re in love,” I say, and yeah, my voice is pathetically pleady, but one of us has to have a fucking heart. “Doesn’t that mean something?”

  Tarren’s eyes rest of my face. “No,” he says. “Not for her.”

  “That’s Maya’s decision, and his. Not yours, Tarren. For fuck’s sake!”

  “She’s already made up her mind.” His voice doesn’t rise. Not one bit. And I hate him for that. For being so calm about every goddamn terrible thing that’s happened today. For not being the kind, shy, awkward brother who I knew growing up. The one who would give me endless piggyback rides as long as Tammy wasn’t in the room to tease him about it.

  “You convinced her,” I say, but all my anger has burned up with those impossibly far away memories. “You told her some shit about duty and responsibility and pushing him away to keep him safe. You’ve turned her into you.”

  “Go,” Tarren says. “I’ll get back on my own.”

  I want to stay planted in this chair just to show him that his orders aren’t some unbreakable law of the universe, but the truth is that I’ve never been able to stand up to him. Just like I could never stand up to Tammy.

  “Let me put on a new bandage when you get back,” I say. The red smear of blood is growing thicker through the bandage on his hand. Tarren nods, and that’s the only concession I’m getting from him today.

  I turn toward the door. Poor Rain. Maybe he’ll hate Maya when he wakes up or be terrified of her. Wouldn’t blame him. But if he still loves her…if he understands that it was an accident, like I think he will, then he’s in for a world of hurt. Tarren never hesitates, never misses when he’s on a mission. I doubt smashing Rain’s heart under the heel of his boot will be any different.

  “Don’t be a dick about it, when you tell him,” I say as I grab the door handle. Time to go home and start picking up the pieces.

  Chapter 11 – Tarren

  Rain sleeps the next six hours straight through, missing the sun as it sinks below the horizon. In my mind, I carefully craft the words I will say, and I don’t allow pity any purchase. It must be done. He will be safer, and Maya too.

  I lose myself in the time, scouring through Evolution of Microbial Pathogens, which Lo loaned to me. He bookmarked the relevant chapters, and I work methodically through the text, trying to imbibe the complex concepts.

  My bandaged hand interferes with my ability to take notes, but I do my best, scratching out messy questions in my notebook. An encrypted text from Lo comes through in the afternoon telling me that he has ordered a group of low-level viruses through a contact he’s bribing at a medical research university he won’t reveal. As soon as the samples arrive, he can begin testing each one to see if he can graft on the Cure. That’s just step one. We need to find a virus that will protect the Cure and allow it to spread.

  It could take months before we even have a candidate, but we don’t have months. The secret of the angels will break. Soon. I can almost feel it, like the shadow of a tidal wave inching across me.

  Rain murmurs from the bed, and I look up. His eyes are still closed, and his body shivers under the blanket. A memory flashes in my mind – a crowded, gaudy Halloween party at the mansion of Tucker Cartwright in Los Angeles. I’d just clipped the wings of an angel in a massive bedroom on the second floor, when my phone vibrated with a text. It was a single picture and a question, “One of yours?”

  Danielle had included a winking face emoticon at the end.

  I force my gaze back to the desk, to the thick book lying open before me. The swollen paragraphs are suddenly indistinct as Danielle’s face plays across my thoughts. My body betrays me, stirring with heat.

  That party, that text, that picture of Rain unconscious on the ground was a year and a half ago. Danielle had proposed a trade that night, dark giggles bordering her words. Rain’s life for a kiss. I paid her price. Retrieved Rain. Lied to my family…again. It wasn’t really a kiss Danielle wanted. She’d enjoyed my helplessness as much as my lips.

  “I am a hypocrite,” I tell Rain, and it feels good to say the words out loud.

  And then I take a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity. As I breathe out, I carefully open a new polished metal box in my mind and pack those memories away. The second box I fill brims with my guilt. Maya had been distraught with worry that night, and with good reason. Rain may never shake the slight limp in his gait. Danielle always extracts her price.

  I seal both boxes up tight. It’s done. I am empty again. I look back down to the march of dry words and heavy ideas on the page in front of me.

  An hour later, words jolt me from my research, throwing me into instant wariness.

  “It was my fault.”

  Instinctively, my muscles tense, and my hand hovers over my holster. The deep bruises all along my back complain as I twist toward the bed. Rain blinks at me, and I relax my hand, quickly tightening my control to ensure that no emotion or twinges of pain show on my face.

  “I tried to kiss her,” Rain says. His voice is heavy and dry, but steady. He must have been awake for at least a little while to gather and order his thoughts.

  I open the small black backpack at my feet filled with the supplies I’d gathered from Dr. Lee’s cabin. Francesca had kept them all, the oxygen tanks, heating pads, feeding tubes, everything required to treat someone who has been drained. That small closet of supplies had saved Gabe’s life nearly three years ago. The boxes of those memories rattle in my head, and I push them back, forcing my mind into the present.

  I take a protein shake from the pack.

  “Is she okay? Is Maya okay? Where are we?” Rain struggles and manages to pull himself up into a seated position. This is a good sign. Even now, his metabolism is burning every drop of glucose in his system to force his core temperature back up. It’ll then start breaking down his minimal body fat for new stores of energy. He won’t waste away, not like Gabe did, but he’ll feel incredibly weak, and he’ll need calories to replace his depleted energy.

  “We thought it best to take you away from the house,” I tell him as I step to the bed and hold out the protein shake. My swollen elbow sends shocks of pain up my arm at this movement, and it takes me a moment to remember that it went through my mother’s glass vanity earlier today.

  Rain ignores the bottle in my hand. He looks up at me. “Where’s Maya?” he demands. “Is she alright?”

  I meet his eyes and hold his gaze. “She’s uninjured,” I tell him, “but not alright.”

  “It was my fault,” he says again. I watch his hands curl by his sides. I won’t dare show it, but I respect him for taking responsibility. Though he was so very foolish. They both were. And so are you, Danielle’s teasing voice whispers in my mind.

  Rain looks at me, his eyes panicked. “You can’t blame her. You can’t punish her.”

  “I don’t need to punish her. Drink.” I motion with the bottle, still in my outstretched hand.

  “I need to see her,” he insists. A faint mark creases across his right cheek from a wrinkle in the pillowcase.

  “Drink,” I respond.

  He seems to understand that he won’t get any information unless he follows my instruction. With a shaking hand, he wraps his fingers around the bottle and takes it into his possession. He focuses on holding it as he brings it to his lap. I know that his body must be aching for more sleep, trying to pull him down again, while insisting at the same time for sustenance. Calories.

  I remember that feeling well after my first encounter with Danielle. That was six years ago in a dirty Las Vegas alleyway. She should have drained the life out of me, and I still don’t understand why she pulled away. She told me once, biting my earlobe as she whispered, You were just too damn handsome to kill.

  “You’re here to tell me to never come back again.” Rain’s voice dashes away my memories.

  “Drink,” I reply.

  “I love her!” His voice rises, but not enough, I think, to raise any concerns from neighboring lodgers.

  “Then you’ll leave her alone,” I tell him.

  “No.” He shakes his head for emphasis. The bottle trembles in his hand. “I can’t. I won’t.” His eyes meet mine again, but now I see desperation in their depths. “I’ll do better, I swear. I won’t push her so hard.”

  I carefully pick through the arguments I’ve already formed, trying to decide which one will strike the deepest. Love. Yes.

  “She loves you too,” I say. “If she hurt you…”

  “She won’t!” he proclaims.

  “She did,” I point out. “If she hurt you or killed you, it would destroy her. She would have to live with that for the rest of her life. Is that what you want?”

  His voice is hoarse but stubborn. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It will. You know it will,” I respond. “Sometimes love means letting go. Sometimes it means sacrificing selfish desires. I know you’d be willing to risk your own life, but don’t risk hers. Don’t give her the hope of something she can never have.”

  “We can make it work.” His voice sounds strangled.

  Calm breath. This is necessary. “She doesn’t want to see you again,” I say.

  “No!” he chokes out, an expression of horror crossing his face. “No. She was upset. She was trying to protect me.” He looks around the motel room. “I just have to see her. Talk to her.” He moves, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  I know what will happen, but Rain needs to know. He needs to understand what Maya did to him.

  He stands up, hand pressed on the mattress…and then slowly sinks down onto the floor. The protein shake hits the carpet and rolls to my feet. I watch Rain settle on the floor, legs buckled beneath him, consumed with weak, panting breaths. His face is white with exertion, and I know he won’t be able to stay awake much longer.

  I promised Maya that I would see him eat something.

  “It’s not fair,” I tell Rain, lowering my voice and taking off the hard edge. I bend to pick up the protein shake. “But it is right.”

  “You don’t get to decide that.” The words have almost no breath to them, but his eyes are fierce and pained.

  “Drink.” I hold the bottle out to him with my left hand.

  “Go away,” he spits back. He can’t stand, so he turns his face away from me, his lips pressed so tightly against each other that they lose all their color.

  “I will when you finish this.”

  “Fine. Drink? That’s what you want?” He turns toward me and fumbles for the bottle. He curls around it, arms trembling as he struggles with the lid. I don’t dare help him. He gets it off, sloshing the chocolate-flavored drink into his lap. “Here. Drink. See?” He puts the bottle to his lips and takes a gulp. His body shudders as if finally realizing that it desperately needs the calories within. His hands tighten on the bottle, and he tips it back farther, eagerly drinking, almost choking, until the bottle is empty. I’m ready with a protein bar, partially unwrapped, and he grabs it out of my hand, without thought. When the empty wrapper drops into his lap, I’ve already lined up three more protein shakes on the nightstand along with water and six protein bars. He can easily reach up and grab them even from the floor.

  He pants and wipes his mouth, eyes drowsy.

  “You have the room for the rest of the night,” I tell him. “Your truck is in the lot downstairs. Don’t drive until you’re sure you can manage it. No more than three hours of driving at a stretch. Keep eating. Your body needs a lot of calories and a lot of rest. Limit physical activity as much as possible over the next week and then build back up slowly.”

  I lay the keys to his truck on top of the television, ensuring that he’ll need to stand to get them.

  Rain glares at me. “I’m not giving up,” he says. “Tell her that.”

  His words are disappointing. I’ve given him all the necessary logic. He should be strong enough to accept what he can’t have. But you are not strong enough, I remind myself.

  My promise to Maya is kept. Using my left hand, I put my book and notebook into the backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and walk to the door. Deep aches awaken across my shoulders even with this small amount of movement. I pause at the threshold and turn back to Rain. His anger is the only thing keeping him awake. I know he’ll fade out as soon as I am gone.

  “Don’t try to contact her,” I tell him, and then I step out into the night and start my long walk home.

  Part II

  Chapter 12 – Maya

  In the failing sunlight, I carefully jab the needle through the white cloth, pulling the orange thread behind it. The engine of the Jeep hums its old, familiar tune. I give the thread a gentle tug to tighten the stitch. One little X and thousands more to go. It’s comforting to think of all those stitches waiting for me.

  We’d been at a Target three days ago quickly replenishing supplies between missions. As my brothers filled the basket with protein bars, extra socks, and the baking soda toothpaste Tarren likes, I’d wandered off, somehow crossing over into the unknown land of the arts and crafts section. My gaze landed on the flat packets of cross-stitch projects, and a spark of curiosity had escaped the heavy veil of disinterest that has lain over me the last month.

  I had reached out and tugged one of the packages off the metal arm. The picture on the front showed a little brown cottage surrounded by trees and flowers. The words Home Sweet Home hung in the cheerful blue sky.

  “You going to start knitting sweaters for us too, Grandma?” Gabe had said, when I returned with the kit in my hands. I would have laughed at that a month ago, before the cupcake.

  Now, as I pull the thread through for the next stitch, I understand the appeal of sheer monotony. It gives my mind a place to focus, to hide from what I did to Rain last month.

  Rain. Foolish boy.

  He should hate me. Should blame me. Should want to stay as far away from me as possible. But he doesn’t. How many text messages has he left? How many endearing voicemails until I switched phones? He is haunting me, and he won’t stop no matter how many times I’ve told him how things must be.

  “Just tell me you don’t love me,” he had said. “Then you’ll never hear from me again.”

  I haven’t found the courage yet, but I think I’m getting close. Soon, I’ll find a way to say it so he’ll believe me, and then he’ll be gone.

  The needle winks in the glare of oncoming headlights, and I blink away the sudden bright lights. Where are we even going this time? I realize that I don’t actually know. My brothers talked it through, but I wasn’t paying attention. I have no idea if, when we stop, it will be to catch some sleep in a real bed at a motel or to start stalking yet another target.

  Over the last month, we’ve been crisscrossing the country, one mission after the next, stopping only to hit a workout at a CrossFit or MMA gym in the area or to crash for a night in a motel. It’s not a life; it’s an unending grind, and we still can’t kill the angels fast enough. Headlines about new deaths related to Hercules are beginning to include the word “Epidemic,” and the FBI has started a task force. We haven’t been back home since “the cupcake” a month ago, as Gabe calls it, because, “Maya going dark side, draining her boyfriend, and almost killing Tarren in a berserker rage,” isn’t such a fond remembrance.

  We’re going to run out of tarp pretty soon, I muse as I finish another stitch. And the Jeep won’t last much longer either. We’ve already got over 150,000 miles on her, and the tone of the engine has changed from a confident grumble to a whine.

  “Come on Maya, favorite part coming up.” Gabe is at the wheel. I tune back into reality and realize that somewhere past Kansas he put in one of his Angel Hunting Soundtracks. “Bohemian Rhapsody” blares through the speakers.

  Doesn’t he ever get tired of listening to the same 100 songs over and over and over again?

  “…very, very frightening me. Galileo….” Gabe sings.

  I pull the thread through the cloth.

  “Galileo!” Gabe is more insistent this time.

  “Galileo,” I murmur flatly.

  “Herbert Peacock Hoover,” Gabe groans. “You don’t just rain on a parade, you throw anvils at it.”

  “I am strong,” I agree.

  And because he must, Gabe finishes up the song, but his aura is bereft of its usual happy green hues. In the front passenger seat, Tarren says nothing. As usual, he’s buried in another molecular biology textbook, a small book light attached to the cover. Over the past month, he’s only looked up when it was time to kill something. On those few nights when Gabe demanded we catch some sleep in a motel, I’ve listened through the walls and heard Tarren’s pen scribbling coded lines in his notebook far into the dawn.

  It’s a damned good way to refuse to speak about the cupcake, and I’m all aboard that train.

  And then it hits me. We’re going to Lo’s mansion in Las Vegas. That’s right. Tarren said as much after our last mission in Des Moines. Gabe hadn’t argued. Apparently the prospect of a few days of downtime was worth the tradeoff of existing within the general vicinity of his arch nemesis. These long days are wearing Gabe down. I can tell by the dour shades in his aura, the pale purples darkening under his eyes. I should do something about this. Fix this.