“Don’t—” Weber started, then realized he couldn’t move his hand. “What the—?”

Weber’s other hand shot forward to grab me as I side-lunged out of his reach. The spell snapped. I saw the knife blade swing down. As I twisted and dove for the floor, the knife slashed through the side of my stomach. Then Lucas grabbed me, knocking the knife away, as Adam launched himself at Weber. Weber screamed. The stink of scorched flesh filled the tiny kitchen. The Cabal SWAT team leapt into action. And it was all over.

Laying the Blame

OF THE NEXT HOUR I REMEMBER ONLY IMAGES AND SNIPPETS that whizzed past at MTV speed. Lucas stanching my wounds. Adam pacing behind us. The SWAT team leader barking orders. A man examining my wounds. Adam snapping questions. Lucas reassuring me. A weight on my chest, slowly bearing down. Gasping for air. Lucas shouting orders. A door slamming. Road rumbling beneath tires.

The next time I came to, I was lying on some kind of bed that vibrated and swayed. I struggled to open my eyes, but could only pry them open a slit. When I inhaled, the air was sharp, metallic. I felt a light pressure around my mouth. An oxygen mask. A surge of panic made my head hurt. I dipped toward unconsciousness again and fought my way back.

A soft jolt and the vibrations ceased.

“Finally.”

Lucas’s voice, distant and muffled. A squeeze on my forearm. I felt the warmth of his fingers, resting on my arm. Then his breath tickled my ear.

“We’re here,” he said, still sounding as if he was a room-length away. I had to concentrate to make out the words. “…you hear me?”

A clang, then the whoosh of an opening door and the dim light turned midday bright. Lucas’s grip on my arm tightened.

“What are you doing here?” he said, voice cold.

Another voice answered. Familiar…Benicio. “I came in with the team. Our team. The one you requested. How is she?”

A clatter, and the low murmur of other voices. My bed jerked. Lucas’s fingers brushed my forehead as my bed lifted. A jolt, a murmured apology, and I was tugged into the sunlight. A few bumps, then the squeak of wheels and the rush of air. Lucas’s hand found mine and gripped it as we moved.

“You’re upset,” Benicio said, his voice low.

I managed to open my eyes enough to see Lucas at my side, walking fast, Benicio beside him, leaning in for privacy.

“And that surprises you?” Lucas clipped his words, voice colder than I’d ever heard it.

“I don’t blame you for being angry, but you know I had nothing to do with this.”

“It was all a misunderstanding. Or a coincidence. Have you decided yet? If not, may I suggest you choose misunderstanding? It provides more opportunity for prevarication.”

Benicio reached for Lucas’s free arm. “Lucas, I—”

Lucas swiped at his father’s hand, catching it and knocking him back. Benicio’s eyes went wide. Lucas’s face twisted as he spun to say something, but as he wheeled around, he noticed my eyes were half open and stopped in mid-turn. He bent over me, nearly tripping as he tried to keep pace alongside the stretcher.

“Paige? Can you hear me?”

I tried to nod, but had to settle for fluttering my eyelids. He squeezed my hand.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re in a hospital—a private hospital. Robert arranged it. They need to…”

I slid back into unconsciousness.

The cuts on my neck proved the least of my injuries. The blade had left only shallow gashes that required no more than a quick cleaning and small bandages. I’d sustained two other injuries—one serious but relatively painless, the other minor but painful as hell. The chest wound had cut my lung, collapsing it. The doctors had inserted a chest tube, cleared out the blood, and reinflated my lung, which now seemed fine, although they had to keep the chest tube in for a day or two. The abdomen cut had sliced only through muscle—well, okay, undoubtedly more fat than muscle, but the doctors said “muscle” so I’m sticking to their version. Though the wound was superficial, every time I moved, it was like getting stabbed all over again.

The next morning I opened my eyes to see Adam hunched over a psychology textbook, highlighter in hand. I reached up to rub my face and nearly toppled the IV onto the bed. Adam grabbed it just in time.

“Shit,” he said. “I finally convince Lucas it’s safe to leave for a few minutes and you decide to wake up. If he comes back, close your eyes, okay?”

I managed a weak smile and opened my mouth to speak, then made a face. I pointed to the water. Adam poured me a glass. He started to put in the straw, but I grabbed the glass and took a gulp. The water hit my parched throat and bounced back, dribbling out my mouth.

“That’s attractive,” he said, reaching for a tissue.

I snatched it before he could do anything as humiliating as wipe my face. He picked up something from the dresser.

“Brought you something.” He handed me a stuffed beanbag bear dressed in a black witch’s hat and dress. “Remember these?”

“Hmmm.” I struggled to focus, still woozy. “Right. The dolls.” A small smile, as the memory surfaced. “You—” I wet my lips and tried again. “You used to buy them for me. Gifts.”

He grinned. “Every ugly wart-faced witch doll I could find. Because I knew how much you loved them.”

“Hated them. And you knew it. Used to lecture you on sensitivity and stereotyping.” I shook my head. “God, I was insufferable sometimes.”