“Secrets in the wrong hands hurt people,” Davis says.
“Everything can hurt people.”
I start to step around him, and that’s when I realize something’s off.
It’s not anything I see.
It’s just something I sense.
And that’s all the warning I have—that one little premonition thatsomething is wrong—before sparks explode in the campfire and something thick and hairy and heavy lands on my head.
I scream and drop Peggy.
The thing on my head hisses and clutches my hair as I spin and scream again. “Get off!Get off!”
“Sloane.” Davis’s voice is distant, like I’m in a tunnel.
Where’s my cat?
What’s on my head?
Does it have teeth?
Oh my god. It has to have teeth.
Something tackles me, and then I’m eating dirt and leaves, all of the air leaving my lungs.
The weight on my head is gone, but there’s a body lying on top of me, and its weight is also twisting and heavy.
Davis.
It’s Davis.
He’s grunting. “Stop throwing things.”
“I’m not throwing things!”
“Not—gah—you!”
A flashlight spins above us and light off of the fire makes shadows dance around us too, then there’s another shower of sparks.
“Giselle?” I gasp.
She doesn’t answer.
Nearby, anyway.
She’s yelling somewhere else. “Getlost, you fucking mangy assholes. Why is it always vermin?Why is it always vermin?Swear to god, if I don’t get a good bonus this year, I’m taking Aspen up on that offer to fund my vigilante era.”
Something hits my cheek.
Something else hits my shoulder.
The weight on me rolls off, and I spot Davis grabbing a firewood log and spinning in a circle, looking for?—
Actually, I don’t know what he’s looking for.
Or what’s going on with his hair.
