Two figures throw open the van doors and get out. They stand in the path of our headlights, brandishing weapons. Transmitter lights blink behind their ears.
“Okay, maybe no talking,” Fleur says.
“There are only two of them.” Julio cracks open a water bottle and takes a swig as he sizes them up. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and caps the bottle. “Amber and I can take them. You all stay here.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter as I follow Fleur out of the RV after them.
The roadside is barren. The vegetation, sparse. I have that same exposed feeling I had back in Arizona. The asphalt’s scorching, the rising heat waves carrying all my strength with them. I stay close to the hood so I’ll have something to grab if I fall over.
Julio stands between the RV and the van, his water bottle dangling from his fingers.“¿Qué onda?”
“I speak English, asshole.” The driver squints against our headlights. He’s fidgety, nervous. All cables and wires, as if Gaia caught him in a growth spurt, with a sinewy attitude to match. His friend carries more weight, broad in the shoulders but soft in the middle, with doughy cheeks.
“Fine. In English, then,” Julio says, with a baiting degree ofsarcasm. “How about you get the fuck out of our way. You’re hogging the road.”
The back door of the van slides open and four more Summers get out, all six of them in peak. They carry weapons—pipes, chains, and knives. Julio tenses as the driver tests his blade against the pad of his thumb. “Chronos is offering an automatic relocation for the Season who brings you down. And that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m going home.” The wordhomecomes out on a quiver, and I feel a stab of pity for the kid.
“Where’s home?” I ask him.
His nostrils flare as he drags his eyes from Julio. I can’t tell if he’s pissed off or fighting back tears. “Houston,” he says with a disdainful curl of his lip.
I reach for the RV’s hood, fighting a wave of dizziness that’s only made worse by the engine’s heat. “You don’t need to kill us for that. You can just go. We won’t stop you.”
He shakes his head like I’m crazy. “And spend the rest of my short life running from Chronos? No thanks. It’d be easier just to kill you.”
He advances toward Julio, then falters midstride. His friends’ eyes widen behind him. I turn to see the rest of our group spilling out of the RV, a circle of Seasons and Handlers fanning out around us—all thirteen of them. Gabriel’s got his arms around a Summer boy. Another holds Yukio up. They acknowledge me with nods as they position themselves behind me.
For a split second I’m numb, transported in time, paralyzed on that same mountain pass I died on thirty years ago. Only this time, I’m not alone.
The driver of the van backs up a step, turning his knife over andover in his hand, his eyes assessing our group—our weak Winters, our vulnerable Handlers, our obvious lack of weapons.
Without warning, he lunges. Amber throws her fireball but misses, hurling it past him across the highway. With a deafening explosion, it slams into their van. I drop to my knees, shielding my face from the searing heat as a plume of black smoke spews from the hood. Windswept flames lick across the pavement. I shake my head to clear the soot from my eyes. All around me is shouting, the scuffle of feet. Coughing and fighting. I choke into my sleeve. Can’t see anything through the glare of smoke against the headlights. I set off through the haze, calling Fleur’s name.
A fist swings through the dusky air. It smacks into my jaw with a dizzying force. I draw back, dodging the next two hits, my ears peeled for the sound of Fleur’s voice. All I hear are the smack of fists hitting flesh and the clatter of chains. A red light cuts through the smoke as a Summer charges me. I drop low, using his own momentum to throw him over my shoulder, sending him tumbling behind me.
I follow the sounds of fighting. The wind shifts, the smoke thinning with it. Through it, I spot a flash of red hair. Amber feints, dodging the driver’s knife. Over the roar of the fire, I hear Woody shout her name.
“Woody, no!” He dashes into the thick of the fight. With a feral yell, he swings his combat knife down. Amber’s attacker falls. His magic flares, condensing into a blinding ball and surging toward a ley line.
The fighting stops as we all shield our eyes from the glare. From the image it illuminates.
Woody’s mouth parts.
He drops to his knees at Amber’s side. Her lip trembles as he collapses against her. Stunned, we all gape at the knife in Woody’s back.
The wind dies, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. The car fire crackles and hisses. It’s the only sound as Amber brushes the hair back from Woody’s eyes. All the light in them disappears.
The Summer boy who stabbed him watches expectantly, as if he’s waiting for some glimmer of magic to take Woody home. But Woody doesn’t fade. Doesn’t float away neatly into the night. The Summers who attacked us fall back, staring openmouthed at his sagging body as Noelle’s group surrounds them.
Tears stream down Amber’s smoke-blackened cheeks as she eases Woody to the ground. My mouth goes dry, angry tears pushing to the surface as she kisses his forehead and closes his eyes.
“He’s not magic,” the Summer boy says, his soft cheeks slack with surprise. He backs away slowly, as if only just realizing what he’s done. “He’s not one of us.”
“Heisone of us!” Julio snatches the boy by the collar and slams him to the ground. Amber scrapes up Woody’s combat knife and holds it against the Summer’s throat. Her other hand claws savagely at his ear, at his transmitter.
“Amber, no!” My vision clears as I realize what she’s trying to do. Another pile of ashes won’t replace the life she’s lost. We’ve left too many behind us already. The kid’s shadow will haunt her as much as all the others. Even Woody’s. “This won’t bring him back. Woody wouldn’t want this.”
Fire rages against the tears in her eyes. The knife clatters to the pavement. Julio gathers her to him as she falls, whispering into her hair as she curls in on herself and sobs.
