I reach my hand out, locking my fingers into the frozen blades of grass, my knuckles pressing into the ground.
Then Ipush. Just like I tried to push life into Izzy. I visualize the yellow light flowing from me, a direct line down my arm and into the ground.
Beecher is mine. This territory is mine. Beecher is mine. This territory is mine.
Oddly, after all my fears and hesitation, claiming the territory and repeating those words silently to myself, feelsright. Like this is what I’m supposed to be doing.
A sensation of movement starts up within me, and it is accompanied by the cool absence of the departing power, which makes me shiver.
It’s working!
The thought barely has time to flash through my mind before the flow stops, abruptly, sending power rippling back toward me.
It rebounds into me with sizzling force, knocking me over and snapping the connection.
I land on my back on the ground, hard, knocking the air out of my lungs. My arm, from my shoulder to my fingertips, is numb and tingling. It’s a version of what I would imagine grabbing an electric fence would feel like.
“What do you want from me, motherfucker?” I shout when I can breathe again, no longer caring who can hear me. I kick my heels against the ground, as if it’s to blame and this is the only retaliation I can manage. Which is closer to the truth than I’d like.
“None of this looks particularly magical,” a voice says dryly. “Or effective.”
I freeze. I know that voice. I’ve heard it in my ear, in breathy words against my throat, in whispers licked into my belly. Because while the man is a tightly wound control freak, get him into a closet and he goes down like he wants to live there.
And about an hour ago, I thought I would never hear it directed at me again.
I sit up.
“Carter?”
22
Carter is leaning against the wrought iron fence near the main gate, hands wrapped around two of the black metal supports, just below the sharp-edged finials on top. He’s still in the rumpled shirt and jeans he was wearing at the hospital, but now he has a battered leather jacket over the top. And in typical Carter fashion, he doesn’t look entirely happy to be here—jaw tight, mouth set in a firm but lush line.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrambling to my feet and trying to ignore the embarrassment scorching my cheeks. I have no idea how much of that little temper tantrum he witnessed, but any of it would be too much. “How did you know where to find me?”
A corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile. “It’s always easy to find you, Jocasta. You’re always where you’re not supposed to be. Generally in the middle of trouble.” He tips his head toward the fire trucks and police cars in the street.
His words might have stung, but they were said with a sort of sad fondness that tugs at my heart instead.
Shit. I can’t decide whether that gives me hope or just adds to the sickening anxiety spiral.
I brush myself off and head toward him. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I say, proud of how calm I sound.I’m fine if you’re here to further reject me and the absolutely world-shattering news I gave you earlier. Totally cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Carter takes a breath, then hesitates. “I need to talk to you.”
Well. Never in the history of the world, either the human version or the Old Ones, hasthatever been followed by good news.
“Okay,” I begin uncertainly. “You want to give me a hint about—”
“Hey! What are you two doing? You’re not supposed to be in there!” one of the firefighters shouts.
Everyone standing by the giant hole in the road across from the cemetery turns to stare at us. Carter holds up a hand. “Sorry. We’re leaving,” he calls back.
“We are?” I ask.
“Yes.” He opens the main gate, which pivots much more smoothly than the side gate I used, to let me out.
“I can’t leave,” I say, as we cross the street away from the cemetery, toward the front lawn of Theta Iota house. “Not right now, not until I figure this out.” I wave my hand in a vague gesture at the cemetery and the torn-up road. “Something is here. I think.” Though, if that’s true, what’s the delay? Why not just come out and kill me? It’s incredibly frustrating.
