“When you kill me, like you promised, make it quick,” I said, ducking away from his outstretched hand.
When I turned, I slammed into a solid chest.
“Whoa, whoa, hey.” Darin gripped my arms, looking over my head, and said laughingly, “Finn, your lunch is burning. What’re you trying to do—burn the place down?” He set me aside and then finally looked down at me.
When he did, it was like I’d punched him in the gut. The smile cleared from his face, and he made a sharp, stunned noise. Then the shock cleared, and he twisted his hand, conjuring a fire sword.
“No way,” he snarled. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
He swung.
I ducked.
“How many lives do you have?”
Behind me, Finn conjured a stream of fire. I don’t know if he was aiming at me or Darin. I yanked both their knots free and scrambled behind the cabinets.
There was another tingle of illusion, and I yanked the knots free again.
Then I reached into my pocket and grabbed the pillbox Rou had left me. I opened it, took a deep breath, and jumped out at Finn and Darin. I blew the powder into the air. It hit the both of them in a white, powdery cloud.
They collapsed, both of them convulsing. The kitchen had filled with smoke from the burning grilled-cheese sandwiches. As I jumped over Finn, the smoke alarm blared in a high-pitched shriek.
Darin had white froth leaking from his mouth and blood from his nostrils. Finn had bitten his tongue, and blood trickled from his mouth. They were both unconscious. The powder was Rou’s special mix, called “Perk Me Up.” It was a hallucinogenic poison that caused a rapid onset of convulsions and then coma for eight hours. You woke up nauseous, dry-heaving, with a violent headache from wild hallucinations.
The powder also caused rapid healing if you drank a pinch of it mixed with your tea, which was why Rou had given it to me, but I preferred the self-defense qualities. Justice and I had accidently discovered the alternate use years ago and had never told Rou her medicine was also a poison. It only worked on humans, but it did come in handy.
Down the hall, I could hear at least a dozen Smiths sprinting my way. There wasn’t time to find a bedroom and jump under the bed, so instead, I grabbed an empty pot and smashed out the kitchen window. Then I climbed onto the counter and dove onto the sidewalk.
I had maybe a twenty-second head start. I sprinted east, heading toward a long line of apartments. There were plenty of places to hide. Taxis to dive into. I was an idiot. Stupid. I should never have tried to talk to Finn.
I threw my hand in the air and flagged a taxi. I looked over my shoulder—no Smiths yet—and swung to dive into the taxi.
I rammed into another solid chest. The man caught me in his arms, binding me tightly against him.
I stared up, and up, and up, and looked into Finn’s glinting eyes.
“But . . . but . . .”
It wasn’t possible. He was currently convulsing on his kitchen floor, hallucinating about killer bunnies or giant mushrooms. He couldn’t be here.
“Surprised?”
He gave me a wicked smile that made a cold shiver race over the sweat lining my spine. I shoved at him, and he yanked me tighter against his chest.
“Hey! You gonna ride or not?” The taxi driver had rolled down his window and was idling in the street next to us.
“Not,” Finn snapped over his shoulder.
I shoved again, but he’d wrapped me tight. I’d fantasized about him holding me close. This wasn’t gentle though. It wasn’t a hug. It was more like the iron chains that had wrapped themselves around me as I’d sunk to the bottom of the East River.
His grip was too strong to break. He looked down at me with a cruel smile, his black hair fluttering over his forehead.
I felt the pull between us, the golden rope twisted and pulsing. It was there. But I didn’t feel love. I didn’t feel longing. I didn’t feel anything.
“You’re not Finn,” I said.
He laughed. “You asked if I had something to say to you.”
