Page 95 of The Wild Zone

The others laughed, and Harper playfully pushed me.

“I’m not sure Aphrodite strikes people down,” Benny mused. “That’s more of a Zeus thing.”

“Fine.” I gazed at the ceiling. “Then I was…trying to avoid her giving me a bad hair day.”

“Oh, KK.” Zuri stroked my head. “How do you explain all the other days?”

I gaped at her while Harper and Benny hooted and laughed.

“You are so dead!” I joked, flinging a dish towel at her.

We continued to laugh and tease one another while we worked, and after a while there was a peaceful lull.

I knew we were avoiding talk about the previous night. It was still too raw, too horrifying. But after wiping off one cup for far too long, I finally cleared my throat and asked, “We’re not done searching for Grant and Silas, right?”

“No way,” Benny said immediately.

“We haven’t reached hero status,” Harper added.

“Am I wearing a skirt made of blue-and-orange feathers yet?” Zuri asked.

I smiled. In that moment, all I needed to know was that the Wild Omada was still on the case.

My good mood lasted until I returned to my cabin.

Then I sat on my bunk and saw what was peeking out from beneath my pillow—a scroll, with its all-too-familiar sigil. If there had been a pine tree in the vicinity, I would have knocked it over with a scream of rage.

Instead, I pocketed the scroll and waited for my cabinmates to fall asleep.

Time crawled, but my thoughts raced. I should have known there would be another scroll tonight. He seemed to know every time I went into the Wild Zone. He was getting impatient, and I was out of time.

Finally, when the cabin was silent except for snoring and the white noise of Hate Faction, I slipped on my invisibility ring. I grabbed my scythe and headed out the door. With every step, violent images filled my mind. I saw myself punching Harper, choking Zuri, drowning Benny. And they were people I liked. What I imagined doing to that monster in the woods, and to the clay creatures who had taken my family…those images were beyond disturbing.

By the time I made it to the top of Half-Blood Hill, I was shaking with rage. I stopped at the edge of camp—just within its magical boundary—and removed the ring. An immediate calm washed over me.

I almost dropped to my knees in relief, but I forced myself to remain standing.

I couldn’t look weak in front of him.

Directly across from me, on the other side of the boundary, a figure emerged from the shadows. The scar-faced man in the hooded robe loomed over me. And this time, I was sure he wasn’t an illusion. I could feel the power radiating from him, making my skin crawl.

“Report,” he said.

I drew myself to my fullest height. I wasn’t ready, but I had to be ready. I slung the scythe off my shoulder.

“I brought this out of the Wild Zone last night,” I said. (Technically true.) “I believe it’s what you’re looking for.”

“Really.” It was a statement, not a question, and his tone was filled with disbelief. “Give it here.”

I tightened my grip on the handle. “First, hand over my mom and my sister.”

The man chuckled. It was hollow and dangerous, like a lid rattling on a too-hot pot.

He flung aside one corner of his robe. The fabric flickered like a projection screen. Then an image came into focus—a dark, windowless room, a basement, maybe. Sitting side by side, with their ankles tied to the legs of their wooden chairs, were Mom and Olivia.

I tried not to sob. I didn’t succeed.

Their wrists were shackled behind their backs. They still wore the clothes from the day they’d been abducted: my mom in her denim romper and sandals, Olivia in her fencing outfit. Olivia had a fat lip and a black eye. Mom had a crusty trail of blood running down the left side of her face. When they saw me, their eyes widened.