But whatever was going on in there felt...weird. Actually, so did the whole city. Just as I’d noticed a few days before, the energy felt different, calmer – more so than ever now. That sense of “New York on a caffeine jag” was gone. And when I looked up at the Torre Mayor, I kept getting an odd mental image: roots curling down; thick, gleaming coils of energy that twined deeply underground and then wove under the city in a dense tangle. Far away in the distance, I could just sense thinner shoots heading off here and there, in all directions.

“What do you think they are?” I’d said uneasily to Seb when we’d first noticed them. It was almost the only thing we’d said to each other in an hour. We were also standing in practically the exact same spot where Alex had caught us holding hands that first day; I’d shoved the thought away with a painful twinge.

Seb had shaken his head, staring upwards. “I don’t know,” he’d said finally. “But they feel...alive.”

Neither of us had said anything else, but my scalp had chilled; it was exactly the right word. On the Metro now, I sat tensely on the hard plastic seat, wondering again what the Twelve were doing. The roots they’d put down felt practically pulsing with purpose, their energy a part of the earth. As if the Council’s energy had been part of the earth all along.

A mariachi singer strumming a guitar was wandering through the train. His warbling voice pounded at my skull like a bad dream. Beside me, Seb had his knapsack with all our stuff in it – neither of us had really wanted to leave it behind; it would be too much like admitting we might not survive this. His switchblade was back in his pocket too; Kara had left it lying on his bed at the AK house, where he’d found it when he went to pack his things. I could feel how aware of it he was – his knowledge that soon he’d probably have to use it.

Glancing at Seb’s profile, I was heavily conscious of the silence between us. I hated it, when we could both be dead so soon – but somehow I could still hardly think of anything to say to him. It was like there was a wall separating us now, and I was unable to break through, even though I’d put it up myself.

I started to rouse myself to say something anyway; I don’t even remember what. Before I could, I gasped and clutched my hand.

Pain – I’d cut myself. A shard of glass, a window sill. I stared down in confusion, expecting to see blood streaming down my palm.

“Willow?” said Seb, watching me with a frown.