I stand for a long time outside Parker and Jacob’s door in the night before I go, listening to their laughter sprinkled with gunfire and groans when one or the other gets hit. Parker’s laughter is just a little more high-pitched than Jacob’s, and I let it needle into me like guilt. I wonder if it will be deeper when I get back. Part of me hopes he misses me. Part of me hopes he doesn’t. I write him a note and tape it to his door.

CHAPTER 8

The drive down takes several hours in the early morning traffic, and for most of it, everyone’s asleep except me and Aristelle, who’s driving. And neither of us are talkers, so I mostly stare out the dark window and wonder if I made the right choice.

Eventually Xander wakes up. We’re in the middle row of seats, and he fell asleep on Diantha’s shoulder on the other side of him, but the seat dips as he slides closer to me. He nudges me with his elbow and then doesn’t move away again.

His hand rests on the seat between us, just barely grazing the back of my thigh. His fingers tap up and down, gently hitting my leg as he stares out the window, and I wonder if he knows just what it’s doing to me—how my heart seems to stutter with each little touch.

But then he turns from the window slightly and glances down at me until I look up and meet his eyes.

The corner of his mouth curves ever so slightly.

He knows.

I look away first. His fingers continue their tap, tap, tap.

I can hardly breathe. I might have to jump from the car just to get some air. It’s not just the revenge and the magic and the mystery of who Mom really was that’s propelling me. I want his easy flirting, too.

He stops when we turn off the main road and head into the woods down a one-lane road hugged by the giant trunks of redwood trees. He’s still leaning against me, so I can feel his body tense. Maybe he’s claustrophobic. The forest feels like it’s trying to box us in, like the road might narrow to a stop at any moment.

Pale morning light peeks through some of the trees, but as soon as it does, fog creeps in as well, drifting among the fern fronds that cover the ground. It surges higher the farther in we go, wrapping the trunks until the trees rise from a sea of gray.

“Is it always this foggy here?” I whisper. Reina and Diantha are stirring, but the twins are still asleep.

“It’s not normal fog,” Xander says softly, close to my ear.

I shiver like I’m already standing in its icy grip.