Between Bishop’s team, Finn’s deputies, and Nellie, they far outnumbered whoever was inside the house, but that would not necessarily be an advantage if they couldn’t get in a position to prevent Daniel from holding Aylia hostage.

With a gun to her head, he could hold them off almost indefinitely.

“The plan,” Bishop said in a voice hardly above a whisper, “is to get eyes in there. One way or another.”

Finn eyed him. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Bishop appeared not to hear that.

“Of all of us, Hollis and Reese have the most skill and experience in handling energy,” he said. “They need to get as close as possible to the house and find out if they can sense who’s in there and where—and anything else they can. The rest of us need to be ready to move the instant we’re sure where Dryden is and what exactly he’s doing.”

DeMarco eyed the house, separated from them now by the outbuilding they were sheltering behind and the rather junky yard. The gray day meant no bright sunshine, and there were various things between them and the house—such as an old tractor up on concrete blocks—that would provide cover to allow them to get right up next to the building.

The windows they could see appeared to be curtained, but it was a bit difficult to tell because of the almost eerie hardness of the gray light.

DeMarco and Hollis both nodded to Bishop, then drew their weapons, and in seconds had slipped away from the shelter of the outbuilding to begin crossing the yard.

—

AYLIA HAD GIVEN up trying to work her hands free of the cord that bit into her wrists. He had tied the knot tight. Her fingers were numb, virtually useless. Her ankles were bound as well. Not that she’d made any attempt to get away.

The knife he held looked huge to her, its blade wickedly serrated, and there was a look in his strangely pale eyes that made her cold to her bones.

“Always stick together, you women,” he muttered, standing between the bed and the window. “I should have known you would. Mom and Gran are just the same. Telling me I can’t control my Talents. Telling me what to do. Telling me . . . always telling me. Like you told Megan.” With his free hand, he rubbed between his frowning brows fretfully.

“Danny, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aylia kept her voice steady with an effort.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t, Danny. I’m sorry if you feel I’ve done something to . . . Wait, Megan? This is about Megan?”

Half under his breath, he muttered, “Why is it so bright in here?” Then added sharply, “Don’t pretend you don’t know. You told her to leave me.”

“No, I didn’t. Danny, are you—are you in pain?”

“Head hurts.” He scowled at her. “You’re probably doing that too.”

“How could I—”