“I’ll go at Clementine straight on and try to keep her focused on me as long as possible,” I said. “Do you think you can get in the water and wade around to the back of the boathouse? That way, we can attack from two sides at once. I think that’s our best chance of saving Eva.”

He nodded and rolled his shoulders. He winced a little, but I knew that he wouldn’t let the pain of his gunshot wound stop him. “I can do it. You ready?”

I held up my knife so that it caught the moonlight and reflected it back. “Always.”

“Be careful,” he said.

“You too.”

Owen hesitated like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just nodded.

I nodded back, not trusting myself to speak. Despite the situation, I’d wanted—no, hoped—for something here. Some small sign that things were getting better between us. Some small sign that things were going to be okay. But Owen didn’t give it to me. Instead, he just looked at me a moment longer before disappearing into the briars.

So I drew in another breath, let it out, and started down the path again.

Chapter 22

22

I rounded the bend and was reminded of something else that Briartop was known for: its statues.

A dozen stone statues lined either side of the path, all shaped like Civil War soldiers, all with their rifles held high, as if they were about to pull the triggers and give me a twenty-one-gun salute. Well, twenty-four, in this case. From what I remembered, one row of statues was Union soldiers, while the others represented the Confederacy. Even more soldier statues perched behind the front lines, the figures all forming a sort of stone battlefield in the middle of the lush greenery. Supposedly, back during the war, some battle had been fought for control of Briartop. And here I was, fighting Clementine for it tonight.

I slowed my steps, staring at each one of the figures, wondering if perhaps Clementine, Opal, or Dixon was hiding somewhere among all the stone arms and legs, preparing an ambush like I’d wanted to. But it seemed the giants were nowhere in sight.

I’d started to move past the statues, when the moon slid out from behind a cloud, highlighting the soldier closest to me. Maybe it was the way the light reflected off that particular statue, but it made me think of another place, another time, another enemy . . .

I crept through Peter Delov’s mansion as quiet as the proverbial mouse, searching for the giant.