“Your pal here will explain it,” Chastain said.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of Ink. “You’re not as far gone as the others. Probably because you had some strong talent to begin with. Also, you’re awake and coherent, so I’m asking you if you want me to stabilize your energy field. You heard what I told your pals. If I do it you’ll lose whatever talent you acquired after the Piper started enhancing you.”

“What is that thing?” Ink rasped.

“It’s called a night gun, but it’s really a medical device,” Chastain said. “It works on human auras. I can use it to locate the unstable or frozen waves and try to undo the damage.”

“Do it,” Ink said. He was shivering so badly now he could barely get the words out. “I know what’s going to happen if you don’t.” He looked at Harlan Rancourt. “But I’ll tell you right now none of us knows how to locate the island. The only way in is by boat. Dock is inside a flooded cave. Barrow is the only one who has the coordinates.”

“How long ago did Barrow leave?” Harlan said.

“I dunno. A few hours ago, I guess. Probably back on the island by now.”

Rancourt’s phone rang. He stood and looked at Chastain. “He’s all yours.”

Rancourt moved to the doorway and took the call.

Ink didn’t hear what was said next because Chastain was doing something with the crystal gun, something amazing. Ink could feel his fried senses settling down. His breathing steadied. The icy shivers faded. He was no longer on fire.

He could not figure out exactly how he felt now. The only word that came to mind was normal. It wasn’t just the shaking and the fever that were fading. The deep, dark fear that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind—the feeling that if he did not keep swimming he would sink to the bottom of a very cold sea—was retreating.

No more dreams of being a super psychic special forces agent, but that was okay. No more treatments in the radiation chamber. No more night sweats. No more worrying about being only one injection away from insanity and death.

His breathing was steady and his pulse was no longer racing at the speed of light. Maybe he would live after all.

Rancourt ended the call and looked at Chastain.

“He has her,” Rancourt said. “He grabbed her sometime during the night.”

That was all he said. He sounded cold and calm. But Ink nearly stopped breathing again, because a storm of energy was suddenly swirling in the small motel room.

Rancourt looked at him, eyes burning with a cold fire. “Your pals are going to Las Vegas. You’ll be coming with me.”

Ink swallowed hard. “Are you going to kill me?”