A week ago I would’ve bristled at Nine calling me a whiner and needling me about Sarah. Now, I know he’s just trying to motivate me. This is his version of a pep talk and, embarrassing as it is, I sort of need to hear it.

“What if I just don’t have a plan?” I ask quietly.

“That, John-boy, is simply not an option.”

CHAPTER SIX

I’M BACK ON THE ROOF OF THE JOHN HANCOCK Center. This time, I’m not alone.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you aren’t ready,” I say gently, looking at the huddled form sitting Indian style on the roof next to me.

Ella has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even though it isn’t that cold on the roof. Somehow she looks smaller than usual, and I wonder if stress is causing her to revert back to a younger age. Beneath the blanket she’s wearing one of Nine’s old flannel shirts. It comes all the way down to her knees. Lately, it seems like the only time she’s able to sleep peacefully is in the afternoons. She probably wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed at all today if Marina hadn’t gently prodded her to come up here and talk with me.

“I’ll try,” she says, her voice hard to hear above the wind. “Marina said you might be able to help.”

Thanks, Marina, I think. I’ve barely spoken to Ella one-on-one since we first met in New Mexico. I guess this is a good opportunity to get to know her better, although I wish it was under better circumstances. I badly want to help her; I’m just not sure I know how—I’m hardly an expert on these visions, or a psychiatrist, if that’s what she needs. This is the kind of talk that would normally be left to a Cêpan, but like Nine reminded me earlier, we’re all out of those.

I try to sound confident. “Marina’s right. I’ve had dreams before.”

“Dreams about him?” Ella asks, and by the way her voice drops there can be no doubt who she’s talking about.

“Yeah,” I reply. “That ugly freak has spent so much time in my head, I should be charging him rent.”

Ella smiles a little. She stands up, kicking some loose gravel across the roof. Tentatively, I put my hand on her shoulder. She sighs, almost like it’s a relief.

“It always starts the same way,” Ella begins. “We’re back at that base, fighting Setrákus and his minions. We’re, you know, losing.”

I nod. “Yeah, I remember that part.”

“I pick up a piece of metal from the floor. I dunno what it is exactly, a broken piece of a sword maybe. When I touch it, it starts glowing in my hand.”