When the victims slide to the ground, the scorpions begin sucking. By the time everyone is either slumped against the fence or running into the school building across the street, the scorpions have lost interest. They take off into the air and swirl like a cloud of insects before they disappear into the darkening sky.

Something rustles behind me, and I spin with my sword ready.

It’s Mom shambling toward me.

We are the only people moving on this side of the fence. Everyone else looks dead. I continue to hide in the shadows anyway in case the scorpions come back, but everything remains silent and still.

My mother stumbles past me. “She’s gone. I lost her.” Tears shine on her bloody face. She staggers toward the fence, ignoring the fallen people.

“I’m fine, Mom. Thanks for asking.” I grab the bear and wipe the blood off the sword with its chiffon skirt. “Are you okay? How did you survive?”

“Of course you’re fine.” She keeps walking. “You’re the devil’s bride and these are his creatures.”

I slip the blade into the scabbard and put the bear back on top. “I’m not the devil’s bride.”

“He carried you out of the fire and is letting you visit us from the dead. Who else would have those privileges except his bride?”

She sees me once in a guy’s arms and she has us married already. I wonder what Raffe would think of my mom being his mother-in-law. “Did you see where Paige went?”

“Gone.” Her voice breaks. “I lost her in the woods.” My reaction to that would have been so simple last week. Tonight, though, I don’t know if I’m panicked or relieved. Maybe both.

“Did you hide from the scorpion?” I ask. “How did you survive?” No answer.

If someone told me that moms have magical powers, I’d have no trouble believing that. It doesn’t even surprise me much that she somehow survived.

I follow her to the fence. Along the way, I walk past the victims lying in uncomfortable and unnatural positions. Although they’re no longer being attacked, they continue to shrivel and dry like jerky. The grove looks like a battlefield with people strewn all over it.

I want to reassure the victims that they’ll come out of it, that they’ll be okay. But with the viciousness of the attack, I’m not sure that they will.

A couple of scorpion bodies lie among the victims on the field. One shot in the stomach, one shot in the head.

Mom scans through the victims as if she’s looking for someone. She picks the one with the most horrified, contorted expression frozen on his face and tugs him to a section of the fence that’s been trampled.

“What are you doing?” I ask.