Don’t think about it.

But I have to think about it, don’t I? I can’t leave her out there alone, desperate, and scared.

The Resistance will probably be looking for her in the morning. If we can find her first, maybe we can somehow figure out a way to deal with her problems. But how do we find her?

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s go a few towns away from the Resistance, then hide out until we can figure out what to do.”

“Good idea,” says Clara, who is looking at the sky as much as the road.

“No,” says Mom pointing ahead with one hand and holding the cell phone in the other. “Keep going. Paige went this way.” She sounds sure of herself.

There’s something odd about her cell phone. It’s bigger and clunkier than normal. It looks vaguely familiar.

“Is that a phone?” I reach for it.

“No!” Mom snatches it away and cradles her body protectively around it. “It’s not for you, Penryn. Not now, not ever.”

My mother has a different relationship with inanimate objects than most of us do. Sometimes, a light switch is just a light switch. Until it isn’t.

Out of nowhere, after years of using the same switch to turn on the light, she became convinced that she needed to flip it back and forth to save the city of Chicago. After that, it was just another light switch. Until the day when she needed to flip it back and forth to save New York City.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s the devil.”

“The devil is a small black box?” It doesn’t matter, of course. It never does. But for some reason, I want her to tell me about it. Maybe it will jog my memory about what it is and where I’ve seen it before.

“The devil talks to me through the small black box.”

“Oh.” I nod, trying to think of something else to say. “How about we throw it away then?” If only it could be that simple.

“Then how are we going to find your sister?”

The conversation is bound to go in big circles. I’m wasting time.

My mother shifts and I get a glimpse of the phone’s screen. It’s a map of the Bay Area with yellow arrows pointing to two spots.

I know that display. I remember it from something my dad brought home once. “That’s Dad’s prototype.”

Mom shoves it behind her back as if worried that I’ll take it.

“I can’t believe you stole this and let him get fired for it.” No wonder he left us.

“He didn’t like that job anyway.”

“He loved that job. He was totally broken up over losing it. Don’t you remember him looking everywhere for this thing?”