Page 129 of Death's Daughter
Oh, no.“What do you mean?”
“Well, more than Beecher, for certain. But also…” he points.
I shift to see Maggie and Shane staring at each other.
“You’re glowing,” she says, pointing at him.
“No, I’m not. But you are. This is so weird.” Shane scrubs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Maybe I’m still high.”
“They’re both glowing,” I say to Devon. “So are you. Not a lot, but…”
He gives me an uncomfortable look. “Side effect, I think. It will probably fade.”
Because I claimed Beecher and the four of them along with it.
Well, shit.
That also makes me wonder about the babies down the hall, especially any of them who might be ill. If Death’s story about how I came to be is true, I might have just accidentally created a whole bunch of spawn.
Wait. The four of them. “Where’s Carter?”
Devon shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “He… left, Jo. As soon as he saw you were okay.”
My heart sinks. “Probably for the best,” I say. Though what that will mean now that we’re apparently tied together, I have no idea.
Devon nods in agreement or relief or both.
I know I’m right. Carter can’t be here. HekilledLennie. He lied.
But he came when I needed him. The memory of his careful touch against my cheek makes my chest ache. And it shouldn’t.
I stand up, expecting a protest from abused joints and stretched tendons, but there’s nothing. I feel… good. And I don’t know how to feel about that.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear the clatter of boots that sound official and the buzz of walkie-talkie chatter.
I toe the pile of clothing on the floor. Dust rises from it in small plumes. Nova is definitely gone.
“We should probably go before—” I start to say to Devon. But then the double doors burst open, and police in SWAT gear swarm into the space, shouting over each other.
“On the ground, on the ground!”
“Hands up where I can see them!”
Devon sinks to the floor in a smooth motion. Maggie tosses me a panicked look over her shoulder, and the tension travels to me through the new spiderweb-thin thread between us.
Well,that’sgoing to take some getting used to.
I nod at her.It’s okay.I’m not going to let anything happen to her, to any of them.
Lifting my hands, I kneel on the floor and wait for the cold click of handcuffs.
That, at least, is starting to feel familiar.
31
The whine of the electric drill is piercing, even several floors below. And the sound of a power saw outside is working on my last nerve.
When I woke up this morning—a regular old Monday, in my own bed in Branwick—I had a headache worse than anything alcohol has ever given me. The dry mouth and nausea were no party, either. A magic hangover, I suppose.
