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  I do a healing on Marc while Sam digs graves for Ora, Mary, and Billy, who are so badly burned they’re unrecognizable. The graves are shallow and Sam digs alone. The healing I did on his arm is holding.

  Kyle is off with his guys, Pierre and Keb, collecting the leader of the ghosts. He swears he wounded her, tied her up, that he just has to collect her. In all the commotion I’ve almost forgotten what triggered the attacks.

  I manage to stop Marc’s bleeding but the wound remains open and I don’t like the smell of it. I suspect Viper’s knife had poison on the tip. I keep the suspicion to myself but Marc senses something’s wrong. He says he feels a weird burning sensation.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “All over,” he says.

  I wish Li could work on him but she’s afraid she’ll make him worse. I don’t press her. The attacks have only made her more anxious than before. For the life of me, I don’t know what’s wrong with her head.

  Kyle and the others miss our brief memorial service. Sam says a few words about the courage of Mary and Billy, but when it’s my turn to talk about Ora, I choke up, and Chad has to speak for our group.

  “Ora was a warrior at heart. He knew how dangerous it was to get near Viper but that didn’t hold him back. I saw his face as he charged her. He knew he was about to die but he wanted to protect us. That was the only thing that mattered to him. We only met two days ago but I can honestly say I never knew a braver soul.” Chad kneels and picks up a scoop of dirt, pouring it over the mound of Ora’s grave. “Rest in peace, my friend. We’ll miss you.”

  Dear Chad—I know his words are partially meant for me. Chad knows I’m plagued with guilt. It does no good but I keep replaying in my head how I should have made my order clearer. I had wanted Ora to throw his spear at Viper from a distance, not approach her. Yet Chad’s trying to tell me that Ora was going to sacrifice himself no matter what, and maybe he’s right. I kneel beside Chad as he puts his hand on Ora’s grave and hug him.

  Kyle finally returns with the ghost, carrying her in his arms. She’s badly injured. It appears Kyle not only speared her in the lower back but cut both her Achilles tendons with his machete. Even before he pulls me aside, I’m suspicious about her wounds.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he blurts out.

  I’m furious with him. “That you’re a sadist?”

  He balls his hand into a fist and pounds his leg. “Damn you! We talked about this. You need to make tough decisions. You still don’t get it, do you? We’re at war. It’s kill or be killed.”

  “Then kill her! Put her out of her misery!” I glance to where Kyle’s dumped the ghost beside Sam. Her gray uniform is soaked with blood; half is dry, the rest is fresh. I add, “You deliberately cut her tendons so she can’t run.”

  “And I keep cutting them. Do you know a better way of restraining her? It’s not like when we came to the Field we were each given a kit equipped with handcuffs, ankle chains, and rope. No, they gave us a plaque that said only one of us is going to survive.” Kyle stops and throws up his arms in frustration. “But if you want her dead, then you kill her.”

  “There’s no need to continually mutilate her!” I snap.

  “I just explained why it is necessary!” he snaps back.

  “What did you do while we were fighting Nordra? Spear her to a tree and slice her tendons?”

  “I came as fast as I could.”

  I hesitate. “I’m not calling you a coward.”

  “No. Just a sadist. Thank you. Thanks a lot.”

  “I’m just saying that most of her wounds are fresh. You’re not letting her heal. You keep cutting and stabbing her.”

  Kyle lowers his voice. “How else do we keep her from running back to her buddies? Oh, and before you do answer please keep in mind that it was the queen of the ghosts here that led us into the trap that killed Ora, Billy, and Mary. It’s not like these cute little albinos are innocent.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know how to keep her captive. I just know that we’re not going to keep slicing up her body so she keeps bleeding. We do that and we’re no better than Nordra or Viper.”

  Kyle stares at me. “Who said we are better?”

  I look up at the volcano and sigh. The edge of the sun has touched the cinder cone’s rim, its light scattering and dimming as it passes through the heavy smoke. An eerie orange shadow falls over the graves and I fear we’ll be digging more if we don’t find shelter before dark. I explain our predicament to Kyle but he’s one step ahead of me.

  “I spotted a cave when I went back for the ghost,” he says. “I didn’t have time to check it out but I sent Pierre and Keb to give it a look and they said it goes way back into the mountain.”

  “It sounds perfect,” I mutter.

  Kyle hears the double meaning in my tone. “Maybe too perfect?”

  I tell Kyle I want to talk with our ghost. He doesn’t object. We both know she can’t talk. But Sam’s sitting with the wounded creature and I wonder if he’ll be able to make contact with her. I sit beside them while Kyle organizes the rest of the group to head for the cave.

  “Can you pick up her thoughts?” I ask.

  “Only the ones she chooses to share,” Sam says. “She has a highly disciplined mind. She’s in terrible pain and in unfriendly hands but she’s still calm.”

  “Is that good?” I ask.

  “Personally I’d like it if she was more afraid of us. You know we underestimated her earlier. She knew Nordra and Viper were about to attack. She and her people helped them by dividing us at a critical time.”

  I frown. “Have you changed your mind? Do you think the ghosts are working with Nordra and Viper?”

  Sam shakes his head. “I think the ghosts have mental radar, that they have a rough idea of where everyone is on the island at all times. But they’re physically weak. The only way they can defeat any of us is by moving us around like pieces on a chessboard. Force us to kill each other.”

  I study the ghost leader as Sam speaks. The females appear to be as tall as the males—four feet. Her hair is pure white but her skin has a pink tinge. Her red eyes make her look sickly, at first glance. As I study them closely, I feel a sudden anxiety and quickly look away. Sam notes my reaction.

  “She can plant thoughts and feelings in our minds,” he says.

  “To what degree?” I ask.

  “That is the big question, isn’t it? She might have trouble controlling us because we’re witches. I know she’s tried to plant the idea in my mind to walk away and leave her alone. So far I’ve been able to block her. But I wouldn’t want to let her get too close to the others.”

  “Have you tried telling her we’d like to be friends?”

  “After Kyle shot her with a spear and hacked up her legs? Yeah, I told her and it went over great. She trusts us even less than we trust her.”

  “And you don’t trust her at all,” I say.

  Sam’s worried. “Our plan to use her to control the other ghosts could backfire. They know we’ve got her, which means they’ll be tracking us. It could make them more determined than ever to lead Viper and Nordra to our doorstep.”

  “What are you suggesting?” I ask.

  Sam leans over and whispers in my ear. “Either leave her here or kill her now.”

  I groan. “Does she have a name?”

  “Jelanda.”

  “Let me try talking to her. Tell me if she responds to what I say.” Sam nods, and I move closer to the ghost and again her eyes fasten on mine. But this time I meet her gaze straight on and feel her psychic probing as fingernails poking the front and back of my skull. I gesture to her bloody heels.

  “This isn’t what I wanted,” I say.

  Sam pauses before giving her reply. “Are you the leader of your group?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kill the one
who injured us and we will believe you,” Sam replies for her. I note her use of the words “us” and “we.” I wonder if she has any sense of individuality.

  “There’s been enough killing. We want a truce. If your people leave us alone, we promise to leave you alone.”

  “You are asking for a treaty?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  Jelanda glances in the direction of our graves. “Your group is weak, vulnerable. Why should we treat with you?” Sam stops and frowns. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m not sure of that last phrase.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I know what she meant.” I lean toward her. “We are stronger than we appear, and you are our prisoner. You have no choice but to deal with us.”

  Jelanda smiles and her eyes are cold.

  Sam translates. “She says, ‘None of you will survive.’”

  I sit back on my heels, barely resisting the urge to break her neck. I tell myself I’m being civilized. At the same time my heart warns me I’m making a mistake. That I should kill her now before she destroys us all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE MORNING, IN WITCH world, Jimmy shakes me awake minutes after dawn. My body—this body—has slept but my mind feels like it has gotten no rest. Because it hasn’t. I was awake most of the night in the Field.

  Watching, waiting, standing guard.

  I groan and roll over and cover my head with my pillow. “Let me sleep,” I beg.

  “Lara’s awake,” Jimmy says.

  “I don’t hear her,” I mumble.

  “Her eyes are open. She’s looking around, looking for her mommy.”

  “Give her to my mom.”

  Jimmy hugs me from behind and kisses my ear. “I love you.”

  “If you loved me you’d let me sleep.”

  “If you get up we can have sex. And we can do anything you want to do.”

  My eyes pop open. “Anything?”

  He kisses my neck and gently bites my skin. I must have been a vampire in a past life. Touch my neck, kiss it, lick it—it doesn’t matter, I turn into a slut.

  “Anything,” he swears.

  I throw off the covers and stand up. “Let me pee and take a shower. Remember, you said anything. Get naked.”

  “Should I get naked before or after I give Lara to your mom?”

  “Right now I don’t care.”

  An hour later we’re holding each other in bed and I feel myself drifting down lazy currents, floating, falling back asleep. I know I have no right to be happy. The Field is only another sunrise away and so is death. It’s impossible to imagine a more ridiculous time to feel joy and yet it’s here—in Jimmy’s arms. It’s always here because he’s always here. I know he loves me and what’s sad is I always knew I loved him even more.

  But now I know nothing.

  Except that it’s good to hold him.

  My eyes are shut. I hear him speak.

  “You have to tell me what’s happening,” he says.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Has anyone died?”

  I sigh. “That’s what people do in the Field. They die.”

  Jimmy goes in the kitchen and makes coffee. When he returns, I can hear myself snoring but he drags me into a ­sitting position and forces me to drink two cups—scalding hot but sweet. At some point my brain turns back on and I start ­talking.

  I tell him everything that’s happened.

  When I finish, he sits in silent shock.

  “Say something,” I tell him finally.

  “You have to stay alive, Jessie.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Do whatever it takes.”

  “I can’t betray the ones who trust me.” I pause. “I can’t betray you.”

  Jimmy knows what I’m saying. “You’re worried Marc’s going to die. You want to see him again today, try to convince him to do it.”

  I hesitate. “Yes. But—we’ve talked about it—it’s tricky. I’d be asking him to risk his life. He doesn’t know me like the other Marc.”

  “Let him get to know you. You have to work fast. Get him to fall in love with you.”

  “You don’t mean that. Last night . . .”

  “Last night was last night. I didn’t understand then what you’re going through. And I was being selfish, I was thinking of myself. Now . . .” Jimmy takes my hand. “You have to stay alive,” he repeats.

  My body trembles with the shock of what he’s telling me to do. The sacrifice he’s willing to make to keep me safe. The absolute love he has for me. I feel awe, I feel shame, I feel him—my Jimmy.

  I squeeze his hand. “I might not be home tonight.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  I want to visit with Lara before I leave the house. I want to hold her in my lap and kiss the top of her head. I love the smell of her head. I don’t know why but it often smells like honey to me, although the shampoo I use to wash her hair has none in it. Other times she smells like flowers. Jimmy likes to boast that our daughter is a constant source of aromatherapy.

  But I don’t stop to play with my daughter. I fear if I do, hours will go by and there’s much I have to do. Also, I’m afraid if I hold Lara even one more time, it will be to acknowledge that I might never see her again. My reasoning makes no sense but it’s how I feel.

  After dressing, I leave the house quickly, giving Jimmy a painful kiss good-bye. I’m halfway to Kendor and Syn’s house when I pull over to the side of the road and call Cleo. She’s quick to answer.

  “You’re still alive,” are her first words.

  “How do you know? I could have died in the Field and I’d still be alive here in witch world.”

  “If you had died there, you wouldn’t be calling.” She pauses. “Give me an update.”

  “Wait. I need to speak to my father.”

  “He’s away on important business.”

  “It’s crucial I talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been thinking about Huck. I sent his DNA to my father to be tested and the lab sent a form back stating that Jimmy isn’t his biological father.”

  “I heard.”

  “Did you hear that the lab report was accidentally sent to our house—our house in both worlds—and that Jimmy accidentally read it?”

  “I’m sure that upset him. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized my father doesn’t make mistakes. He’s too controlled, too careful. That report was sent to our house on purpose. I know that. But what I don’t know is if the report is even accurate.”

  “Why do you doubt it?”

  “Because my father has plans for me. Important plans for my future. He’s desperate for me to free up more time, which means giving up Huck. You know the connections my dad has. It would have been a snap for him to have a lab send out a false report.” I pause. “It would have been a snap for you.”

  “You think I would mislead you in such a manner?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I would never do that to you, Jessica.”

  I feel my eyes burning. I wipe away a tear.

  “It’s just driving me crazy, you know, the way it’s eating at Jimmy. He only saw the letter last night, and this morning . . . this morning he didn’t say a word about it. Here it’s killing him and he says nothing to me. Except that I have to stay alive.”

  Cleo speaks gently. “He must love you very much.”

  “Yes, he does. I’m sorry, what I said, I know you wouldn’t lie to me like that. It’s just hard, thinking that my father might.”

  “You’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

  I hesitate. “Is he all right? Where he is?”

  “He’s alive. That’s all I can say. Now give me an update.”

 
Pulling myself together, I recount my adventures in the Field—in a more condensed form than I told Jimmy. When I’m finished, Cleo asks a few seemingly random questions about Sam and Kyle. She appears to be searching for something. I finally interrupt and ask what’s bothering her.

  “I told you, to be in the Field they have to have at least six witch genes,” she says. “So far they haven’t told you everything they can do.”

  “I’m no better. They have no idea I can cloak.” I pause. “Do you know anything about them from your sources?”

  “Both are known to the Council. Kyle Downing, because of his music. And Sam Verra, because of his mother, Larla.”

  “Sam told me she was once a member of the Council. But it sounds like she turned her back on you guys. Why?”

  “Larla has the same streak you and Syn share. She’s always been wary of authority. She hates being told what to do—not that many people would try with her. At her age, she’s a ­formidable presence. We first met thousands of years ago and in all that time she’s always been a loner. Her thoughts are her own. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s passed that quality onto her son.”

  “Do you know who Sam’s father is?”

  “I can’t speak about that, and it’s irrelevant. What you want to know is if you can trust him. I’ll run background checks on him today but I already know of one disturbing report. Sam was arrested last year in connection with the murder of his longtime boyfriend, Michael Edwards. Michael was found strangled to death in a workroom at Parsons, where they were both students. Sam was arrested because he had motive and opportunity. He was working late at school that night and he freely admitted to the police he was upset that Michael was planning to leave him. But Sam swore he was innocent.” Cleo pauses. “Eventually he was released due to lack of physical ­evidence.”

  “The way Michael was choked—was there any sign excess physical strength was used?”

  “Yes. The detective in charge of the case noted that in her files. Of course, she was unable to explain the cause of the damage to Michael’s throat and trachea.”

  I swallow. “Sounds like a witch killed him.”