P.C. Cast - Burned

“Hang on, Sgiach had more than one Oath Sworn Warrior?” Stark interrupted.

Damien nodded. “Apparently she had a whole Clan of them. Only they didn’t call themselves Sons of Erebus. Their title was . . .” Damien paused, flipping pages. “Here it is. They were called Guardians of the Ace.”

“Why Ace?” Stark asked.

“It’s a metaphor,” Aphrodite said, rolling her eyes. “Another one. It’s what they called Sgiach. It symbolizes queen to their Clan.”

“I think the Scottish clan stuff is cool,” Jack said.

“Of course you do,” Aphrodite said. “Guys in skirts is your wet dream.”

“Kilt, not skirt,” Stark said. “Or plaid. If you’re talking about the really old, big one you call it a philamore.”

Aphrodite raised a blond brow at him. “And you know this because you like to wear them?”

He shrugged. “Not me, but my grandpa used to.”

“You’re Scottish?” Damien’s voice was incredulous. “And you’re just now telling us?”

Stark shrugged again. “What does my human family have to do with anything? I haven’t even talked to them in almost four years.”

“It’s not just a family,” Damien’s voice rose with excitement as he started ruffling through the pages of his notes again.

“Oh, for crap’s sake. Your family is your blood, you moron,” Aphrodite said. “What was your grandfather’s last name?”

Stark frowned at Aphrodite.

“MacUallis,” Stark and Damien said together.

“How did you know that?” Stark asked.

“It was the Clan MacUallis who were the Guardians of the Ace.” Damien grinned victoriously, holding up the page of his notes that held the words: CLAN MACUALLIS = GUARDIANS OF THE ACE for everyone to see.

“Looks like we found our blood bridge,” Jack said, hugging Damien.

Heath stirred and muttered something about skipping football practice and sleeping in. I watched him and held my breath as I paced my circle around where he slept.

I mean, would you want to wake him up and tell him he was dead as dirt and wouldn’t ever be playing football again?

Hell no.

I tried to be as quiet as I could, but I couldn’t hold still. This time I hadn’t even pretended to lie down next to him. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to keep moving.

We were in the middle of the same dense grove we’d run inside of before. When before? I couldn’t really remember, but the short, gnarled trees and lots of old rocks looked cool. And the moss. Especially the moss. It was everywhere—thick and soft and cushy.

Suddenly my feet were bare, and I was distracted by sinking my feet into the moss and letting my toes play in the living carpet of green.

Living?

I sighed.

Nope. I suspected nothing here was really alive, but I kept forgetting that.

The trees made a canopy of leaves and branches, so the sun only got through enough to be warm without being too hot, but a cloud passing overhead had me looking up and shivering.

Darkness . . .

I blinked in surprise, remembering. That was why Heath and I were tucked away in this grove. That thing had been after us, but it hadn’t entered the grove after us.

I shivered again.

I had no clue what that thing had been. I only had a sense of utter darkness, a vague whiff of something that had been dead for a while, horns, and wings. Heath and I hadn’t waited to see any more. We had both been breathless with fear, and we’d run and run . . . which was why Heath was sound asleep. Again. Like I should be.

But I wasn’t able to rest. So instead I paced.

It really bothered me that my memory was messing up. And, what’s worse, even though you’d think if my memory was jacked, I wouldn’t know it because I, well, wouldn’t remember it—I was wrong. I knew I was missing hunks of stuff in my mind—some of it new stuff, like that I just now remembered the scary thing that had chased Heath and me into the grove. Some of it was old stuff, though.

I couldn’t remember what my mom looked like.

I couldn’t remember the color of my eyes.

I couldn’t remember why I didn’t trust Stevie Rae anymore.

What I could remember was even more upsetting. I remembered every instant of Stevie Rae dying. I remembered that my dad had left us when I was two and basically never come back. I remembered that I’d trusted Kalona, and that I’d been so, so wrong about him.

My stomach felt sick, and, like that sickness was driving me, I kept pacing around and around the inside circumference of the grove.

How could I have let Kalona fool me so totally? I’d been such an idiot.

And I’d caused Heath’s death.

My mind skittered away from that guilt. The thought was too raw, too horrible.

A shadow caught at my vision. I started, turned quickly, and came face-to-face with her. I’d seen her before—in my dreams and in a shared vision.

“Hello, A-ya,” I said softly.

“Zoey,” she said, dipping her head in hello. Her voice sounded a lot like mine, except there was a sense of sadness about her that colored everything she said.

“I trusted Kalona because of you,” I told her.

“You had compassion for him because of me,” she corrected. “When you lost me, you also lost compassion.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “I’m still compassionate. I care about Heath.”

“Do you? Is that why you are keeping him here with you instead of allowing him to move on?”

“Heath doesn’t want to leave,” I shot back, and then closed my mouth, surprised at how angry I sounded.

A-ya shook her head, causing her long, dark hair to flutter around her waist. “You haven’t stopped to think of what Heath might want—what anyone besides you might want. And you won’t, not really, not until you call me back to you.”

“I don’t want you back. It’s because of you that this has happened.”

“No, Zoey, it’s not. All of this happened because of a series of choices made by a number of people. This isn’t all about you.” Shaking her head sadly, A-ya disappeared.

“Good riddance,” I muttered, and started to pace again, even more restless than before.

When another shadow flickered at the corner of my vision, I whirled around, ready to tell off A-ya once and for all, but instead my mouth flopped open. I was staring at me. Well, actually, the nine-year-old version of me I’d seen with the other figures before they were scattered by whatever was chasing Heath and me.

“Hi,” I said.

“We got boobies!” the kid me said, gawking at my chest. “I’m really glad we got boobies. Finally.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Finally.”

“I kinda wish they were bigger.” The kid me kept staring at my boobies until I felt like crossing my arms over my chest, which was ridiculous because she was me—which was just weird. “But, oh, well, it could be worse! We could have been like Becky Apple, heehees!”

Her voice was so filled with joy that she made me smile in response, but only for a second. It was like it was too hard for me to hold onto the joy she seemed to glow with.

“Becky Renee Apple—can you believe her mom named her that and then had all of her sweaters monogrammed with ‘BRA’?” the kid me said, and then broke into giggles.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold onto my smile while I said, “Yeah, that poor girl was doomed from the first day of cold weather.” I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face, wondering why I felt so inexplicably sad.

“It’s ’cause I’m not with you anymore,” the kid me said. “I’m your joy. Without me, you can’t ever really be happy again.”