Victoria Scott - Fire & Flood

I cover my mouth and choke on a sob. Shaking my head, I think of how she told me only yesterday. How I went from seeing Harper as a friend and comrade — to a mother.

Guy slides his hand inside his cargo pants and withdraws an envelope. “She left this for you.” Before I can ask what it says, he presses his lips against mine. The letter flutters to the bed and I twine my arms around his neck. Guy pulls me closer and kisses me deeper until all thoughts of the race vanish. He kisses me until there is only him and me and the feel of our skin. I shiver as his hands move up my back and wrap around my neck. His tongue slides into my mouth and heat floods my body. I want to live here, in this moment — with him this close and me in his arms.

When we break away at last, both gasping for air, our hands continue to roam. They touch thighs and lips and cheeks. It’s as if our minds have released each other, but our bodies can’t dream of stopping.

“Read her letter,” he says finally. “I’ll be outside.”

He heads for the door and even then I reach out for him. I want to scream for him to stay. But instead, I look down at the envelope. The one Harper left me.

I fill my lungs, run my finger under the sealed flap —

And I pull out the letter.

Tella,

I’m leaving tonight, and I’m taking Caroline and Ransom with me. You should know I’m giving my small portion of the Cure to Caroline. She deserves a chance at a real relationship with her mother. As for me, I need to go home. I need to be with my family. I have to see my daughter again.

I will never be the same, Tella. Not without her. But listen when I tell you this — I’ll be back. I’m going to make sure what happened to me doesn’t happen to you.

I’m going to help you win the Brimstone Bleed.

— Harper

Reading Harper’s letter is too much. I pull myself out of bed and double over with pain. The stitches in my stomach are tender and raw, but I can’t lie here any longer. I right myself and move across the room. I shuffle like an old man and my mind spins. I think about the race and the things I’ve done. I think about Madox and how I’d dissolve without him. I think of Caroline and Ransom and Harper — who are all on their way home. I even think about Jaxon and Olivia and Braun, my new friends.

And I think of Guy.

I remember he’s here for more than just his cousin — that it’s bigger than a sister or a mother or a daughter. That he’ll try to destroy the Brimstone Bleed. I wonder if I’m strong enough to aid him — if I can let this be bigger than Cody. If I can help save more than just my brother.

Madox trots in and I scoop him into my arms, careful not to strain myself. The fox nuzzles my neck, and my heart sings. Holding my Pandora, I realize there’s more at stake than our loved ones back home. There are also the animals the Creators — the Pharmies — generated. What happens to them when the race ends? Are they destroyed? If so, do they go willingly to their deaths, or do they fight? I gaze at my fox and my body trembles.

When I glance up, I realize I’m standing before the oval mirror.

My gut twists when I see myself. “Good God,” I tell my Pandora. “I need a friggin’ bath.” There’s sand in my curly hair and my face is covered with grime. My white shirt is nearly brown with sweat and dirt, and I have a purple bruise blooming across my cheek. But my lips form a small smile when I see that the green-and-blue feather still dangles over my shoulder.

Finally, I see my eyes. My mother’s eyes. And I suddenly grasp what she meant. Running my thumb beneath them, I notice they hold strength I never recognized before. The same strength I always saw in her.

Understanding — or maybe acceptance — showers over me.

My mother took us to Montana to try and save my brother. To hide him from the race. To hide me. But they found us anyway. She knew all along. It was right there in her eyes: knowledge and determination and strength.

I know what she was telling me when she said I have her eyes.

You have my strength, too.

The feather in my hair is more than what it appears, I realize. This was my mother’s, she’d said. But it’s what she didn’t say that haunts me. The questions I never thought to ask. The questions I’d ask now if she were here: When did she wear this feather, Mom? Did she wear it in the jungle? In the desert? Did she wear it as a Contender ?

But perhaps there’s another question I’d like answered even more.

What happened to her?

I look down at Madox. My mother never wanted me to be here, but she knew I was going anyway. And she knew I could win.

I will win.

I’ll save Cody.

Then I’ll help Guy bring down this entire race.

Thank you first and foremost to my sister, Tyse Kimball. Tyse, this book wouldn’t exist without your support. From titles to Pandoras to critical moments in the story, we discussed it all. Thank you.

To my editor at Scholastic, Erin Black, our brains are so similar it’s scary. You rock my world with your mad editing skills. Thank you for loving Tella, Madox, and Guy from the start. I’m mailing you a Pandora egg ASAP!

To Nina Goffi, Rachael Hicks, Esther Lin, and everyone else at Scholastic who helped Fire & Flood along the way, thank you. Also, to the Scholastic sales peeps, I used to be in your shoes and I know how hard you work to make it rain. Hugs!

Thank you to my agent, Laurie McLean, for selling Fire & Flood . You were the first person to read the manuscript and say, “It’s absolutely perfect.” Also, a big thank-you to Rachel Harris, Jenny Martin, and Trisha Wolfe; all brilliant writers who’ve helped me on this journey.

Thank you to my grandma for always being so excited to see me; to my mom for being a meticulous early reader; to my dad; to my brother; to Jeremiah Kimball; to friends Angee Webb, Gianina Bailey, and Laryssa Rastrelli; to the Dallas crew of writers, bloggers, and librarians; to the Scotts and the Wittmanns for their continued support; and to all my nieces and nephews on both sides — you kiddos are awesome.

And, finally, to my husband. You are my best friend and soul mate. I make up silly songs about you and sing them while you’re at work; that’s how much I hate the hours we’re apart. I’ve been married to you for five years and it isn’t enough. It will never be enough. I love you, Lion.