“That’s it, isn’t it?” Trapping me, taking my bracelet—it finally made sense. “You were going to ionize my bracelet and hand me over to the Banished. That’s why you attacked me in the photo lab that night.”
“You’re not quite as clever as you think.” He gave me a condescending smile. “Why in the world would I give you to them when I could use you myself?” Tripp turned back to his nephew. “Your little girlfriend could have been very useful. Your grandfather could have fed off her for weeks. Is a piece of ass really worth losing him?”
Zach punched Tripp hard in the face. A punch that would’ve easily knocked out his son. But Tripp recovered quickly, shaking his head at Zach like he was a foolish child.
“This isn’t about you. Now, get out of my way.” Tripp started toward the box on his desk.
Zach stepped in front of him. “Are you just going to skip out on Lillian and Trent?”
“Trent knows why I have to leave.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t know about the part where you cheated on his mother.”
“But I bet you were happy to inform him. You’re exactly like your dad. So self-righteous.” Tripp’s mouth twisted. “I can’t stay here. You think I’m going to allow the Council to stand in judgment of me? So they can try out their new ‘reprogramming regimen’? That’s just a fancy name for what boils down to a shock-treatment lobotomy.”
The rumors Brody heard were true. An image of Trent’s medical genius father drooling onto a straitjacket filled my mind. It was understandable why they had to do it—prisons weren’t equipped to detain someone with mind-control powers—but I wouldn’t wish a high-risk, traumatic medical procedure like shock treatment on anyone.
“If you believe I’m going to stand by and let them strip me of my abilities, you’re even more delusional than Grant.” Tripp stepped around Zach to grasp his briefcase.
“There’s no way I’m letting you leave with that.”
“I don’t really see how you’re going to stop me.” Tripp picked it up, the gleam of challenge in his eyes.
Zach took another swing at Tripp, but the older man dropped the briefcase and caught Zach’s fist all in the split second before it made contact. I could hear the popping of Zach’s knuckles as Tripp squeezed his hand. Zach gritted his teeth, and I could tell he was trying not to cry out in pain. Then, almost so fast I didn’t see it happen, Tripp kicked Zach’s legs out from under him, and he fell to the side, landing with a crunch on his left knee. Tripp lunged toward his fallen nephew, but Zach shot up, slamming his shoulders into Tripp’s mid-section and propelling him back into the row of file cabinets behind him.
They crashed into the cabinets, and I heard Tripp’s head bang against the metal. Then, with a roar of rage, he flung Zach away from him. Zach landed hard on the desk and slid across it, sending files and books and a lamp skidding off onto the floor. Though Zach was larger than his uncle, it was clear that Tripp was far more powerful and using an energy that was greater than physical strength.
I felt helpless, useless. I hated doing nothing, but I was afraid if I did anything Zach might get hurt trying to protect me.
Tripp rushed at Zach again, slamming his foot into Zach’s injured knee so that he crumpled to the floor in agony. Zach tried to stand up, but with a horrible guttural sound of pain, he fell back into the side of the desk. Tripp had a strange disconnected look in his eyes as he reached his hands out toward Zach. Fear seized my heart. I had seen the burns on Mr. Carr. There was no way I was going to let that happen to Zach.
I grabbed the first heavy thing I could find, the briefcase that had fallen off the desk when Zach landed on it. Swinging with every ounce of strength in my body, I slammed the case into Tripp. He stumbled and looked over at me in surprise. When he caught sight of the briefcase in my hand, surprise changed quickly to anger. Lightning fast, he lunged at the briefcase, but I sidestepped and he missed it by an inch.
This is what he wants. This is what’s important.
Something resembling a plan flew into my mind. If I could get Tripp out of this office, maybe I could stall him long enough for Zach’s dad and the cops to get here. Tripp was definitely strong, but I was small and determined—and maybe even fast enough to keep him one step behind me. I darted out of the office and ran back the way Zach and I had come in, bursting through the outer doors and barreling on toward the school—and away from the black helicopter waiting for Tripp.
The campus lay before me, pristine and untouched by the terror I was experiencing tonight. The school had dorms filled with people who would hear me scream, which made it my best option. The quickest path was through the graveyard, so, already gasping for breath, I took off at a sprint, bearing down on the old cemetery.
There was no way I was going to be able to hold Tripp off for long, and I was terrified of what he would do when he finally caught up to me. I made myself push through, trying to ignore the burning in my thighs and lungs. I had to keep going. The farther I got, the farther away Tripp was from Zach.
I ran faster than I had ever moved before in my life, but I could still feel him gaining on me. So close now that I could feel his hot, ragged breath on my neck. Then suddenly his weight crashed into me. The ground rushed up to meet my face, my cheek smacking against the hard-packed dirt of a burial plot. Tripp flipped me over onto my back and the briefcase went flying into the gravestone next to us. As it made contact, the case popped open, spilling folders, papers, and vials of what was most certainly blood. But something else had fallen out, too—the metal glinted in the moonlight. A letter opener.
I scrambled across the grave to get it. The weight of the stone grip felt reassuringly heavy in my hand. As Tripp lunged at me again, I stabbed blindly. With a sickening sound, the opener went in, but then I felt the hard obstruction of bone vibrate through it. I yanked the blade out. It had made contact with his shoulder, but the cut didn’t look deep enough to cause any real damage.
In fact, it didn’t seem to faze him at all. Before I could stab him again, Tripp locked down on the metal end of the letter opener and pulled. I clung to it as tightly as possible, my fingers turning white with the effort. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Tripp grabbed my wrist, wrenching it painfully. I wanted to cry out, but I didn’t want Tripp to know how close I was to being beaten. I gritted my teeth and held on to the handle even tighter than before; I was gripping it so hard that the dull edges were cutting into my skin. When I still didn’t let go, Tripp pulled my hand straight back until it touched my forearm. I heard something snap before my brain registered the agony.
A howl of pain that didn’t even sound human escaped from my body, and I let go of the letter opener and rolled onto my side in the fetal position.
Tears sprang into my eyes as white-hot pokers shot from my wrist into my hand and arm. Get up, get up, get up! I didn’t have time to lie here nursing my wounds. I pushed myself to a sitting position with my good arm, then up to kneeling, cradling my other, battered wrist. It was red and swollen, but there were no bones poking up, straining against my skin. While I was struggling to stand, Tripp had gathered everything up and was locking the briefcase.
I stumbled forward as he took off back through the cemetery toward the waiting helicopter. My whole body was screaming for me to give up, admit defeat, but I kept on. Suddenly, Tripp stopped moving. I could see his knees straining to lift his legs, but they wouldn’t budge. It was like he had walked into quicksand. Which was impossible.
Then I saw Zach. He was limping as fast as he could toward us, grimacing every time he stepped on his left leg. His expression was curled up, twisted in concentration. His stare was focused on Tripp’s feet the same way it had been when he had moved the soda machine. But instead of flying backward, Tripp was locked in place. Zach was now only four or five feet away from us. I moved closer, my wrist piercing at every jostling movement.
“Phe, stay where you are!” Zach was dead serious, but it didn’t matter. I needed to be next to him. I kept going.<
br />
“I guess you’re more powerful than I thought, Zach.” Tripp tried to bring his foot up again. It hovered a half inch from the ground then slammed back like a shoe stuck in taffy on an old cartoon. “I mean, moving an inanimate object is one thing, but restraining me—that takes talent.”
Sirens were wailing in the distance. The fact that we could hear them over the helicopter noise assured me the police weren’t far away.
“You have no idea what I can do.” Zach’s eyes flashed as he stepped closer to his uncle. In my peripheral vision, I saw Tripp pull his arm back. Apparently, his upper body was still mobile. Then I saw the glint of a blade. Tripp was going to stab Zach with the letter opener. Zach would be within arm’s reach with one more step.
In that split second I made a decision. I had lost too much already. To have Zach taken from me was more than I would be able to live with.
I jumped between them, shielding Zach with my body.
I felt the cold metal plunge deep into my stomach. Tripp pulled the letter opener back out and blood spilled down the front of my tank top in a red waterfall. I turned to Zach, trying to hide the fear in my eyes.
“Phe! No.” Zach was shaking, staring at me in shock. “No. You can’t.” He pushed his hand against the hole in my stomach, attempting to dam up the river of blood. It gushed out around his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out before falling to all fours. The crimson liquid poured out onto the dirt.
“Phe! Hold on. I’ll get you to the hospital.” Zach knelt next to me, wrapping his arm around my chest to pull me up. I coughed. That tangy metallic taste was familiar. There was blood in my mouth.
Tripp had regained control of his legs. He hit Zach in the face with his briefcase, just as I had done to him. Zach lost his grip, and I fell back to the ground.
“Phe!” Zach was flung backward as if he had been hit by a freight train. I saw Zach’s face, filled with rage. But he was pinned to a tree, unable to move.
“You think you have power? This is power.” The skin on Zach’s neck was twisting like he was being choked, but his uncle was nowhere near him.
A puddle of my blood spread like an ink stain across one of the ancient cemetery plots. I felt dizzy and sick. The pain in my side took over my whole body. I couldn’t concentrate. My vision was growing dark around the edges.
“Phe! Look at me! You can’t die! You can’t!” Zach’s yells were muffled. Strangled.
Zach looked away from me, concentrating on his uncle. Zach was getting stronger; I could see it in his eyes. There was a fire raging there. Zach sent his uncle flying with his telekinetic energy. Tripp tried to stand, but Zach barreled into him, hitting him square in the chest with his shoulder. They both fell to the ground, with Zach on top of Tripp now, pinning him down. As I watched, Tripp slammed both his fists hard into Zach’s lower back. Zach let out a grunt of pain, and his hold loosened. Tripp seized the opportunity to shove Zach off him, and Zach rolled. His head cracked sharply against a tombstone, and he went limp, a rose halo bleeding out of his head onto the grave marker.
For an instant, Tripp froze, staring at Zach, stunned. Then he staggered to his feet and slowly began to stumble back toward the hospital. Tears rolled freely down my cheek as I crawled over to Zach, trailing my blood all the way. It couldn’t end like this. If Zach died, I had given my life for nothing. I pulled him into my lap, cradling his head. He was still breathing. I looked around. Tripp was limping through the graveyard, clutching his briefcase like a prize. How could the cops not be here yet? It seemed like it had been hours, when in reality it probably hadn’t been much more than a few minutes. As my tears fell onto Zach’s face, mingling with the blood, I remembered the vision I had had at Rebekah Sampson’s grave—the dagger slicing my hand, the blood on the graveyard dirt, myself transformed and shouting out an incantation. I had known then that it was a vision of me at another time.
I placed my injured hand on my hip. I could feel the mark burning with power, healing the pain in my wrist instantly. A wave of knowledge hit me with the force of a solid object—the time in my vision was now. I had to do this; I wasn’t sure I would be alive much longer. Tripp was almost out of the graveyard.
I pushed myself up to my feet, using a strength that was beyond adrenaline. It didn’t even feel as if it were coming from inside me. I was pulling the energy up from the earth, from the ground that my blood had just fed. I let my head fall back, and the words flew from my throat. The voice rising out of me didn’t sound like my own. It was ancient and deep, timeless and dark.
“Phasmata repite ex sepulchris vestris, capite virum!”
Figures formed over their graves, whisper thin at first, like smoke. Melding together into grayish-white shadows of their former selves. And at the head of the group was the woman from my dreams, the one who had been leading me to this destiny. Her form was sharper, clearer than the rest. It shone with an unearthly blue light.
The other spirits looked to her, and with one motion from her hand, they descended upon Tripp. His face contorted with his screams, but I couldn’t hear them over the howling wind swirling around the cemetery. The wind lifted the dirt from the ground, forming a circular barrier; we were in the eye of the tornado. The phantoms were holding Tripp, pinning him down. Their hands and arms stuck through his body and into the ground like metal tent pegs. I saw actual scratches appear on his face, small pools of blood rising from where the spirits had impaled him.
Rebekah glided over to me, her shimmering mirage just inches away. She placed a weightless hand over the split in my side. I could feel her force mending everything in me. Like invisible stitches, she pulled the gap closed. Soon all that was left was a nasty scratch and some dried blood.
“What about Zach?” Another tear escaped me, falling softly down onto his face.
He will be fine. Though she didn’t speak, Rebekah’s voice resounded through my head. Below me, still lying on the blood-soaked ground, Zach was slowly coming to, blinking groggily. Finally, the lights of the police cars were visible coming up the drive to the hospital.
“It’s okay now,” I told Rebekah. She held up her hands, and slowly the other figures backed away from the half-dead body of Trent’s father.
“How are you controlling them?”
I’m not. You are. Rebekah smoothed back my blonde hair, so much like her own. Her touch was a feather-light breeze.
“Phe?” Zach was staring up at me in confusion. “I thought you were …” His eyes shone wetly.
“So did I.” I turned back to Rebekah, hoping maybe Zach had seen her, too, but she was gone. They all were.
I glanced over at Tripp, shivering and shaking on the ground. There were blood splatters on his clothes, but the wounds had closed up. The scratches on his face and hands were healing. His eyes, however, were staring blankly into space. He obviously wasn’t getting up anytime soon.
“Phe—what happened?” Zach looked to Tripp, then back to me again.
“I don’t know …” I breathed. I dropped down beside him. “I remembered this stuff I said in Latin during my vision at the graveyard.” I shook my head. “The words just came out of me, and these spirits started appearing … they listened to me; they stopped Tripp. And Rebekah—she laid her hand on my side and healed me. I don’t know how, but she did.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Zach groaned as he pulled himself up to sitting. “The only thing that matters is that you’re okay.” And he kissed me like he had thought he was never going to be able to do it again.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Movement at the hospital caught my attention, and Zach and I broke apart to see what was going on. The helicopter was leaving. Leaving Tripp behind. The police cars’ red and blue lights washed over it with alternating flashes of color as it ascended into the sky.
As the cops parked in the lot, an ambulance pulled away from the hospital and drove over the curb and onto the grass, rolling to a stop right in front of us. One paramedic
pulled out a stretcher and helped Zach and me onto it. The other grabbed his bag full of medical supplies and ran over to Tripp. By the time the police made it to where we were, the black helicopter was long gone.
The paramedic examined us and declared me “fit as a fiddle.” And while I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, my wrist barely hurt anymore, and there was absolutely no pain in my stomach. I wasn’t even dizzy from the blood loss. But there also wasn’t any way to explain my spontaneous regeneration, so I kept quiet about my earlier knife wound, pretending that the blood on my clothes must have come from Zach’s head.
After he finished checking me over, the paramedic cleaned Zach’s head wound, which turned out to be only a shallow slice half an inch long. “Nothing too serious,” he assured Zach. “Scalp wounds always bleed profusely. You might want to come down to the hospital and get it stitched up, though.”
From the look on Zach’s face, I figured that wasn’t too likely. After the paramedic wrapped up Zach’s left knee and ankle with Ace bandages, he left to join the other paramedic working on Tripp, but not before warning us to stay where we were.
Noticing that we were now available, the police chief came over to question Zach and me. Chief Bradbury listened intently to our whole story, conveniently overlooking how we had come to find Tripp’s ring and interrupting only twice to ask for clarification. When we were done, Bradbury placed Tripp’s ring in a small bag to be taken to the Shadow Hills Police Department’s forensics lab for DNA testing. After giving us strict instructions not to leave yet, he headed toward the deputy, who was reading a now-conscious Tripp his rights.
“Hey!” Grant Redford was running up to us. “Are you two okay?” He wrapped his arms around Zach in a tight hug.
“Yeah, Dad, we’re fine,” Zach assured him. “The paramedic gave us the green light.”
“Thank God.” Grant sighed and let Zach go, taking a step back. “Listen, I’m going to go talk with Chief Bradbury real quick. Don’t move, okay?”
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