I dreamed of thunderstorms. Did you dream of concerts?
In truth, I didn’t dream of anything, and the feeling of dreamless sleep on my bones is glorious. No nightmares. No Owen. I look down at my arm and wonder how it went that far. I feel so much closer to sane after a few hours of rest.
I’m about to reply when I see a conversation with Lyndsey. One I never had. It’s from Saturday night, when Mom spiked my water and Wes first stayed over.
Earth to Mac!
Earth to Mac!
The HOTTEST boy is in this coffee shop.
I need you to be awake so you can vicariously appreciate it.
And he has a violin case. A VIOLIN CASE. *swoon*
Sorry, Mac is sleeping.
Then how is she texting?
Is she a sleep-texter?
GASP.
IS THIS GUYLINER?
The very same.
She charged her phone for you. I hope you’re worth it.
I hope so, too.
I almost smile, but then a knot forms in my stomach. Worth it.
Crew is worth it, echoes Roland.
I put the phone away and begin to get dressed. The cut on my hand is healing well. My forearm, on the other hand, is killing me after last night’s adventures; I’m worried I might have ripped the stitches. I flex gingerly and wince, then check my list. There’s already another name on it.
Penny Ellison. 13.
“Mackenzie.” Mom’s standing in the doorway. Her eyes get as close as my cheek. “We’re going to be late.”
“We?” I ask.
“I’m driving you to school.”
“Like hell—”
“Mackenzie,” warns Mom. “It’s not negotiable. And before you go running to your father, you should know that it was his idea. He doesn’t want you using the bicycle with your arm in that condition, and I agree.”
I obviously shouldn’t have left them alone at the table last night. So much for clearing Penny before heading to Hyde.
I get ready and follow Mom downstairs, and we’re through the front doors when Berk shows up on the patio and waves her over, spouting something about an espresso emergency.
My eyes go to Dante, leaning up against the bike rack. “I could—”
“No,” says my mom. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I sigh and sink against the patio wall to wait, picking at the tape on my palm. Someone casts a shadow over me, and a moment later, Eric sits down on the low wall a few feet away, resting a Bishop’s to-go cup on his knee.
“I didn’t know about Roland,” I say.
“I didn’t tell you,” he says simply. I look over. He looks tired, but otherwise unscathed. “Agatha is running out of Crew.”
I swallow hard. “How much time do I have?”
“Not enough,” he says, sipping his coffee. “Are you innocent, Miss Bishop?” I hesitate, then nod. “Then why would you refuse her?”
“I was afraid I’d fail an assessment.”
“But you just said—”
“A mental assessment,” I clarify. Silence falls between us. “Do you ever wish you’d gone a different way?” I ask after a minute.
Eric gives me a guarded look. “I’m honored to serve the Archive,” he says. “It gives me purpose.” And then he softens a little. “There have been times when I’ve wavered. When I thought maybe I wanted to be normal. But the thing is, what we do, it’s in our blood. It’s who we are. Normal wouldn’t fit us, even if we wanted to wear it.” He sighs and gets to his feet. “I’d tell you to stay out of trouble,” he says, “but it just seems to find you, Miss Bishop.”
Mom reappears with two to-go cups, and there’s this split second as she hands me one when she finally looks me in the eye. Then she sees the man standing beside me.
“Good morning, Eric!” she says brightly. “How’s that dark roast?”
He gives her his best smile. “Worth crossing the city for, ma’am,” he says before heading off down the sidewalk.
“Eric’s become a bit of a regular,” explains Mom as we walk to her car.
“Yeah,” I say drily. “I’ve seen him around.”
Mom has the decency to drop me off a block and a half from school and out of the line of sight of the parking lot. As the car pulls away, I look down at my arm, hoping I can get through one day without an incident. Maybe Eric’s right. Maybe normal doesn’t suit us, but I’d be willing to pretend.
I catch sight of Cash, resting against the bike rack with coffee and a smile. Cash, who always makes me feel normal. But the moment I reach him, I can see something’s off.
His dark hair trails across his cheekbones, but it can’t entirely hide the cut beside his eye or the bruise darkening his jaw.
“Looks like I’m not the only one to get into a scrape,” I say. “Soccer? Or did you and Wes go a few rounds on the mat?”
“Nah,” he says. But he doesn’t seem eager to say any more.
“Well, come on,” I say as he hands me a fresh coffee. “I told you my clumsy story. It’s only fair you tell me yours.”
“I wish I could,” he says, furrowing his brow, “but I’m not exactly sure what happened.”
I frown, taking a sip. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was heading back from your place yesterday—I was going to take the bus, but it was a nice day, so I decided to walk. I was almost back to the school, when all of a sudden there’s this crashing sound behind me, and before I can turn to see what happened, someone pulls me backward hard.”
The coffee goes bitter in my mouth.
“It was insane,” he says. “One minute I’m minding my own business, and the next I’m laid out on the sidewalk.” He brings his fingertips to the cut beside his eye. “I caught myself on a bench on the way down. I couldn’t have been out for more than a minute or two, but by the time I got up, there was no one else around.”
“What did it sound like?” I ask slowly. “The noise behind you.”
“It was loud, like a crash, or a tear, or a whoosh. Yeah, a whoosh. And that’s not even the strangest part.” He curls his fingers around the cup. “You’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m crazy. But I swear there was a guy walking maybe a few strides behind me right before it happened. I thought he might have been the one to grab me, but by the time I got back up he was gone.” He straightens and chuckles. “God, I sound like a nut job, don’t I?”
“No,” I say, gripping the paper cup. “You don’t.”
A ripping sound, a force hard enough to slam Cash backward, and no visible trace? All the markings of a void. Was the man behind him Crew? Or a fourth victim?
“What did the other guy look like?”
Cash shrugs. “He looked normal.”
I frown. It doesn’t make sense. If someone was trying to attack Cash, they missed, and I don’t see why they’d attack him in the first place—not while I was under lock and key. There would be nothing to tie me to this crime, so why do it?
“Did you see anyone else besides the other guy?” I ask, stepping closer.