World After (10 page)

And he hunted down the low demons in the forest even after they ran because they seemed like they came from hell, didn’t they? If any of them lived to tell about how he’d come to the
rescue of a Daughter of Man, it’d just be a matter of time before they got to me.

But did he have to go as far as telling me he didn’t even like me after our kiss? That was totally unnecessary, in my opinion.

The kiss.

Like a germinating seed, I have the growing impulse to ask the sword about it.

It’s silly and embarrassing and maybe even shallow after what I just saw Raffe go through. But because of what I just saw, I want to see him in a different kind of moment. One where he’s cocky and in control. One where he’s experiencing something other than threats and pain, if only for two seconds.

That, and I’m dying to know what he felt during our kiss.

I know it doesn’t matter. I know it won’t change anything. I know it’s juvenile.

Whatever.

Can’t a girl be a girl for, like, five minutes?

“Show me your memories of the kiss.” I close my eyes. The heat creeps up my cheeks, which is silly because the sword was there when the kiss happened and saw the whole thing. So what if I’m curious about what he felt?

“Oh, come on. Do we have to do this again?”

Nothing.

“That last one was totally awful. I need a little comfort. It’s just a small favor. Please?”

Nothing.

“Extra ribbons and bows for you,” I try to sound like I mean it. “Maybe even sparkly makeup on the teddy bear.”

Still nothing.

“Traitor.” I know that’s a funny statement since the sword is actually being loyal to Raffe but I don’t care.

I slide it back into its scabbard, which has been leaning against my chair, and jam the bear over the hilt.

I slip the strap over my shoulder and step outside to see if I can find Mom and Paige.

The hallway is still crowded, as usual. Two identical guys with blond hair are weaving through the tight space, saying hello to a bunch of people as they walk by. It seems like everyone likes them. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Dee and Dum. Their hair is now sandy blond.

Dee discretely shows Dum something in his palm, and Dum almost crosses his eyes trying to hold in a laugh. I’m guessing Dee just pickpocketed someone for something the owner has probably already told them they can’t have.

They wave to me and I wait for them.

“What happened to your hair?” I ask.

“We’re spy masters, remember?” says Dee.

“As in
masters
of disguise,” says Dum.

“Well,” says Dee rubbing dye off the edge of his hairline, “ ‘master’ is kind of a strong word.”

“So is ‘disguise,’ ” I say with a half grin.

“Dude, you look great,” says Dum to Dee. “Handsome as ever.”

“What did you pickpocket?” I keep my voice down in case the owner doesn’t have a sense of humor.

“Ooh, you’re losing your touch, Bro. She saw.” Dum looks around to see if anyone is listening.

“No way. My touch is like butter.” Dee opens his now empty palms and wiggles his fingers. “She’s just smart, that’s all. She can figure things out.”

“Yeah, and that’s why we feel so bad about only thinking of you as a candidate for fights, Penryn. Speaking of which, how do you feel about wearing a nun’s habit?”

“Better yet, hot librarian glasses.” Dee nods at me like he’s giving me a tip. “Turns out we have both librarians
and
nuns here.”

“Does it get any better than that?” Dum’s eyes are wide with wonder.

They look at each other and simultaneously call out, “Librarian mud fights!” They shake their hands in the air like excited little boys.

Everyone in the hallway looks over at us.

“See? Look at the interest,” says Dee.

But then the hallway clears as people pour out through the door. Something is happening.

“What’s going on?” I ask someone as he peers outside.

“No idea,” he says. He looks scared but excited. “Just following the crowd to see what’s happening. You too, huh?”

A woman brushes past us. “Someone’s been found dead or mangled or something.” She pushes through the doors, letting cold air in.

Dead or mangled.

I follow her.

Outside, a small crowd full of tension hovers on the walkway in front of the main building. The sun may be low on the horizon but the overcast sky simply drains the color, painting everyone shades of gray.

People look across El Camino. On the other side is the fenced grove where I chased the squirrel. During the day it’s beautiful and peaceful, with the trees spaced far enough apart to give the area dappled shade without darkness. But as the light dims, the grove starts looking sinister and foreboding.

A few people run straight from the building to the grove, while others hesitate before walking there. Still others linger in hopes of safety near the building, while squinting to see what’s going on in the shadows beneath the trees.

I pause to take in the situation, then join those who are running to the grove. I can’t help but wonder what draws them there in the dimming light. Snatches of conversation along the way clue me in.

I’m not the only one who worries about someone they love. Lots of people got separated during the chaos of the angel invasion
or the aerie attack. Now they’re frantically worried that whoever is left in their family might have been hurt or killed. Others are just more curious than smart, emboldened by being part of an organization full of people with purpose, something they thought might never happen again.

In any case, there are enough of us to create a logjam at the fence. It’s a metal-framed wire fence that’s chest high to me and requires actual climbing. Since the fence borders the grove for several blocks in either direction, there’s no choice but to scale it.

Under the trees, a small crowd gathers. I can feel their restlessness and hear the tension in their voices. A sense of urgency shoots through me. Something is seriously wrong here and I’m convinced it has something to do with my family.

I race to the crowd, shoving my way in.

What I see is something I won’t be able to blot out of my mind for as long as I live.

M
Y
LITTLE
SISTER
struggles under the shadows.

Radiating out from her are ropes pulled by men. One rope is tied around her neck, two others around her wrists, and two more around her ankles.

The men struggle against the ropes like they’re holding down a wild horse.

Paige’s hair is tangled and there’s blood in it. There’s also blood smeared across her face and staining her flower-print dress. The contrast of the dark blood and the stitches on her pale skin make her look as if she’s risen from the dead.

She struggles against the ropes like someone possessed. She lurches when the men yank at her to try to gain control. Even in this light, I can see the bloody chafing of the ropes around her neck and wrists as she’s jerked around like a macabre voodoo puppet.

My first instinct is to screech like a banshee and pull out the sword.

But there’s something lying in front of Paige.

The shock of seeing her so cruelly tied up like an animal kept me from seeing the rest of the scene. But now I see a shadowy
lump, still as rock but shaped like something I wish I didn’t recognize.

It’s a body.

It’s the guy who carried the bat when he and his buddies attacked me.

I look away. I don’t want to process what my eyes just saw. I don’t want to register the chunks missing from him.

I don’t want to think about what that means.

I can’t.

Paige’s tongue flicks out and licks blood from her lips.

She closes her eyes and swallows. Her face relaxes just for a second.

Peace.

She opens her eyes and looks at the body near her feet. It’s like she can’t help it.

A part of me still expects her to cringe in disgust at the sight of the corpse. There is disgust there. But there’s also a flash of longing. Hunger.

She darts a glance at me. Shame.

She stops struggling and looks right at me.

She sees my hesitation. She sees I’m no longer running to save her. She sees judgment in my eyes.

“Ryn-Ryn,” she cries. Her voice is filled with loss. Tears streak down her blood-smeared cheeks, leaving clear tracks. Her face shifts from looking like a fierce monster to a scared little girl.

Paige starts thrashing again. My wrists, ankles, and neck hurt in sympathy as the ropes chafe against her bloody skin.

The men seesaw at the ends of the ropes so that it’s hard to tell whether they have
her
captive or if she’s holding
them
. I’ve seen how strong her new body can be. She’s powerful enough to seriously challenge them and give them a real fight. On this uneven terrain, she might be able to throw them off balance and make them fall.

Instead, she struggles ineffectively.

Just enough to get the ropes to cut into her. Just enough to hurt herself in punishment. Just enough so that no one else gets hurt.

My little sister cries in heartbroken sobs.

I start running again. No matter what happened, she doesn’t deserve this. No living creature deserves this.

A soldier on my right raises his rifle and points it at me. It’s so close I can look right into the dark hole of its silencer.

I stop, almost skidding.

Another man stands beside him, pointing a rifle at Paige.

I raise my open hands.

Men grab my arms, and I can tell by their roughness that they expect a major struggle. We Young girls are getting a reputation.

The men relax when they see that I’m not about to put up a fight. Hand-to-hand is one thing but guns are beyond me. All I can do is stay alive until I get a chance to do something more proactive.

But my mother has her own logic.

She runs out from the shadows, silent as a ghost.

She jumps on the soldier pointing his rifle at Paige.

The other soldier raises the butt of his rifle and smacks Mom in the face.

“No!” I kick the guy holding my arm. But before he hits the ground and before I can get the other guy off me, three of them jump on me. They shove me to the ground like experienced gang members before I get a chance to stabilize.

My mom puts up her hand to deflect another blow of the rifle butt.

My sister ramps up her struggling. This time, it’s filled with panic and fury. She screeches into the air like she’s calling on the sky to come help her.

“Shut her up! Shut her up!” someone is whisper-shouting.

“Don’t shoot!” whisper-shouts Sanjay. “We need her alive for study.” He has the decency to throw me a quick, guilty glance. I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful.

I have to help my family. My brain screams at me about the guns, but what can I do? Lie here while they torture and kill my baby sister and mother?

Three men hold me down. One grabs my arms above my head, another has my ankles, and the third sits on my stomach. Looks like no one’s underestimating me any more. So be it.

I grasp the wrists of the guy holding my hands, using him as leverage, making sure he can’t get away.

I twist and pump my legs, scrape-kicking my ankle holder’s hand off my ankle. It’s hard for anyone, big or not, to match the power of a kick with the grip of his hand.

Then I pull back my free leg and kick him full in the face.

With my legs free, I heave and wrap them around the neck of the guy sitting on my stomach.

I slam my legs toward the ground, jerking him backwards. I yank my leg out from under him and kick at his open crotch.

I kick so hard he slides away from me on the grass with a breathless scream. He won’t be any trouble for a while.

By now, the guy holding my wrists has started to fight my grip, trying to get away. If I thought he’d just run and let me be, I’d be happy to let him go.

But there’s too much of a chance that he’ll get ideas about tackling me while I’m down. Guys are sometimes like that when it comes to losing a fight to a small female. They chalk it up to luck or something.

My hold on him is firm. Using him for leverage, I twist and spin on my hip in what someone in my gym has described as looking like I’m running up a wall, only I’m doing it while lying on the ground.

I swing my leg, pivoting on the side of my hip as I kick the guy above me in the head.

I bet he wasn’t expecting that little move.

I hop up, scanning the scene around me, ready for another attack.

My mom is on the ground, yanking a soldier by his rifle. She grips the barrel while it’s pointed right at her. She either doesn’t realize that all he has to do is pull the trigger to blow her away, or she doesn’t care.

My sister screeches into the sky like the monster they all think she is. The veins on her neck and forehead stick out like they’re going to burst.

Two of the men holding her ropes are on the ground now. A third one goes down as I watch.

I dive toward Mom, hoping the rifle doesn’t go off before I can do something.

Luckily, these soldiers are citizen soldiers, newly minted and inexperienced. Hopefully, this one hasn’t shot anyone yet and isn’t willing to have a desperate mother be his first kill.