Page 94 of Ember Rising

“I want to leave,” I say. “Alone. Tell whoever’s in charge that I’ll never talk. Never. I’m not an innocent victim of the Deadmen, and I won’t pretend I am. But I’m not one of them, either. Your choices are to hold me prisoner here forever or let me go.”

“Okay.” He sighs softly. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

I nod, then put my forehead on my drawn-up knees.

“I’m planning to wake Van up soon. Anything you want me to tell him?”

“Tell him he’s really good. I bought every last lie he told me.”

I don’t look up, but I hear a deep exhale followed by Diego’s retreating footsteps.

The silence returns. I’m alone, with nothing but my fears to keep me company. Even though I’m stronger than I was before, I’m also more broken down in some ways. More cynical.

I felt Briar through the kudzu. I hope she feels me, too. Questions race through my mind around the clock, because I can’t sleep to escape this solitude.

Did Briar summon the kudzu to save me? Or did I do it through my connection to her?

If I have even a fraction of her power, I’ll use it well. Justin and his Deadmen crossed a line a long time ago. They murdered Donovan, and he didn’t deserve it. I feel sick knowing they’ve started killing children.

They want me dead because I’m dangerous to them. I know their secrets. I don’t trust the people here to keep me safe from the Deadmen when they can’t even keep their own people safe.

I scoot over to the cup of water and drink it, then take a bite of the chocolate. Diego was right. It’s silky and smooth, making me moan softly as it melts in my mouth.

If the Deadmen find out I’m here, this might be the last bit of joy I experience. I savor every bite as slowly as I can.

31

“A woman we recently took in survived an attack by the Fire Eaters. She had pepper spray in her coat pocket and using it helped her escape. No one else in her group did. What they do to people is barbaric.” – Dr. Diego Martinez, ILF Georgia hub

Amira

Three Years Ago

A sick sensation rolls through my stomach when I hear Donovan’s footsteps approaching the door to our room.

I grab my pillow and quickly flip it over to hide the wetness on the pillowcase from my tears, then turn my back to his side of the bed and curl up. The door creaks slightly when he turns the knob and opens it, a draft of cold air coming in.

The bed-and-breakfast the Deadmen chose for our temporary stay in a coastal Maine town is an old building. It’s loaded with charm, from the flowery wallpaper to the bone-colored china with delicate gold scalloped edges.

But it’s also ice cold. It’s winter, and when the wind blows, you can hear it whistling through the windows.

I forgot to pull the covers over myself. But better to freeze than let Donovan know I’m awake.

The click of the door closing makes me stiffen. I force myself to relax and even out my breathing.

I know his routine by heart: He kicks one boot off, then the other. He takes off his shirt and drops it to the floor. He unbuckles his belt and unfastens his pants, then lets them drop. He steps out of them, sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his socks.

He does it all in the usual order, then sets his glasses on the bedside table and gets into bed.

I slept so soundly last night when he had the night watch.

He reaches for the covers and scoots over, gently placing them over me. I keep breathing, my entire body taut with tension as I wonder if maybe he’ll just go to sleep tonight.

Please, just go to sleep.

His chest warms my back as he spoons me. I don’t mind that; it’s nice to feel his warmth.

When he uses the hand he covered me with to brush his thumb over my arm, I cringe inwardly.