PittacusLore

THEREVENGEOF SEVEN

Contents

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

Chapter20

Chapter21

Chapter22

Chapter23

Chapter24

Chapter25

Chapter26

Chapter27

Chapter28

Chapter29

Chapter30

FollowPenguin

TheLorienLegaciesbyPittacusLore

NOVELS

IAmNumberFourThePowerofSixTheRiseofNineTheFallofFive

TheRevengeofSeven

NOVELLAS

IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles1:Six’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles2:Nine’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles3:TheFallenLegaciesIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles4:The

SearchForSamIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles5:TheLastDaysofLorienIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles6:TheForgottenOnesIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles7:Five’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:

TheLostFiles8:ReturnToParadiseIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles9:Five’sBetrayal

NOVELLACOLLECTIONS

IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:TheLegacies(Containsnovellas1–3)IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:SecretHistories(Containsnovellas4–6)IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:HiddenEnemy(Containsnovellas7–9)

Theeventsinthisbookarereal.

NamesandplaceshavebeenchangedtoprotecttheLoric,whoremaininhiding.

Othercivilizationsdoexist.

Someofthemseektodestroyyou.

1

Thenightmareisover.WhenIopenmyeyes,there’snothingbutdarkness.I’minabed,thatmuchIcantell,andit’snotmyown.Themattressisenormous,somehowcontoured

perfectlytomybody,andforamomentIwonderifmyfriendsmovedmetooneofthebiggerbedsinNine’spenthouse.Istretchmylegsandarmsoutasfarasthey’llgoandcan’tfindtheedges.Thesheetdrapedovermeismoreslipperythansoft,almostlikeapieceofplastic,anditisradiatingheat.Notjustheat,Irealize,butalsoasteadyvibrationthatsoothesmysoremuscles.HowlonghaveIbeenasleep,andwheretheheckamI?Itrytorememberwhathappenedtome,butallIcanthinkofismylastvision.ItfeltlikeIwasinthat

nightmarefordays.Icanstillsmelltheburned-rubberstenchofWashington,D.C.Smogcloudslingeredoverthecity,areminderofthebattlefoughtthere.Orthebattlethatwillbefoughtthere,ifmyvisionactuallycomestrue.Thevisions.AretheypartofanewLegacy?NoneoftheothershaveLegaciesthatleavethem

traumatizedinthemorning.Aretheyprophecies?ThreatssentbySetrákusRa,likethedreamsJohnandEightusedtohave?Aretheywarnings?Whatevertheyare,Iwishthey’dstophappening.ItakeafewdeepbreathstocleanthesmellofWashingtonoutofmynostrils,eventhoughIknowit’sall

inmyhead.What’sworsethanthesmellisthatIcanremembereverylittledetail,rightdowntothehorrifiedlookonJohn’sfacewhenhesawmeonthatstagewithSetrákusRa,condemningSixtodeath.Hewastrappedinthevision,too,justlikeIwas.Iwaspowerlessupthere,stuckbetweenSetrákusRa,self-appointedrulerofEarth,and…Five.He’sworkingfortheMogadorians!Ihavetowarntheothers.Isitboltuprightandmyhead

swims–toofast,toosoon–rust-coloredblobsfloatingthroughmyvision.Iblinkthemaway,myeyesfeelinggummy,mymouthdryandthroatsore.Thisdefinitelyisn’tthepenthouse.Mymovementmusttriggersomenearbysensor,becausetheroom’slightsslowlygrowbrighter.They

comeongradually,theroomeventuallybathedinapaleredglow.Ilookaroundforthesourceofthelightanddiscoveritpulsingfromveinsinterwoventhroughthechrome-paneledwalls.Achillgoesthroughmeathowprecisetheroomlooks,howsevere,lackinganydecorationatall.Theheatfromtheblanketincreases,almostasifitwantsmetocurlbackupbeneathit.Ishoveitaway.ThisisaMogadorianplace.Icrawlacrossthemammothbed–it’sbiggerthananSUV,bigenoughforaten-foot-tallMogadorian

dictatortocomfortablyrelaxin–untilmybarefeetdangleoverthemetalfloor.I’mwearingalonggraynightgownembroideredwiththornyblackvines.Ishudder,thinkingaboutthemputtingmeintothisgownandleavingmeheretorest.Theycould’vejustkilledme,butinsteadtheyputmeinpyjamas?Inmy

vision,IwassittingalongsideSetrákusRa.Hecalledmehisheir.Whatdoesthatevenmean?IsthatwhyI’mstillalive?Itdoesn’tmatter.Thesimplefactis:I’vebeencaptured.Iknowthis.NowwhatamIgoingtodoabout

it?IfiguretheMogsmusthavemovedmetooneoftheirbases.Exceptthisroomisn’tlikethehorrificand

tinycellsthatNineandSixdescribedfromwhentheywerecaptured.No,thismustbetheMogadorians’twistedideaofhospitality.They’retryingtotakecareofme.SetrákusRawantsmetreatedmorelikeaguestthanaprisoner.Because,oneday,hewantsmeruling

nexttohim.Why,Istilldon’tunderstand,butrightnowit’stheonlythingkeepingmealive.Ohno.IfI’mhere,whathappenedtotheothersinChicago?Myhandsstarttoshakeandtearsstingmyeyes.Ihavetogetoutofhere.AndIhavetodoitalone.Ipushdownthefear.IpushdownthelingeringvisionsofadecimatedWashington.Ipushdownthe

worriesaboutmyfriends.Ipushitalldown.Ineedtobeablankslate,likeIwaswhenwefirstfoughtSetrákusRainNewMexico,likeIwasduringmytrainingsessionswiththeothers.It’seasiestformetobebravewhenIjustdon’tthinkaboutit.IfIactoninstinct,Icandothis.Run,IimagineCraytonsaying.Rununtilthey’retootiredtochaseyou.Ineedsomethingtofightthemwith.IlookaroundtheroomforanythingIcanuseasaweapon.Nextto

thebedisametallicnightstand,theonlyotherfurnitureintheroom.TheMogsleftaglassofwaterthereforme,whichI’mnotdumbenoughtodrinkeventhoughI’minsanelythirsty.Nexttotheglass,there’sadictionary-sizedbookwithanoily,snaky-skincover.Theinkonthecoverlookssinged,thewordsindentedandrougharoundtheedges,asifitwereprintedwithacidforink.ThetitlereadsTheGreatBookofMogadorianProgress,surprisinglyinEnglish.Underitareaseries

ofangularboxesandhashmarksthatIassumeisMogadorian.Ipickupthebookandopenit.Eachpageisdividedinhalf,EnglishononesideandMogadorianonthe

other.IwonderifI’msupposedtoreadthisthing.Islamthebookclosed.Theimportantthingisthatit’sheavyandIcanswingit.Iwon’tbeturningany

Mogadorianguardsintoashclouds,butit’sbetterthannothing.IclimbdownfromthebedandwalkovertowhatIthinkisthedoor.It’sarectangularpanelcutintothe

platedwall,buttherearen’tanyknobsorbuttons.AsItiptoecloser,wonderinghowI’mgoingtoopenthisthing,there’samechanicalwhirringnoise

frominsidethewall.Itmustbeonamotionsensorlikethelights,becausethedoorhissesupwardassoonasI’mclose,disappearingintotheceiling.Idon’tstoptowonderwhyI’mnotlockeddown.ClutchingtheMogadorianbook,Istepintoahallway

that’sjustascoldandmetallicasmyroom.‘Ah,’saysawoman’svoice.‘You’reawake.’Ratherthanguards,aMogadorianwomanperchesonastooloutsidemyroom,obviouslywaitingfor

me.I’mnotsureifI’veeverseenafemaleMogbefore,anddefinitelynotonelikeher.Middle-aged,withwrinklesforminginthepaleskinaroundhereyes,theMoglookssurprisinglyunthreateninginahigh-necked,floor-lengthdress,likesomethingoneoftheSisterswouldwearbackatSantaTeresa.Herheadisshavedexceptfortwolong,blackbraidsatthebackofherskull,therestofherscalpcoveredbyan

elaboratetattoo.Insteadofbeingnastyandvicious,liketheMogsI’vefoughtbefore,thisoneisalmostelegant.Istopshortinfrontofher,notsurewhattodo.TheMogglancesatthebookinmyhandsandsmiles.‘Andreadytobeginyourstudies,Isee,’shesays,gettingup.She’stall,slenderandvaguelyspiderlike.

Standingbeforeme,shedipsintoanelaboratebow.‘MistressElla,Ishallbeyourinstructorwhile–’Assoonasherheadcomeslowenough,IsmackheracrossthefacewiththebookashardasIcan.Shedoesn’tseeitcoming,whichIguessisstrangebecausealltheMogsI’veencounteredhavebeen

readytofight.Thisoneletsoutashortgruntandthenhitsthefloorwithaflutteringoffabricfromherfancydress.Idon’tstoptoseeifI’veknockedheroutorifshe’spullingablasterfromsomehiddencompartmentin

thatdress.Irun,choosingadirectionatrandomandhurtlingdownthehallwayasfastasIcan.Themetalfloorstingsmybarefeetandmymusclesbegintoache,butIignoreallthat.Ihavetogetoutofhere.ToobadthesesecretMogadorianbasesneverhaveanyexitsigns.Iturnonecornerandthenanother,sprintingthroughhallwaysthatareprettymuchidentical.Ikeep

expectingsirenstostartblaringnowthatI’veescaped,buttheyneverdo.Therearen’tanyheavyMogadorianfootfallschasingaftermeeither.JustwhenI’mstartingtogetwindedandthinkingaboutslowingdown,adoorwayopensonmyright

andtwoMogadoriansstepforward.They’remoreliketheonesI’musedto–burly,dressedintheirblackcombatgear,beadyeyesglaringatme.Idartaroundthem,eventhoughneitherofthemmakesanyattempttograbme.Infact,IthinkIhearoneofthemlaughing.Whatisgoingonhere?IcanfeelthetwoMogsoldierswatchingmerun,soIduckdownthefirsthallwaythatIcan.I’mnot

sureifI’vebeengoingincirclesorwhat.Thereisn’tanysunlightoroutsidenoisesatall,nothingtoindicatethatImightbegettingclosertoanexit.Itdoesn’tseemliketheMogsevencarewhatIdo,liketheyknowI’vegotnochancetogetoutofhere.Islowdowntocatchmybreath,cautiouslyinchingdownthislateststerilehallway.I’mstillclutching

thebook–myonlyweapon–andmyhandisstartingtocramp.Iswitchhandsandpresson.Upahead,awidearchwayopenswithahydraulichiss;it’sdifferentfromtheotherdoors,wider,and

therearestrangelyblinkinglightsontheotherside.Notblinkinglights.Stars.AsIwalkunderthearchway,themetal-platedceilinggiveswaytoaglassbubble,theroomwide-

open,almostlikeaplanetarium.Exceptreal.Therearevariousconsolesandcomputersprotrudingfromthefloor–maybethisissomekindofcontrolroom–butIignorethem,drawninsteadtothedizzyingviewthroughtheexpansivewindow.Darkness.Stars.Earth.NowIunderstandwhytheMogadoriansweren’tchasingme.Theyknowthere’snowhereformetogo.I’minspace.Igetrightuptotheglass,pressingmyhandsagainstit.Icanfeeltheemptinessoutside,theendless,ice-

cold,airlessspacebetweenmeandthatfloatingblueorbinthedistance.

‘Glorious,isn’tit?’Hisboomingvoiceislikeabucketofcoldwaterdumpedonme.Ispinaroundandpressmybacktothe

glass,feelinglikethevoidbehindmemightbepreferabletofacinghim.SetrákusRastandsbehindoneofthecontrolpanels,watchingme,ahintofasmileonhisface.The

firstthingInoticeisthathe’snotnearlyashugeashewaswhenwefoughthimatDulceBase.Still,SetrákusRaistallandimposing,hisbroadphysiquecladinasternblackuniform,studdedanddecoratedwithanassortmentofjaggedMogadorianmedals.ThreeLoricpendants,theoneshetookfromthedeadGarde,hangfromaroundhisneck,glowingasubduedcobalt.‘Iseeyou’vealreadytakenupmybook,’hesays,gesturingtomydictionary-sizedclub.Ididn’trealize

Iwasclutchingittomychest.‘AlthoughnotnecessarilyinthewayI’dhoped.Fortunately,yourProctorwasn’tbadlyinjured…’Suddenly,inmyhands,thebookbeginstoglowred,justlikethepieceofdebrisIpickedupbackat

DulceBase.Idon’tknowexactlyhowI’mdoingit,orevenwhatI’mdoing.‘Ah,’SetrákusRasays,watchingwitharaisedeyebrow.‘Verygood.’‘Gotohell!’Iscream,andflingtheglowingbookathim.Beforeit’sevenhalfwaytohim,SetrákusRaraisesonehugehandandthebookstopsinmidair.Iwatch

astheglowI’dinfuseditwithslowlyfades.‘Now,now,’hechidesme.‘Enoughofthat.’‘Whatdoyouwantfromme?’Ishout,frustratedtearsfillingmyeyes.‘Youalreadyknowthat,’hereplies.‘Ishowedyouwhat’stocome.JustasIonceshowedPittacus

Lore.’SetrákusRahitsafewbuttonsonthecontrolpanelinfrontofhimandtheshipbeginstomove.

Gradually,theEarth,seemingbothimpossiblyfarandalsolikeit’ssocloseIcouldreachoutandgrabit,driftsacrossmyview.Wearen’tmovingtowardsit;we’returninginplace.‘YouareaboardtheAnubis,’SetrákusRaintones,anoteofprideinhisgravellyvoice.‘Theflagshipof

theMogadorianfleet.’Whentheshipcompletesitsturn,Igasp.Ireachoutandpressmyhandagainsttheglassforsupport,

kneessuddenlyweak.Outside,inorbitaroundtheEarth,istheMogadorianfleet.Hundredsofships–mostofthemlongand

silver,aboutthesizeofsmallairplanes,justliketheonestheGardehavedescribedfightingbefore.Butamongthemareatleasttwentyenormouswarshipsthatdwarftherest–loomingandmenacing,mountedcannonsjuttingofftheirangularframes,aimedrightattheunsuspectingplanetbelow.‘No,’Iwhisper.‘Thiscan’tbehappening.’SetrákusRawalkstowardsme,andI’mtooshockedbythehopelesssightbeforemetoevenmove.

Gently,hedrapeshishandonmyshoulder.Icanfeelthecoldnessofhispalefingersthroughmygown.‘Thetimehascome,’hesays,gazingatthefleetwithme.‘TheGreatExpansionhascometoEarthat

last.WewillcelebrateMogadorianProgresstogether,granddaughter.’

2

Fromthecrackedsecond-floorwindowofanabandonedtextilefactory,Iwatchanoldmaninaraggedtrenchcoatandfilthyjeanscrouchdowninthedoorwayoftheboarded-upbuildingacrossthestreet.Oncehe’ssettled,themanpullsabrown-baggedbottlefromhiscoatandstartsdrinking.It’sthemiddleoftheafternoon–I’monwatch–andhe’stheonlylivingsoulI’veseeninthisabandonedpartofBaltimoresincewegothereyesterday.It’saquiet,desertedplace,andyetit’sstillpreferabletotheversionofWashington,D.C.IsawinElla’svision.Fornowatleast,itdoesn’tlookliketheMogadorianshavepursuedusfromChicago.Although,technically,theywouldn’thaveto.There’salreadyaMogadorianamongus.Behindme,Sarahstompsherfoot.We’reinwhatusedtobetheforeman’soffice,dusteverywhere,the

floorboardsswollenandmildewed.Iturnaroundjustintimetoseeherfrowningattheremainsofacockroachonthebottomofhersneaker.‘Careful.Youmightgocrashingrightthroughthefloor,’Itellher,onlyhalfjoking.‘Iguessitwastoomuchtoaskforallyoursecretbasestobeinpenthouseapartments,huh?’Sarah

asks,fixingmewithateasingsmile.

Wesleptinthisoldfactorylastnight,oursleepingbagslaidonthesunkenfloorboards.Bothofusarefilthy,it’sbeenacoupleofdayssinceourlastrealshower,andSarah’sblondhairiscakedwithdirt.She’sstillbeautifultome.Withoutheratmyside,Imight’vetotallylostitaftertheattackinChicago,wheretheMogskidnappedEllaanddestroyedthepenthouse.Igrimaceatthethought,andSarah’ssmileimmediatelyfades.Ileavethewindowandwalkovertoher.‘Thisnotknowingiskillingme,’Isay,shakingmyhead.‘Idon’tknowwhattodo.’Sarahtouchesmyface,tryingtoconsoleme.‘Atleastweknowtheywon’thurtElla.Notifwhatyou

sawinthatvisionistrue.’‘Yeah,’Isnort.‘They’lljustturnherintoabrainwashedtraitor,like…’Itrailoff,thinkingoftherestofourmissingfriendsandtheturncoattheytraveledwith.Westillhaven’t

heardanythingfromSixandtheothers,notthatthere’saneasywayforthemtogetintouchwithus.AlltheirChestsarehereand,assumingtheycouldeventryreachingusbymoretraditionalmethods,theywouldn’thavethefirstcluehowtofindus,seeingaswehadtofleeChicago.TheonlythingIknowforsureisthatIhaveafreshscaronmyleg,thefourthofitskind.Itdoesn’thurt

anymore,butitfeelslikeaweight.IftheGardehadstayedapart,ifwe’dkepttheLoriccharmintact,thatfourthscarwould’vesymbolizedmydeath.Instead,oneofmyfriendsisdeadinFlorida,andIdon’tknowhow,orwho,orwhat’shappenedtotherestofthem.IfeelinmygutthatFiveisstillalive.IsawhiminElla’svision,standingalongsideSetrákusRa,a

traitor.Hemusthaveledtheothersintoatrap,andnowoneofthemwon’tbecomingback.Six,Marina,Eight,Nine–oneofthemisgone.

Sarahwrapsherhandaroundmine,massagingit,tryingtoeasesomeofthetension.‘Ican’tstopthinkingaboutwhatIsawinthatvision…’Ibegin,trailingoff.‘We’dlost,Sarah.And

nowitfeelslikeit’shappeningforreal.Likethisisthebeginningoftheend.’‘Thatdoesn’tmeananythingandyouknowit,’Sarahreplied.‘LookatEight.Wasn’ttheresomekindof

deathprophecyabouthim?Andhesurvived.’Ifrown,notstatingtheobvious,thatEightcouldbetheonewhowaskilleddowninFlorida.‘Iknowitseemsbleak,’Sarahcontinues,‘and,Imean,itisprettybad,John.Obviously.’‘Goodpeptalk.’Shesqueezesmyhand,hard,andwidenshereyesatmelikeshutup.‘ButthoseguysdowninFloridaareGarde,’shesays.‘They’regoingtofight,they’regoingtokeep

goingandthey’regoingtowin.Youhavetobelieve,John.WhenyouwerecomatosebackinChicago,wenevergaveuponyou.Wekeptfightinganditpaidoff.Justwhenitseemedlikewe’dlost,yousavedus.’IthinkaboutthestatemyfriendswereinwhenIfinallyawokebackinChicago.Malcolmwasmortally

woundedandSarahbadlyhurt,SamnearlyoutofammoandBernieKosarunaccountedfor.They’dputitallonthelineforme.‘Youguyssavedmefirst,’Ireply.‘Yeah,obviously.Soreturnthefavorandsaveourplanet.’Thewayshesaysit,likeit’snobigdeal,makesmesmile.IpullSarahcloseandkissher.‘Iloveyou,SarahHart.’‘Loveyouback,JohnSmith.’‘Um,Iloveyouguys,too…’SarahandIbothturntofindSamstandinginthedoorway,anawkwardsmileonhisface.Curledupin

hisarmsisahugeorangecat,oneofthesixChimæraethatournewMogadorianfriendbroughtwithhim,drawntousbyBernieKosar’srooftophowling.Apparently,thestickBKtookfromEight’sChestwassomekindofChimæratotemusedtoleadthemtous,likeaLoricdogwhistle.WestucktobackroadsonourwaytoBaltimore,carefultomakesureweweren’ttailed.Thecrowdedvanridegaveusplentyoftimetobrainstormnamesforournewallies.ThisparticularChimæra,preferringachubbycat-shapeasitsregularform,SaminsistedwenameStanley,inhonorofNine’soldalterego.Ifhe’sstillalive,I’msureNinewillbethrilledtohaveafatcatwithanobviousaffectionforSamnamedafterhim.‘Sorry,’Samsays,‘didIspoilthemoment?’‘Notatall,’Sarahreplies,stretchingoutonearmtowardsSam.‘Grouphug?’‘Maybelater,’Samsays,lookingatme.‘Theothersarebackandsettingeverythingupdownstairs.’Inod,reluctantlylettinggoofSarahandwalkingovertotheduffelbagwithoursupplies.‘Theyhave

anyproblems?’Samshakeshishead.‘Theyhadtosettleforjustacoupleoflittlecampinggenerators.Notenoughcash

forsomethingbig.Anyway,itshouldbeenoughjuice.’‘Whataboutsurveillance?’Iask,pullingthewhitelocatortabletanditsadapterfreefromtheduffel

bag.‘Adamsaidhedidn’tseeanyMogscouts,’Samanswers.‘Well,outofanyone,he’dknowhowtospotthem,’Sarahputsin.

‘True,’Ireplyhalfheartedly,stillnottrustingthisso-calledgoodMogadorian,eventhoughhe’sdonenothingbuthelpussinceshowingupinChicago.Evennow,withhimandMalcolmsettingupournewlypurchasedelectronicsonthefactoryfloorbelow,Ifeelavaguesenseofuneaseathavingoneofthemsoclose.Ipushitdown.‘Let’sgo.’WefollowSamdownarustyspiralstaircaseandontothefloorofthefactoryproper.Theplace

must’vebeencloseddowninahurrybecausetherearestillracksofmusty,eighties-stylemen’ssuitspushedupagainstthewallsandhalf-fullboxesofraincoatsabandonedonconveyorbelts.AChimæraingoldenretrieverformthatSarahinsistedwecallBiscuittumblesintoourpath,herteeth

clenchedaroundtherippedsleeveofasuit,lockedinatug-of-warwithDust,thegrayhusky.AnotherChimæra,Gamera,whichMalcolmnamedaftersomeoldmoviemonster,trundlesaftertheothersbuthastroublekeepingupinhissnappingturtleform.ThetwoothernewChimærae–ahawkwedubbedRegalandascrawnyraccoonwenamedBandit–watchthegamefromoneoftheinoperativeconveyorbelts.It’sarelieftoseethemplaying.TheChimæraeweren’tinthebestshapewhenAdamliberatedthem

fromMogadorianexperimentation,andtheystillweren’tdoingsohotwhenhebroughtthemtoChicago.Itwasslowgoing,butIwasabletousemyhealingLegacytofixthemup.Therewassomethinginsideofthem,somethingMogadorian,thatactuallyfeltlikeitwaspushingbackagainstmypowers.ItevenmademyLumenflareupbriefly,somethingthat’sneverhappenedwhenusingmyhealing.Ultimately,though,whatevertheMogsdidwaswashedawaybymyLegacy.I’dneveractuallyusedmyhealingLegacyonaChimærabeforethatnight.Luckily,itworked,because

therewasoneChimærainevenworseconditionthanallournewfriends.‘HaveyouseenBK?’IaskSam,scanningtheroomforhim.IhadfoundhimontheroofoftheJohn

HancockCenter,shreddedbyMogadorianblasterfireandbarelyclingingtolife.Iusedmyhealingonhim,prayingthatitwouldwork.Eventhoughhe’sbetternow,I’vestillbeenkeepinganextra-closeeyeonhim,probablybecausethefatesofsomanyofmyotherfriendsareunknown.‘There,’Samreplies,pointing.Atoneendoftheroom,againstawallcoveredwithcompetinggraffititags,areatrioofindustrial-size

laundrybinsoverflowingwithpilesofkhakipants.It’satthesummitofoneofthesepilesthatBernieKosarrests,theanticsofBiscuitandDustseemingtotirehimout.Despitemyhealing,he’sstillweakfromthefightinChicago–andalsomissingajaggedchunkfromoneofhisears–butwithmyanimaltelepathyIcansenseasortofcontentednesscomingoffhimashewatchestheotherChimærae.WhenBKseesusenter,histailthumpsfreshdustcloudsfromthepileofoldclothes.SamsetsdownStanley,andthecattrundlesovertotheclothespileswithBK,settlingintowhatIguess

isthedesignatedChimæranappingzone.‘NeverthoughtI’dhavemyownChimæra,’Samsays,‘muchlessahalfdozenofthem.’‘AndIneverthoughtI’dbeworkingwithoneofthem,’Ireply,mygazesettlingonAdam.Atthecenterofthefactoryfloor,steelworkbenchesareboltedintothefloor.Sam’sdad,Malcolm,and

AdamaresettingupthecomputerequipmenttheyjustpurchasedbytradinginsomeofmywaningsupplyofLoricgemstones.Becausethere’snoelectricityrunningtothisoldfactory,theyhadtobuysomesmallbattery-poweredgeneratorsforthetriooflaptopsandmobilehotspot.IwatchAdamhookinguponeofthelaptopbatteries–hisdeathlypaleskin,lankblackhairandangularfeaturesmakinghimslightlymorehumanlookingthantheusualMogadorians–andremindmyselfthathe’sonourside.SamandMalcolm

seemtotrusthim;plushe’sgotaLegacy,thepowertocreateshockwaves,whichheinheritedfromOne.IfIhadn’tseenhimusetheLegacywithmyowneyes,I’mnotsureI’deventhinkitwaspossible.Partofmewantstobelieve,maybeevenneedstobelieve,thataMogwouldn’tbeabletojuststealaLegacy,thathehastobeworthy.Thatithappenedforareason.‘Lookatitthisway,’Samsaysquietlyaswewalkovertotheothers.‘Humans,Loric,Mogs…we’ve

gotlikethefirstmeetingoftheIntergalacticUnitedNationsoverhere.It’shistoric.’IsnortandstepuptothelaptopAdamhasjustfinishedconnecting.Hetakesonelookatmeandmust

detectsomething–maybeI’mnotdoingsuchagoodjobconcealingmyconflictedfeelings–becausehelooksdownandstepsaside,makingroomformeandmovingontothenextlaptop.Hekeepshiseyesfixedonthescreen,typingquickly.‘How’ditgo?’Iask.‘Wegotmostofthegearweneed,’Malcolmrepliesashefiddleswithawirelessrouter.Evenwithhis

beardstartingtogetmajorlyunkempt,MalcolmlookshealthierthanhedidwhenIfirstmethim.‘Anythinghappenhere?’‘Nothing,’Isay,shakingmyhead.‘It’dtakeamiraclefortheGardeinFloridatotrackusdown.And

Ella…Ikeephopinghervoicewillpopintomyheadandtellmewheretheytookher,butshehasn’tmadecontact.’‘Atleastwe’llknowwheretheothersareoncethetabletishookedup,’Sarahsays.‘Withthegearwebought,IthinkwecanrunahackontheJohnHancockbuilding’sphonenetwork,’

Malcolmsuggests.‘Thatway,iftheytrycallinginfromtheroad,wecaninterceptthecall.’‘Goodidea,’Ireply,pluggingthewhitelocatortabletintothelaptopandwaitingforittobootup.Malcolmpusheshisglassesuphisnoseandclearshisthroat.‘ItwasAdam’sidea,actually.’‘Oh,’Ireply,keepingmyvoiceneutral.‘Thatisagoodidea,’Sarahchimesin.ShescootsinnexttoMalcolmandstartsworkingonthethird

laptop,givingmealooklikeIshouldtrysayingsomethingnicetoAdam.WhenIdon’t,anawkwardsilencesettlesoverthegroup.TherehavebeenalotofthosesinceweleftChicago.Beforeitcangettooweird,thetabletbootsup.Sampeersovermyshoulder.‘They’restillinFlorida,’hesays.There’sasolitarydotformeonthetablet,pulsingontheEastCoast,andthenmilestothesoutharethe

fourdotsforthesurvivingGarde.Threeofthedotsarebunchedtogether,basicallyoverlappingintooneglowingblob,whileafourthisashortdistanceaway.Immediately,scenariosforthatisolateddotbegincyclingthroughmyhead.Wasoneofourfriendscaptured?Didtheyhavetoseparateaftertheywereattacked?IsthatFiveapartfromtheothers?Doesthatprovehe’satraitor,likeinmyvision?I’mdistractedfromthesethoughtsbythefifthdotonthetablet,literallyanoceanawayfromtheothers.

ThisonehoversoverthePacific,itsglowalittledimmerthantherest.‘ThatmustbeElla,’Isay,mybrowfurrowing.‘Buthow–’BeforeIcanfinishmyquestion,Ella’sdotflickersanddisappears.Asecondlater,beforeIcaneven

processmypanic,Ellablinksbacktolife,nowhoveringoverAustralia.‘Whatthehell?’Samasks,staringovermyshoulder.‘It’smovingsofast,’Isay.‘Maybethey’retransportinghersomewhere.’

Thedotdisappearsagain,thenreappearsatanimpossiblepointoverAntarctica,nearlyofftheedgeofthetablet’sscreen.Forthenextfewseconds,itflickersinandout,bouncingacrossthemap.Ismackthesideofthetabletwithmypalmoutoffrustration.‘They’rescramblingthesignalsomehow,’Isay.‘We’vegotnochanceoffindingherwhileit’slike

this.’SampointstotheothersclusteredaroundFlorida.‘IftheyweregoingtohurtElla,wouldn’ttheyhave

doneitalready?’‘SetrákusRawantsher,’Sarahputsin,lookingatme.Ihadtoldthemallaboutthatnightmarescenein

D.C.andEllarulingalongsideSetrákusRa.It’sstillhardforanyofustobelieve,butatleastitgivesusoneadvantage.WeknowwhatSetrákusRawants.‘Ihatetoleaveheroutthere,’Isaygrimly.‘ButIdon’tthinkhe’llharmher.Notyet,anyway.’‘Atleastweknowwheretheothersare,’Saminsists.‘Weneedtogetdowntherebeforesomeoneelse

…’‘Sam’sright,’Idecide,drivenbythesinkingfeelingthatoneofthosedotscouldblinkoutatany

moment.‘Theymightneedourhelp.’‘Ithinkthatwouldbeamistake,’Adamsays.Hisvoiceistentative,butthere’sstillenoughMog

harshnesstomakemyfistsclenchfromreflex.I’mnotusedtohavingoneofthemaround.Iturntostareathim.‘Whatdidyousay?’‘Amistake,’herepeats.‘It’spredictable,John.It’sareactionarymove.Thisiswhymypeoplealways

catchuptoyou.’Icanfeelmyjawworking,tryingtoformaresponse,butmostlyIjustwanttopunchhisfacein.I’m

abouttotakeastepforwardwhenSamputsahandonmyshoulder.‘Easy,’Samsaysquietly.‘Youwantustojustsitaroundhereanddonothing?’IaskAdam,tryingtokeepmycool.IknowI

shouldhearhimout,butthiswholesituationhasmefeelingcornered.AndnowI’msupposedtotakeadvicefromaguywhosespecieshasbeenhuntingmeformyentirelife?‘Ofcoursenot,’Adamreplies,lookingupatmewiththosecoal-coloredMogadorianeyes.‘Thenwhat?’Isnap.‘Givemeonegoodreasonweshouldn’tgotoFlorida.’‘I’llgiveyoutwo,’Adamreplies.‘First,iftherestoftheGardeareindangerorcapturedasyou

suspect,thentheircontinuedsurvivalhingesonluringyouin.Theyareusefulonlyasbait.’‘You’resayingitcouldbeatrap,’Ireplythroughgrittedteeth.‘Iftheyarecaptured,thenyes,ofcourseitisatrap.Ontheotherhand,iftheyarefree,whatgoodwill

yourheroicinterventiondo?Aren’ttheyhighlytrainedandperfectlycapableofgettingthemselvesoutoftrouble?’WhatcanIsaytothat?No?SixandNine,prettymuchthetwomostbadasspeopleIknow,aren’t

capableofescapingfromFloridaandtrackingusdown?Butwhatifthey’redowntherewaitingforustocomegetthem?Ishakemyhead,stillfeelinglikeIwanttothrottleAdam.‘Sowhat’rewesupposedtodointhemeantime?’Iaskhim.‘Justsitaroundandwaitforthem?’‘Wecan’tdothat,’Samjumpsin.‘Wecan’tjustleavethem.Theyhavenowayoffindingus.’AdamspinshislaptoparoundsoIcanseethescreen.

‘BetweenkidnappingEllaandkillingaGardeinFlorida,mypeoplewillbelievetheyhaveyouontherunonceagain.Theywon’tbeexpectingacounterstrike.’Onthelaptop,Adamhaspulledupsatellitephotographsofanexpanseofsuburbia.Itlookslikea

totallygeneric,wealthycommunity.WhenIlookalittlecloser,Inoticeaparanoidnumberofsecuritycamerasmountedontheimposinglytallstonewallthatencirclestheentireproperty.‘ThisisAshwoodEstates,justoutsideofWashington,D.C.,’Adamcontinues.‘It’shometothetop-

rankingMogadoriansassignedtoNorthAmerica.WiththePlumIslandfacilitywreckedandtheChimæraerecovered,Ithinkweshouldfocusourattackhere.’‘WhataboutthemountainbaseinWestVirginia?’Iask.Adamshakeshishead.‘Thatisamilitaryinstallationonly,keptoutofsightsomypeople’sforcescan

massthere.We’dhaveahardtimetakingitdownnow.Andanyway,therealpower,thetruebornMogadorians,theleaders–theyresideinAshwood.’Malcolmclearshisthroat.‘Itriedtorelayeverythingyoutoldmeabouttrueborns,Adam.Butmaybe

it’dbebetterifyouexplainedit?’Adamlooksaroundatus,abitapprehensive.‘Idon’tknowwheretobegin.’‘YoucanskipthewholeMogadorianbirds-and-the-beesspeech,’Samsays,andIstifleasmile.‘Ithastodowiththebloodlines,right?’Isay,promptinghim.‘Yeah.Truebornarethepurebloodlines.MogadoriansbornofMogadorianparents.Likeme,’Adam

says,slouchingabit.Histruebornstatusisnogreatpointofpride.‘Theothers,thevatborn,arethesoldiersyou’vefoughtmostoften.Theyarenotbornbutgrown,thankstothescienceofSetrákusRa.’‘Isthatwhytheydisintegrate?’Sarahasks.‘Becausethey’renot,like,realMogs?’‘They’rebredforcombat,notforburying,’Adamreplies.‘Doesn’tsoundlikemuchofalife,’Isay.‘YouMogsworshipSetrákusRaforthat?’‘AsthehistoriescontainedintheGreatBooktellit,ourpeopleweredyingoffbeforetheso-called

BelovedLeadercamealong.ThevatbornandSetrákusRa’sgeneticresearchsavedourspecies.’Adampauses,asneerformingashethinksthisover.‘Ofcourse,SetrákusRaalsowrotetheGreatBook,sowhoknows.’‘Fascinating,’Malcolmsays.‘Yeah,definitelymoreaboutMogadorianbreedingthanIeverwantedtoknow,’Isay,turningbackto

thelaptop.‘Ifthisplaceisfilledwithhigh-rankingMogs,won’titbeheavilyguarded?’‘Therewillbeguards,yes,butnotenoughtomakeadifference,’hereplies.‘Youneedtounderstand,

mypeoplefeelsafehere.Theyareusedtobeingthehunters,notthehunted.’‘Sowhat?’Icontinue.‘WekillafewtruebornMogsandthat’sit?Whatdifferencedoesthatmake?’‘Anylossesintruebornleadershipwillhavewide-rangingimpactsonMogadorianoperations.The

vatbornarenotparticularlygoodatdirectingthemselves.’AdamtraceshisfingeracrosstheimmaculatelykeptlawnsofAshwoodEstates.‘Plus,therearetunnelsbeneaththesehouses.’Malcolmwalksaroundtooursideofthetable,crossinghisarmsashelooksattheimages.‘Ithought

youdestroyedthosetunnels,Adam.’‘Idamagedthem,yes,’Adamreplies.‘Buttheystretchfarbeyondtheroomswewerein.EvenIamnot

entirelysurewhatwemightfinddownthere.’SamlooksfromAdamtohisfather.‘Isthatwhere…?’

‘It’swheretheyheldme,’Malcolmanswers.‘Wheretheytookmymemories.AndwhereAdamrescuedme.’‘It’spossiblewecouldfindawaytorestoreyourmemories,’Adamsays,soundingeagertohelp

Malcolm.‘Iftheequipmentwasn’ttoobadlydamaged.’WhatAdam’ssayingmakessense,butIcan’tquitebringmyselftoadmitit.I’vespentmyentirelife

runningandhidingfromMogadorians,fightingthem,killingthem.They’vetakeneverythingfromme.Andnow,hereIam,makingbattleplansalongsideone.Itjustdoesn’tfeelright.Nottomentionwe’retalkingaboutafullfrontalassaultonaMogadoriancompoundwithnoneoftheotherGardebackingmeup.Asifoncue,DustwandersoverandsitsdownnexttoAdam’sfeet.Hereachesdowntoabsently

scratchbehinditsears.Iftheanimalstrusthim,shouldn’tIbeableto?‘Whateverwefindinthosetunnels,’Adamcontinues,probablyknowingI’mnotsold,‘Iamcertainit

willprovidevaluableinsightintotheirplans.Ifyourfriendsarecapturedorbeingtracked,wewillknowforsureonceI’veaccessedtheMogadoriansystems.’‘Whatifoneofthemdieswhilewe’reonthismissionofyours?’Samasks,hisvoicecrackingalittleat

thethought.‘Whatiftheydiebecausewedidn’trescuethemwhenwehadthechance?’Adampauses,thinkingthisover.‘Iknowthismustbehardforyou,’hesays,lookingbetweenmeand

Sam.‘Iadmit,it’sacalculatedrisk.’‘Calculatedrisk,’Irepeat.‘Thoseareourfriendsyou’retalkingabout.’‘Yeah,’Adamreplies.‘AndI’mtryingtohelpkeepthemalive.’Logically,IknowAdamreallyistryingtohelp.ButI’mstressedandI’vebeenbroughtupnottotrust

hiskind.BeforeIknowwhatI’mdoing,Itakeasteptowardshimandjabafingerintohischest.‘Thisbetterbeworthit,’Itellhim.‘AndifsomethinghappensinFlorida…’‘I’lltakeresponsibility,’hereplies.‘It’llbeonme.IfI’mwrong,John,youcandustme.’‘Ifyou’rewrong,Iprobablywon’tneedto,’Isay,staringintohiseyes.Adamdoesn’tlookaway.Sarahloudlywhistlesbetweenherfingers,gettingeveryone’sattention.‘Ifwecanputthewholemachoposturingthingonholdforasecond,Ithinkyouguysshouldtakealook

atthis.’IsteparoundAdam,tellingmyselftocooldown,andlookoverSarah’sshoulderatthewebsiteshe’s

pulledup.‘IwaslookingupnewsstoriesaboutChicagoandthispoppedup,’sheexplains.It’saprettyslick-lookingwebsite,exceptfortheall-capsheadlinesandsheeramountofflyingsaucer

GIFsclutteringthesidebars.ThestorieslistedunderMostPopular,allofthelinksinaneongreenthatIguessissupposedtolookalien,include:MOGADORIANSUNDERMININGGOVERNMENTandEARTH’SLORICPROTECTORSDRIVENINTOHIDING.ThepageSarahcurrentlyhasopenfeaturesapictureoftheburningJohnHancockCenteralongwiththeheadlineMOGATTACKINCHICAGO:ISTHISTHEZEROHOUR?ThewebsiteiscalledTheyWalkAmongUs.‘Ohjeez,’Samgroans,joiningthehuddlearoundSarah’scomputer.‘Notthesecreeps.’‘Whatisthis?’IaskSarah,squintingatthestoryonthescreen.‘Thesedudesusedtobestrictlyintotheold-schoolblack-and-whitezinestyle,’Samsays.‘Now

they’reontheinternet?Ican’tdecideifthatmakesthembetterorworse.’

‘TheMogskilledthem,’Ipointout.‘Howdoesthisevenexistinanyform?’‘Iguessthere’saneweditor,’Sarahsays.‘Checkthisout.’Sarahclicksintothewebsite’sarchives,goingbacktothefirststoryeverposted.Theheadlinereads

PARADISEHIGHSCHOOLATTACKSTARTOFALIENINVASION.Belowthatisagrainycell-phonepictureofthedestructionaroundourhighschool’sfootballfield.Iquicklyskimthearticle.Thelevelofdetailisastounding.It’slikewhoeverwrotethiswastherewithus.‘Who’sJollyRoger182?’Iask,lookingatthescreennamecreditedinthepost.Sarahlooksupatmewithanoddsmile,bewildermentmixingwithsomethinglikepride.‘You’regoingtothinkI’mcrazy,’shesays.‘What’saJollyRoger,anyway?’Samasks,thinkingoutloud.‘Thepirateflag?’‘Yeah,’Sarahreplies,nodding.‘LiketheParadiseHighPirates.Whoseoldquarterbackhappenstobe

oneoftheonlyotherpeopleoutsideourgrouptoknowwhatwentdownatthehighschool.’IwidenmyeyesatSarah.‘Noway.’‘Yesway,’shereplies.‘IthinkJollyRoger182isMarkJames.’

3

‘“TheMogadorians,alongwiththeircroniesfromthecorruptedbranchesofnationalsecurity,arebelievedtohavefoughtaprotractedbattleinNewMexicoagainsttheheroicGarde,”’Samreadsaloud.‘“MysourcesbelievetheMogadorianswereforcedtoretreataftertheirleadersustainedaninjury.ThewhereaboutsoftheGarderemainunknown.”’‘He’srightonthemoney,’Malcolmsays,turningtome.‘Butwhereishegettinghisinformation?’‘Noidea,’Ireply.‘Wedidn’texactlystayintouchafterParadise.’IleanoverSam’sshouldertocheckoutthenextstory.I’mbaffledbytheamountofinformationMark

James–orwhoeverthisis–haspostedtoTheyWalkAmongUs.TherearedetailsofourbattleatDulceBase,earlyspeculationabouttheattackinChicago,frighteningessaysaboutwhatMogslooklikeandwhatthey’recapableof,andpostsrallyinghumanityinsupportoftheLoric.TherearealsoarticlescoveringtopicsthatI’veneverconsidered,evenonesaboutwhichmembersoftheU.S.governmentareinleaguewiththeMogadorians.SamclicksthroughtoastorywhereMarkaccusesthesecretaryofdefense,amannamedBud

Sanderson,ofusinghispoliticalclouttopavethewayforaMogadorianinvasion.AnotherclickyieldsasecondarticleaboutSanderson,onewiththetabloid-friendlyheadlineCORRUPTS.O.D.USINGMOGADORIAN

GENETICTREATMENTS.ThestoryistiedtoanimageofSandersonfromfiveyearsagojuxtaposedwithoneofhimfromafewmonthsago.Inthefirst,Sandersonlookslikeahaggardmaninhislateseventies–hisfaceisage-spottedandhehasadoublechinandasteeppaunch.Inthesecond,he’slostweightandhasahealthyglowandafullheadofsilverhair.It’salmostasifhe’stime-traveled.Infact,Ibetmostpeoplewouldthinkthepicturewasahoax,likeit’saphotoofSandersonfromtwentyyearsagowithafaketimestamp.ButifyoutakeMarkathisword,something’sdefinitelychangedwiththesecretaryofdefense–somethingwaybiggerthandietandexercise,orevenplasticsurgery.Samshakeshishead,notbuyingit.‘HowwouldMarkpossiblyknowallthis?Imean,Sarah,youwent

outwithhim.Didheevenknowhowtoread?’‘Yes,Sam,’Sarahreplies,rollinghereyes.‘Markcouldread.’‘Buthewasnever,uh,journalisticallyinclined,washe?ThisislikeWikiLeaksoverhere.’‘Peopletendtochangewhentheyfindoutaliensarereal,’Sarahresponds.‘Itlookstomelikehe’s

beentryingtohelp.’‘Wedon’tknowforsurethatit’sMark,’Isay,frowning.IlookoveratAdam.He’sbeenquietsincewestartedexploringtheTheyWalkAmongUswebsite,

listeningtouswithahandonhischin,thoughtful.‘Couldthisbesomekindoftrap?’Iaskhim,figuringit’sbesttoconsulttheexpert.‘Ofcourse,’hesayswithouthesitation.‘Althoughifitis,it’sanelaborateone.And,evenforthesake

oftrappingyou,IfindithardtobelieveSetrákusRawouldadmittobeingdrivenofffromDulceBase.’‘Isittrue?’Malcolmasks.‘Whathe’swrittenaboutthesecretaryofdefense?’

‘Idon’tknow,’Adamreplies.‘Itverywellcouldbe.’‘I’mgoingtoemailhim,’Sarahannounces,openingupanewbrowsertab.‘Holdon,’Adamsaysquickly,abitmorepolitethanwhenheslammedmyideatotryrescuingthe

others.‘IfthisMarkpersonreallydoeshaveaccesstoallthishighlysecretintel–’Samchuckles.‘–mypeoplewillalmostcertainlybemonitoringhiscommunications,’Adamconcludes,raisingan

eyebrowatSam.HeturnsbacktoSarah.‘They’llalsodefinitelybemonitoringyouremail.’Sarahslowlyliftsherhandsawayfromthekeyboard.‘Can’tyoudoanythingaboutthat?’‘Iknowhowtheircyber-trackingsystemswork.ItwassomethingI…excelledatduringmytraining.I

couldwriteanencryptioncode,rerouteourIPaddressthroughserversindifferentcities.’Adamturnstome,likehewantspermission.‘They’dunraveliteventually.We’dhavetoleavethisplacewithintwenty-fourhourstobesafe.’‘Doit,’Itellhim.‘Betterthatwekeepmoving,anyway.’Adamimmediatelybeginstypingcommandsintohislaptop.Samrubshishandstogetherandleansover

Adam’sshoulder.‘Youshouldreroutethemtoasmanycrazyplacesaspossible.MakethemthinkSarah’sinRussiaorsomething.’Adamsmirks.‘Consideritdone.’IttakesAdamabouttwentyminutestowritesomecodethatwillrerouteourIPaddressthroughadozen

far-flunglocations.IthinkbacktotheelaboratecomputersystemHenrialwayshadsetupandtheevenmorecomplicatedgridthatSandorbuiltinChicago.Then,IimagineahundredMogadorians,justlikeAdam,hunchedoverkeyboards,stalkingus.IneverdoubtedourCêpanswerejustifiedintheirparanoia,butseeingAdamworkIfinallyrealizejusthownecessaryitwas.‘Whoa,’Sarahsayswhenshe’sfinallyabletoopenheremail.Thelistofboldfacedunreadmail

consistsentirelyofmessagesfromMarkJames.‘Itreallyishim.’‘OrtheMogshackedhisemail,’Samsuggests.‘Doubtful,’Adamreplies.‘Mypeoplearethorough,sure,butthisseemskindof…roundabout.’Iglanceovertheemailheadings–lotsofexclamationpointsandcapitalletters.Afewmonthsagothe

ideaofMarkJamesspammingmygirlfriendwould’vegottenundermyskin,butnowitseemslikeourrivalrywassomethingthathappenedtosomeoneelse,somethingfromanotherlife.‘Whenwasthelasttimeyoucheckedthis?’Iask.‘Weeksago?Idon’treallyremember,’Sarahreplies.‘I’vebeenalittlebusy.’SheopensthemostrecentmessagefromMarkandweallleanintoexaminethecontents.Sarah–Idon’tknowwhyIkeepsendingtheseemails.Partofmehopesthatyou’rereadingthem,usingthemtohelptheLoric,andcan’treplyforyourownsafety.Anotherpartofmeworriesthatyouaren’tevenoutthere,thatyou’regone.Irefusetobelievethatbut…Ineedtohearfromyou.IthoughtIhadaleadonyouinNewMexico.AllIfoundtherewasadesertedmilitarybase.Itlookedlikeamajorbattlewent

down.WaybiggerandnastierthanwhathappenedinParadise.Ihopeyouguysgotoutsafe.IhopelikehellI’mnottheonlyonelefttofighttheseassholes.Thatwouldsuck.Afriendofminesetupasafehouseforme.Wayoffthegrid.Aplacewherewecanworkonexposingthosepalefreakstothe

world.Ifyoucangetintouch,I’llfindawaytosendyouthecoordinates.We’reontosomethingbig.Somethinginternational.Idon’tevenknowwhattodowithit.Ifyou’rereadingthese,ifyou’restillincontactwithJohn,nowwouldbeareallygoodtimetoshowup.Ineedyourhelp.

–Mark

Sarahturnstome,hereyeswidewithsuddenpassion,facesetdeterminedly–I’veseenthatlookbefore,knowitwell.It’sthelookshegivesmerightbeforetellingmeshewantstodosomethingdangerous.Withoutherevensayinganything,IalreadyknowthatSarahwantstofindMarkJames.

Thedashboardclockreads7:45.We’vegotfifteenminutesuntilthebusleavesforAlabama.I’vegotfifteenminutesleftwithSarahHart.FifteenminuteswasabouthowlongittookAdamtoencryptSarah’semailagainstanyMogadorian

hackers.ShegotoffaquicknotetoMark,whorepliedalmostimmediatelywithanaddressforarestaurantinHuntsville.HetoldSarahhe’dwatchtheplaceforthenextfewdaysand,ifshereallywasSarahHart,he’dpickherupthereandspiritherofftohissecrethideout.AtleastMark’sbeingcareful,Itoldmyself.ThatgivesmeconfidencethatSarahwillbesafe.Afterthatbriefcommunication,Adamimmediatelywipedbothemailaccountsfromtheinternet.Now,hereweare.We’reparkedinfrontofthebusstationindowntownBaltimore,theplacebustlingwithactivityevenat

sunset.I’mbehindthewheel,Sarahinthepassengerseatnexttome.Wefitrightin,justtwoteenagerssittinginacrappycar,inthemiddleofsayinggood-bye.‘Ikeepwaitingforthepartwhereyoutrytalkingmeoutofgoing,’Sarahsays,hersmilealittlesad.

‘You’llsayit’stoodangerous,we’llargue,you’llloseandI’llendupgoinganyway.’‘Itisdangerous,’Ireply,turningsoIcanfaceSarah.‘AndIdon’twantyoutogo.’‘That’smorelikeit.’Shetakesmyhand,lacingherfingersthroughmine.Withmyotherhand,Irunmyfingersthroughher

hair,eventuallylettingthemrestgentlyonthebackofherneck.Ipullherinalittlecloser.‘Butit’snomoredangerousthanstayingherewithme,’Ifinish.‘That’stheoverprotectiveJohnIknowandlove,’shereplies.‘I’mnot–’Istarttoprotest,butcutmyselfoffwhenIseeherteasingsmile.‘Thesegood-byesnevergetanyeasier,dothey?’Ishakemyhead.‘No.Theyreallydon’t.’Wefallsilent,holdingtighttoeachother,watchingtheminutesonthedashboardclockslowlyblink

away.Backatthetextilefactory,wedidn’tneedtohaveahugediscussionaboutSarahgoingtofindMark

James.Everyoneseemedtoagreethatitwastherightthingtodo.IfMarkreallyhadmanagedtoacquiresomecrucialinformationontheMogadorians,andifhewasriskinghislifetohelpus,thenweneededtoreturnthefavor.ButtherestoftheGardewasstillmissing.AndAdam’splantostriketheMogadorianstrongholdinD.C.seemedmoreandmorelikethesmartestplay,anecessarystriketogatherintelligenceandshowthosebastardsthatwewerestillinthisfight.There’stoomuchhappeningforustoputallourresourcesintocatchingupwithMark.Sarahmadeiteasybyvolunteering.Ofcourse,sendingheroffaloneonapotentiallydangerousmissioninvolvinganex-boyfriendisn’t

exactlymyfavoriteidea.ButIcan’tshakethefeelingthatthegrimfutureIsawinElla’sdreamisracing

towardsus.Weneedallthehelpwecanget.Ifthere’seventhetiniestpossibilitythatsendingSarahtoAlabamacouldhelpuswinthiswar,it’sachancewehavetotake,myownselfishfeelingsbedamned.Andanyway,shewon’tbetotallyaloneonthetrip.Inthebackseat,BernieKosarstandswithhispawsbracedagainsttheclosedwindow,tailwagging

furiouslyashewatchesallthepeoplezippinginandoutofthebusstation.MyoldfriendseemedprettywipedoutafterthebattleinChicago,butsomeofhisenergycamebackwhenwegotontheroad.Once,inParadise,he’dbeenmyprotector.NowhewilldothesameforSarah.‘Idon’twantyoutothinkofmeasyourgirlfriendrightnow,’Sarahsaysoutoftheblue,totally

composed.Ileanbackabit,squintingather.‘That’sgoingtobehardforme.’‘Iwantyoutothinkofmeasasoldier,’shepersists.‘Asoldierinthiswarwho’sdoingwhatneedsto

bedone.Idon’tknowexactlywhatI’llfinddownsouth,butIhavethisweirdfeelingthatI’llbeabletohelpyoubetterfromthere.Attheveryleast,whenitcomestobattles,Iwon’tbearoundtoslowyoudown.’‘Youdon’tslowmedown,’Iinsist,butSarahwavesthisobjectionaway.‘It’sokay,John.Iwanttobewithyou.Iwanttoseethatyou’reokay,Iwanttoseeyouwin.Butnot

everysoldiercanbeonthefrontlines,youknow?Somedomoregoodwhenthey’reawayfromtheaction.’‘Sarah…’‘I’vegotmyphone,’shecontinues,motioningtothehastilypackedbackpackatherfeet.Insideitshe

hasadisposablecellphonethatMalcolmbought,alongwithafewchangesofclothesandahandgun.‘I’llcheckineveryeighthours.ButifIdon’t,youhavetokeepgoing,keepfighting.’Igetwhatshe’stryingtodo.Sarahdoesn’twantmerushingofftoAlabamaifshemissesoneofher

check-inphonecalls.Shewantsmyheadinthegame.Maybeshecansenseit,too–thatwe’renearingtheendofthisfight,oratleastcrossingapointofnoreturn.Sarahlooksintomyeyes.‘Thisisbiggerthanus,John.’‘Biggerthanus,’Irepeat,knowingit’sthetruthyetwantingtofightagainstit.Idon’twanttoloseher,

andIdon’twanttosaygood-bye.ButIhaveto.Ilookdownatourinterlinkedhandsandrememberhowsimplethingswere,atleastforalittlewhile,

backwhenIfirstmovedtoParadise.‘Youknow,thefirsttimemytelekinesisstartedworkingwasduringthatThanksgivingatyourhouse.’‘Younevertoldmethat,’Sarahreplies,aneyebrowraised,notsurewhyI’msuddenlygetting

sentimental.‘Didmymom’scookinginspireyou?’Ichuckle.‘Idon’tknow.Maybe.ThatwasthesamenightHenrihadhisrun-inwiththeoriginalThey

WalkAmongUscrew,alongwiththeMogadorianswhowereusingthem.Afterward,hewantedtoleaveParadise,andIrefused.Actually,Ididn’tjustrefuse,Iusedmytelekinesistopinhimtotheceiling.’‘Soundslikeyou,’Sarahsays,shakingherheadandsmiling.‘Stubborn.’‘ItoldhimIcouldn’tgobacktolivingontherun.NotafterParadise.Andyou.’‘Oh,John…’Sarahputsherforeheadagainstmychest.‘Iusedtothinkthiswarwasn’tworthfightingifIcouldn’tbebyyourside,’Itellher,gentlyliftingher

chin.‘Butnow,aftereverythingthat’shappened,aftereverythingI’veseen–IrealizethatI’mfightingfor

thefuture.Ourfuture.’Thedashboardclockloomsimpossiblylargeinthecornerofmyeye.Onlyfiveminutesleft.Ifocuson

Sarah,wishingIhadaLegacywhereIcouldfreezetime,orstorethismomentup.TearsslipdownSarah’scheeksandIwipethemawaywithmythumbs.Sheputsherhandovermine,squeezinghard,andIcantellshe’stryingtosteelherself.Shetakesadeep,shudderingbreathandfightsbackmoretears.‘Ihavetogo,John.’‘Itrustyou,’Iwhisperurgently.‘Idon’tjustmeantofindMark.Ifthingsgetbad,Itrustyoutostay

alive.Itrustyoutocomebacktomeinonepiece.’Sarahgrabsthefrontofmyshirt,pullsmein.Ifeelafewofhertearsagainstmycheek.Itrytolet

everythinggo–mymissingfriends,thewar,herleavingme–andjustliveforawhileinherkiss.IwishIcouldgobacktoParadisewithher,notasitisnow,butthewayitwasmonthsago–sneakilymakingoutinmytemporarybedroomwhileHenriwasgroceryshopping,stealinglooksduringclass,theeasy,normallife.Butthat’sover.We’renotkidsanymore.We’refighters–soldiers–andwehavetoactthepart.Sarahpullsawayfrommeand,inonefluidmotion,notwantingtodragthispainfulmomentoutany

longer,sheopensthedoorandhopsoutofthevan.Sheshouldersherbackpackandwhistles.‘Comeon,BernieKosar!’BKclambersintothefrontseat,headcockedatme,asifwonderingwhyI’mnotgettingoutofthevan,

too.Iscratchhimbehindhisgoodearandheletsoutalittlewhine.Keephersafe,Itellhimtelepathically.BernieKosarputsbothhisfrontpawsonmylegandsloppilylicksthesideofmyface.Sarahlaughs.‘Somanygood-byekisses,’shesaysasBKjumpsdownfromthevan.Sarahclipsonhisleash.‘Thisisn’tgood-bye,’Isay.‘Notreally.’‘You’reright,’Sarahreplies,hersmilegettingshaky,anoteofuncertaintycreepingintohervoice.‘I’ll

seeyousoon,JohnSmith.Staysafe.’‘Seeyousoon.Iloveyou,SarahHart.’‘Iloveyou,too.’Sarahturnsaway,hurryingtowardstheslidingdoorsofthebusstation,BernieKosartrottingalongat

herheels.Shelooksbackatmeonlyonce,rightbeforeshedisappearsthroughthedoors,andIwave.Then,she’sgone–intothebusstationandeventuallyofftosomesecretlocationinAlabama,searchingforawaytohelpuswinthiswar.Ihavetostopmyselffromrunningafterher,soIclutchthesteeringwheeluntilmyknucklesarewhite.

Toowhite–myLumenkicksinunexpectedly,myhandsglowing.Ihaven’tlostcontrolofthatsince…well,sincebackinParadise.Itakeadeepbreathandcalmmyselfdown,glancingaround,makingsurenooneoutsidethebusstationnoticed.Iturnthekeyintheignition,feelthevanrumbletolifeandpullawayfromthebusstation.Imissher.Ialreadymissher.IheadbacktowardsoneofBaltimore’srougherneighborhoods,whereSam,MalcolmandAdamare

waitingforme,planninganassault.IknowwhereI’mgoingandwhatI’mdoing,butIstillfeeladrift.IremembermybriefscufflewithAdaminthedestroyedJohnHancockpenthouse,howIalmostfelloutthewindow.Thatfeelingofemptinessbehindme,ofteeteringrightnexttotheedge,that’showIfeelnow.

ButthenIimagineSarah’shandspullingmeawayfromthatemptyspace.Iimaginewhatitwillbelikewhenwemeetagain,whatitwillbelikewithSetrákusRavanquishedandtheMogadoriansbeatenbackintothecoldemptinessofspace.IimaginethefutureandIsmilegrimly.There’sonlyonewaytomakethathappen.It’stimetofight.

4

Wehikethroughthedarkness,downamuddyroadcarvedoutoftheswampland,therhythmicsuckingnoisesfromourwaterloggedsneakersandtheincessantchirpingofbugstheonlysounds.Wepassbyasolitarywoodenpole,slantedandclosetobeingtotallyuprooted,thestreetlightout,powerlinessaggingundertheovergrowntrees,disappearingintothem.It’sawelcomesignofsocietyaftertwodaysspentintheswamps,hardlysleeping,turninginvisibleattheslightestnoise,ploddingourwaythroughmuck.ItwasFivewholedusintotheswampland.Heknewtheway,ofcourse.Itwashisambush.Wedidn’t

haveaneasytimefindingourwayout.It’snotlikewecould’vegonebacktothecarwedrovedownhere,anyway.TheMogswoulddefinitelybewatchingthat.Afewstepsahead,Nineslapsthebackofhisneck,squashingamosquito.Atthenoise,Marina

flinches,andthefieldofcoldshe’sbeengivingoffsincethefightwithFivemomentarilyintensifies.I’mnotsureifMarina’shavingtroublegettingcontrolofhernewLegacyorifshe’sintentionallycoolingtheairaroundus.ConsideringhowhumidtheFloridaswampshavebeen,Iguessithasn’tbeensobadtrekkingaroundwithaportableairconditioner.‘Youallright?’Iaskherquietly,notwantingNinetooverhearandyetknowingthat’simpossiblewith

hisheightenedhearing.Shehasn’tspokentoNinesinceEightwaskilled,hasbarelysaidanythingtome.Marinalooksoveratme,butinthedarkIcan’tgetareadonher.‘Whatdoyouthink,Six?’sheasks.Isqueezeherarmandfindherskincooltothetouch.‘We’llgetthem,’Itellher.I’mnotmuchfortheseleader-stylespeeches–that’swhatJohndoes–soI

keepitblunt.‘We’llkillthemall.Hewon’thavediedinvain.’‘Heshouldn’thavediedatall,’shereplies.‘Weshouldn’thavelefthimoutthere.Nowtheyhavehim,

doingLordknowswhattohisbody.’‘Wedidn’thaveachoice,’Icounter,knowingit’strue.Afterthebeatingweenduredatthehandsof

Five,wewereinnoshapetofightoffabattalionofMogadoriansbackedupbyoneoftheirships.Marinashakesherheadandfallssilent.‘Youknow,IusedtoalwayswantSandortotakemecamping,’Ninebuttsinoutofnowhere,lookingat

usoverhisshoulder.‘Ihatedlivinginthatcushy-asspenthouse.Butman,afterthis?Isortofmissit.’MarinaandIdon’trespond.That’sthewayNine’sbeentalkingsinceourbattlewithFive–these

forcedanecdotesaboutnothing,weirdlyupbeat,likenothingserioushappenedouthere.Whenhewasn’trambling,Ninemadeitahabittohikeaheadofus,usinghisspeedtoputsomedistancebetweenus.Whenwecaughtup,he’dhavealreadycaughtsomeanimal,usuallysnake,andbecookingitoverasmallfirehebuiltonararedrypatchofland.It’slikehewantedtopretendwewerejustonsomefuncampingtrip.I’mnotsqueamish;I’deatwhateverNinecaught.Marinaneverdid,though.Idon’tthinktheroastedswampcreaturesbotheredhersomuchasthefactitwasNinedoingthehunting.Shemustberunningonemptybynow,evenmoresothanmeandNine.

Afteranothermile,Inoticetheroadgettingalittlemorepackeddownandwelltraveled.Icanseelightupahead.Soon,thenonstopbuzzingofthelocalinsectlifegiveswaytosomethingequallyannoying.Countrymusic.Iwouldn’texactlycallthisplaceatown.I’msureitdoesn’tshowuponeventhemostdetailedmap.It

looksmorelikeacampgroundthatpeopleforgottoleave.Ormaybethisisjustaplacewherethelocalhunterscometobroaroundandescapetheirwives,Ithink,noticinganoverpopulationofpickuptrucksinthenearbygravelparkinglot.Thereareacoupledozencrudehutsscatteredthroughoutthisclearedstretchofswampcoast,allof

themprettymuchindistinguishablefromanold-schoolouthouse.Thehutsbasicallyconsistofsomepiecesofplywoodhastilynailedtogether,andtheylooklikeastrongbreezecouldknockthemover.Iguesswhenyou’rebuildingattheedgeofaFloridaswamp,there’snopointinputtingtoomucheffortin.Hungbetweenthehuts,lightingthisgrimlittlevista,arestringsofblinkingChristmaslightsandafewgas-poweredlanterns.Beyondthehuts,wherethesolidgroundsinksbackintotheswamp,there’saricketydockwithafewtied-uppontoonboats.Thesourceofthemusic–thecenterofthis‘town’–andtheonlysolidstructurebuilthereisTrapper’s,

asleezy-lookingbarhousedinalogcabin,thenameproudlydisplayedalongtheroofinsizzlinggreenneon.Arowofstuffedalligatorslinethebar’swoodenporch,theirjawsopenandsearching.Frominside,abovethemusic,Icanhearmenshoutingandpoolballscracking.‘Allright,’Ninesays,clappinghishands.‘Mykindofplace.’Theplacedoessortofremindmeoftheoff-the-gridspotsIusedtohitupwhenIwasaloneandonthe

run,placeswherethetight-knitandgrittylocalsmadeiteasytospotout-of-placeMogadorians.Evenso,asInoticeascrawnymiddle-agedguywithamulletandatanktopstaringatus,chain-smokingintheshadowsoftheporch,Iwonderifweshouldfindasaferplaceforustopokeourheadsin.ButNineisalreadyhalfwayupthecreakywoodensteps,Marinarightbehindhim,andsoIgoalong.

HopefullythisplacehasaphonesowecanatleastgetintouchwiththeothersbackinChicago.ChecktoseehowJohnandEllaaredoing–hopefullybetter,somehow,especiallynowthatweknowthecure-allFiveclaimedtohaveinhisChestwasabunchofcrap.Wehavetowarntheothersabouthim.Whoknowswhatinformationhemight’vebeenfeedingtotheMogadorians.WhenwepushthroughtheswingingsaloondoorsofTrapper’s,themusicdoesn’tscreechtoastoplike

inthemovies,buteveryoneinthebardoesturntheirheadstostareatus,almostinunison.Theplaceiscramped,notmuchtoitbesidesthebar,apooltableandsomebeat-uplawnfurniture.Itstinksofsweat,keroseneandalcohol.‘Hooboy,’someonesays,thenwhistlesloudly.IquicklyrealizethatMarinaandIaretheonlytwowomenhere.Hell,wemightbethefirstwomento

eversetfootinsideTrapper’s.Thedrunksstaringatusrangefromtremendouslyoverweighttoalarminglyskinny,allofthemdressedinhalfway-openplaidshirtsorsweat-stainedwifebeaters,someofthemflashinggap-toothedleers,otherssmoothingdownunkemptbeardsastheysizeusup.Oneguy,inarippedheavy-metalT-shirtandwithalowerlipstuffedwithchewingtobacco,breaks

awayfromthepooltabletosidleupnexttoMarina.‘Thismustbemyluckynight,’theguydrawls,‘becauseyougi–’

Therestofthepickuplineislosttotheagesbecausethemomentthisguytriestoslidehisarmaroundhershoulders,Marinaroughlysnatcheshiswrist.Icanhearthemoistureonhisarmcrackleasitflashfreezes,andasecondlatertheguyiscryingoutasMarinatwistshisarmbehindhisback.‘Donotcomenearme,’shesaysinameasuredtone,loudenoughsothewholebarknowsthatthe

warningdoesn’tgojustforthedudewhosearmshe’salmostbreaking.Now,theroomtrulydoesgoquiet.Inoticeoneguylethisbeerbottleslipdowninhishandsohe’s

holdingitbytheneck,allthebetterforswinging.Acoupleofburlyguysatabacktableexchangelooksandstandup,eyeballingus.Foramoment,Ithinkthewholebarmighttryrushingus.Thatwouldendbadlyforthem,andItrytocommunicatethatwithmystare.Nine,whowithhistangledblackhairanddirtyfacefitsrightinhere,crackshisknucklesandlollshisheadbackandforth,watchingthecrowd.Finally,oneoftheotherhicksatthepooltablehoots.‘Mike,youdumbass,sayexcusemeandgetover

here!It’syourshot!’‘Sorry,’MikewhimperstoMarina,hisarmturningbluewhereshe’stouchinghim.Sheshoveshim

awayandhegoestorejoinhisfriends,rubbinghisarmandtryingtoavoidlookingatus.Justlikethat,thetensionbreaks.Everyonegoesbacktowhattheyweredoing,whichprettymuch

meansguzzlingbeer.Ifigurescenessimilartothat–littlefights,staredowns,maybeastabbingortwo–musthappeninTrapper’sallthetime.Nobigdeal.LikeIfigured,thisisoneofthoseplaceswherenobodyasksanyquestions.‘Keepitundercontrol,’ItellMarinaaswewalktothebar.‘Iam,’shereplies.‘Didn’tlooklikeit.’Ninereachesthebarastepaheadofus,clearingaspacebetweentwohunchbackeddrunksand

slappingthechippedwoodensurface.Thebartender,wholooksjustatadmorealertandcleanerthanhiscustomers,probablybecausehe’s

wearinganapron,looksusoverwithwearydisapproval.‘YoushouldknowIkeepashotgununderthebar.Idon’twantanymoretrouble,’thebartenderwarns.Ninegrinsathim.‘It’scool,oldman.Yougotanythingtoeatbackthere?We’restarving.’‘Icouldfryyouupsomeburgers,’thebartenderrepliesafteramoment’sthought.‘It’snotpossummeatorsomething,isit?’Nineasks,thenholdsuphishands.‘Nevermind,Idon’t

wanttoknow.Threeofyourfinest,myman.’Ileanacrossthebarbeforethebartendercanretreatintothekitchen.‘Yougotaphone?’Hejerkshisthumbtowardsthebar’sdarkenedbackcorner,whereInoticeapayphonehanging

cockeyedfromthewall.‘Youcouldtrythat.Itworkspartofthetime.’‘Lookslikeeverythinginhereonlyworkspartofthetime,’Ninemutters,glancingattheTVmounted

abovethebar.Thereceptionisbadatthemoment,anewsreportswallowedupbystatic,thecrookedrabbitearsemergingfromthesetnotdoingtheirjob.Asthebartenderdisappearsintothekitchen,Marinasitsdownwithacoupleofstoolsbufferingher

fromNine.Sheavoidseyecontact,engrossedbythepoppingstaticontheTV.Meanwhile,Ninedrumshishandsonthebar,lookingaround,almostdaringoneofthedrunkstosaysomethingtohim.I’veneverfeltsomuchlikeababysitter.‘I’mgoingtotrycallingChicago,’Itellthem.

BeforeIcango,thescrawnychain-smokerfromoutsidesqueezesintothespaceatthebarnexttome.Heflashesasmirkthat’sprobablysupposedtobecharming,excepthe’smissingacoupleofteeth,anditdoesn’tquitereachhiseyes,whichlookwildanddesperate.‘Hey,honey,’hesays,obviouslyhavingmissedMarina’sdemonstrationaboutwhathappenswhen

drunkstryflirtingwithus.‘BuymeadrinkandI’lltellyoumystory.It’sadoozy.’Istareathim.‘Getawayfromme.’Thebartenderreturnsfromthekitchen,thesmellofcookingmeatcomingwithhimandmakingmy

stomachgrowl.Henoticesthescrawnyguynexttomeandimmediatelysnapshisfingersinhisface.‘ThoughtItoldyounottocomeinhereifyoudon’thaveanymoney,Dale,’thebartenderbarks.‘Goon,

now.’Ignoringthebartender,Dalefixesmewithonelastpleadinglook.SeeingthatIwon’tbebudged,he

slinksdownthebartobegoneoftheotherpatronsforadrink.Ishakemyheadandtakeadeepbreath;Ineedtogetoutofthisplace,IneedashowerandIneedtohitsomething.I’mtryingtokeepitcool,toberationalaboutthings,especiallyconsideringmytwocompanionsaren’tactingallthatstable,butI’mangry.Furious,really.Fiveknockedmeout,practicallytookmyheadcleanoff.InthattimeIwasunconscious,thewholeworldchanged.IknowIcouldn’thaveseenitcoming–Ineverexpectedoneofourownwouldturntraitor,evenafreaklikeFive.Still,Ican’thelpbutfeelitwould’vebeendifferentifI’dhadmyguardup.IfI’dbeenfastenoughtododgethatfirstpunch,Eightmightstillbealive.Ididn’tevengetachancetofight,anditmakesmefeelcheatedanduseless.Ibottlethatrageup,savingitforthenexttimeIseeaMogadorian.‘Six,’Marinasays,hervoicesuddenlyfragile,notsodistantandcold.‘Lookatthis.’TheTVoverthebarhasstartedcomingin,arollingbandofstaticdisruptingthepicturenowandthen,

butanewsbroadcastisotherwiseclearlyvisible.Onit,awindblownreporterstandsinfrontofalineofpolicetape,theJohnHancockCenterloominginthebackground.‘Whatthehell?’Isayundermybreath.Theroofshakesfromasuddenpealofthunderoutside.That

wasme,lettingsomeofthatrageslip.ThenewscastswitchesoverfromthereportertotapedfootageofthetopfloorsoftheJohnHancock

Centerinflames.‘Thiscan’tbehappening,’Marinasays,hereyeswide,lookingtomeforconfirmationthatthisisjust

somesickjoke.I’vebeentryingtobethestableone,butIcan’tfindanythingreassuringtosay.Thebartenderclickshistongue,watchingtheTV,too.‘Crazy,right?Freakin’terrorists.’Ilungeacrossthebarandgrabhimbythefrontofhisapronbeforehecaneventhinkofreachingforhis

hiddenshotgun.‘Whendidthishappen?’Isnap.‘Damn,girl,’thebartendersays,sensingsomethinginmyeyesthatmakeshimdecidenottostruggle.‘I

dunno.Like,twodaysago?It’sbeenalloverthenews.Wherethehellyoubeen?’‘Gettingourasseshandedtous,’Imutter,andshovehimaway.Itrytopullmyselftogether,tobeatback

thepanic.Nine’sbeencompletelysilentsincethereportcameon.WhenIlookoverathim,hisexpressioniscompletelyblank.Hestaresatthetelevision,watchingfootageofourpenthouseheadquartersandhisformerhomeburning,hismouthopenjustalittle,hisbodycompletelystill,almostrigid.Helookslikehe’sshuttingdown,asifhisbrainisn’tcapableofprocessingthislatestblow.

‘Nine…,’Istart,andmyvoicebreakshistrance.WithoutawordtomeorMarina,withoutsomuchasalook,hespinsaroundandheadsforthedoor.Oneofthepoolplayersisn’tquickenoughtogetoutofNine’swayandgetsshoulderedtothefloor.TrustingthatMarinawon’tfreezeanyonetodeathinmyabsence,IchaseafterNine.BythetimeI’mout

onTrapper’sporch,Ninehasalreadymadeitintotheparkinglot,stalkingintentlytowardsthegravelroad.‘Whereareyougoing?’Ishoutafterhim,hoppingtheporchrailingandjoggingtocatchup.‘Chicago,’heanswersbluntly.‘You’regoingtowalktoChicago?’Iaskhim.‘That’syourplan?’‘Goodpoint,’hereplies,notslowingdown.‘I’llstealacar.Youguyscomingorwhat?’‘Stopbeinganidiot,’Isnap,andwhenthatdoesn’tslowhimdown,Ireachoutwithmytelekinesisand

grabhim.Iturnhimaroundsohe’sfacingme,hisheelsdiggingdivotsinthegravelashetriestofight.‘Letmego,Six,’Ninegrowls.‘Letmegorightnow.’‘Stopandthinkforasecond,’Iinsist,realizingasIstartthatI’mnotjusttryingtoconvinceNinebut

alsomyself.Myfingernailsdigintomypalms–notsureifthat’sfromtheconcentrationrequiredtoholdNinewithmytelekinesisorfrommestrainingtokeepittogether.BackontheroofoftheJohnHancockCenter,I’dtoldSamthatwewereatwarandthattherewouldbecasualties.I’dthoughtIwaspreparedforthat,butlosingEight–andnowmaybelosingtheothersinChicago–no,Ican’thandlethat.Thatcan’thavebeenmylastconversationwithSam.Itcan’t.‘Theywouldn’tbeinChicagoanymore,’Icontinue.‘They’drun.That’swhatwe’ddo.Andweknow

Johnisstillaliveorwe’dhaveanotherscar.He’sgotthetablet;he’sgothisChest.They’vegotabetterchanceoffindingusthanwehaveoffindingthem.’‘Uh,lasttimeIsawJohnhewascomatose.He’snotupforfindinganyone.’‘Anexplodingbuildingtendstowakeapersonup,’Icounter.‘Hegotout.We’dknowifhedidn’t.’Afteramoment,Ninenodsreluctantly.‘Allright,allright,letmego.’Ilethimloosefrommytelekinetichold.Helooksawayimmediately,peeringdownthedarkenedroad,

hisbroadshouldersslumped.‘Ifeellikewe’rescrewed,Six,’Ninesays,hisvoicehoarse.‘Likewealreadylostandnoone’sgot

aroundtotellingus.’Iwalkupnexttohimandputmyhandonhisshoulder.OurbackstotheneonlightsofTrapper’s,Ican’t

reallyseeNine’sface,butI’mprettysurehiseyesarewetwithtears.‘Bullshit,’Ireply.‘Wedon’tlose.’‘TellthattoEight.’‘Nine,comeon–’Nineshovesbothhishandsthroughhistangledblackhair,almostlikehe’sgoingtopullsomeout.

Then,hebringshishandsdownoverhisface,rubbingit.Whenhedropsthembacktohissides,Icantellhe’stryingtobestoic.‘Itwasmyfault,too,’hecontinues.‘Igothimkilled.’‘That’snottrue.’‘Itis.FivekickedmyassandIcouldn’thelpmyself.Hadtokeeptalking,hadtoshowhim.Itshould’ve

beenme.Youknowit;Iknowit;Marinadamnsureknowsit.’

ItakemyhandoffNine’sshoulderandpunchhiminthejaw.‘Ow!Damnit!’heyelps,staggeringawayfrommeandnearlylosinghisfootinginthegravel.‘Whatthe

hell?’‘Isthatwhatyouwant?’Iask,steppingtowardshim,fistsclenchedandready.‘Wantmetokickyour

assalittlebit?PunishyouforwhathappenedtoEight?’Nineholdsuphishands.‘Cutitout,Six.’‘Itwasn’tyourfault,’Itellhimevenly,unclenchingmyfistsandthenjabbinghimhardinthechestwith

myfingers.‘FivekilledEight,notyou.AndtheMogadoriansaretoblame.Gotit?’‘Yeah,Igotit,’Ninereplies,althoughIcan’tbesureifI’veactuallygottenthroughtohimorifhejust

wantsmetostopassaultinghim.‘Good.Enoughwiththismopeycrap.Weneedtofigureoutwhatwe’redoingnext.’‘I’vealreadyfiguredthatout,’Marinachimesin.IwassointentonbeatingsomesenseintoNinethatIdidn’thearherapproaching.NeitherdidNine,

andIcantellbytheembarrassedlookonhisfacethathe’swonderinghowmuchMarinaoverheard.Atthemoment,Marinadoesn’tseemconcernedwithNine’smeltdown.She’stoobusydraggingalongthescrawnyguyfromthebar,Dale,theonewhowantedtotrademehisawesomestoryforabeer.Marinaleadshimacrosstheparkinglottowardsus,holdinghisearlikeacruelteacherescortingadelinquenttotheprincipal’soffice.InoticetheslightestcoatingoffrostformingonthesideofDale’sface.‘Marina,lethimgo,’Isay.Shecomplies,yankingDaleaheadofhersothathestumblesintothegravel,endinguponhisknees

rightinfrontofme.Igiveheralook–Iunderstandwheretheviolentstreakcomesfrom,butIdon’tlikeit.Marinaignoresme.‘Tellthemwhatyoutoldme,’MarinaordersDale.‘Youramazingstory.’Dalelooksatthethreeofus,eagertopleaseyetobviouslyterrified,probablythinkingwe’regoingto

killhimifhedoesn’tlisten.‘There’sanoldNASAbaseoutintheswamp.Gotdecommissionedintheeightieswhentheswamp

startedrising,’Dalebeginshaltingly,rubbingthesideofhisfacetowarmitup.‘Igoouttheresometimes,lookingforstuffIcansell.Normally,it’sdeserted.Butlastnight,man,IswearIsawUFOsfloatingaroundoutthere.Creepyguyswhodidn’tlookrightwithgunslikeIain’tneverseenguardingtheplace.Youain’twiththem,areyou?’‘No,’Ianswer.‘Wemostdefinitelyarenot.’‘Dale’svolunteeredtoshowustheway,’Marinasays,nudgingDalewiththetoeofhersneaker.He

swallowshardandthennodsenthusiastically.‘It’snotfar,’hesays.‘Couplehoursthroughtheswamp.’‘Wejustspenttwodayshikingoutofthatswamp,’Ninesays.‘Nowyouwanttogobackin?’‘Theyhavehim,’Marinahisses,pointingintothedark.‘YouheardMalcolm’sstoryaboutwhattheydid

toNumberOne.TheystoleherLegacies.’IgiveMarinaasharplook.Evenifmostofitdoesn’tmakeanysensetohim,Dale’sstilllistening

intentlytoourconversation.‘Shouldwereallybetalkingaboutthis?’Marinasnorts.‘You’reworriedaboutDale,Six?They’rekillingusandblowingupourfriends.

Keepingsecretsfromthisdrunkistheleastofourworries.’

Daleraiseshishand.‘IswearIwon’tsaynothingabout…aboutwhateveryou’retalkingabout.’‘WhataboutChicago?’Nineasks.‘Whatabouttheothers?’MarinaaffordsNineonlyaquickglare.Shekeepshereyesonmewhensheanswers.‘YouknowI’m

worriedaboutthem.Butwedon’tknowwhereJohnandtheothersare,Six.WeknowwhereEightis.AndIamnot,underanycircumstances,lettingthosesickbastardskeephim.’Thewayshesaysit,Iknowthere’snowaytoconvinceMarinaotherwise.Ifwedon’tgowithher,

she’llgobyherself.NotthatIevenconsidernotgoing.I’mspoilingforafightalmostasbadassheis.Andifthere’sachanceEight’sbodyisstilloutthere–intheclutchesofMogadoriansstilllingeringinFlorida,maybewithFive–thenwehavetoatleasttryrecoveringit.LeavenoGardebehind.‘Dale,’Isay,‘Ihopeyou’vegotaboatwecanborrow.’

5

Theslabofmeatinfrontofmelookslikeasoggypieceofuncookedfish,exceptit’slackinganytexturewhatsoever.Ipokeitwithmyforkandthepaleslabjiggleslikegelatin.Ormaybeit’sstillaliveandtryingtoescape,thoseunappetizingtremorsitsattempttoslowlywiggleoffmyplate.IfIlookaway,Iwonderifthethingwillpickupthepaceandtrycrawlingintooneoftheairvents.Iwanttovomit.‘Eat,’SetrákusRacommands.Hecalledhimselfmygrandfather.Thatthoughtmakesmemorenauseousthanthefood.Idon’twantto

believehim.Thiscouldbejustlikethevisions,somesickgamemeanttogetundermyskin.Butwhygothroughallthetrouble?Whybringmehere?Whynotjustkillme?SetrákusRasitsacrossfromme,allthewaydownattheoppositeendofaridiculouslylargebanquet

tablethatlooksasifitwascarvedfromlava.Hischairisthronelike,madeofthesamedarkstoneasthetable,butdefinitelynotlargeenoughtoaccommodatethemammothwarlordwefoughtatDulceBase.No,atsomepointwhenIwasn’twatching,SetrákusRashrunkdowntoamorereasonableeightfeettallsothathecouldcomfortablyhunchoverhisownplateofMogadoriancuisine.CouldhissizechangingbeaLegacy?Itworksreallysimilarlytomyabilitytoaltermyage.‘Youhavequestions,’SetrákusRarumbles,observingme.‘Whatareyou?’Iblurtout.Hecockshishead.‘Whatdoyoumean,child?’‘You’reaMogadorian,’Isay,tryingnottosoundtoofrantic.‘I’mLoric.Wecan’tberelated.’‘Ah,suchasimplisticidea.Human,Loric,Mogadorian–thesearejustwords,dearone.Labels.

Centuriesago,myexperimentsprovedthatourgeneticscouldbechanged.Theycouldbeaugmented.Weneedn’twaitforLorientogiftuswithLegacies.Wecouldtakethemasweneededthem,utilizingthemlikeanyotherresource.’‘Whydoyoukeepsayingwe?’Iask,myvoicecracking.‘You’renotoneofus.’SetrákusRasmilesthinly.‘IwasLoriconce.ThetenthElder.UntilthetimecamewhenIwascastout.

Then,Ibecamewhatyouseebeforeyou:thepowersofaGardecombinedwiththestrengthofaMogadorian.Anevolutionaryimprovement.’Mylegsstartshakingunderthetable.IhardlylistenafterhementionsthetenthElder.Irememberthat

fromCrayton’sletter.HesaidmyfatherwasobsessedwiththefactthatourfamilyoncehadanElder.CouldthathavebeenSetrákusRa?‘You’recrazy,’Isay.‘Andyou’realiar.’‘Iamneitherofthosethings,’hereplies,patiently.‘Iamarealist.Afuturist.Ialteredmygeneticsto

becomemorelikethem,sotheywouldacceptme.Inreturnfortheirfealty,Ihelpedtheirpopulationgrow.Ibroughtthembackfromthebrinkofextinction.JoiningtheMogadoriansgavemeachancetocontinuetheexperimentsthatsofrightenedtheLoric.Now,myworkisalmostfinished.Soon,alllifeinthe

universe–Mogadorian,human,evenwhat’sleftoftheLoric–willbeimprovedundermygentlyguidinghand.’‘Youdidn’timprovelifeonLorien,’Isnapback.‘Youkilledthemall.’‘Theyopposedprogress,’SetrákusRastates,likethedeathofawholeplanetisnothing.‘You’resick.’I’mnotafraidtotalkbacktohim.Iknowthathewon’thurtme–notyet,atleast.He’stoovainforthat,

wantstoobadlytoconvertanotherLorictothecause.Hewantsthingstobejustlikeinmynightmare.SinceIwokeuphere,he’shadateamoffemaleMogadoriansattendingtome.Theydressedmeinthislong,blackformalgown,verysimilartotheoneIwaswearinginmyvision.Ititcheslikecrazy,andIhavetokeeptuggingattheneckline.Istareopenlyathishideousface,hatingmyselffortryingtofindsomeresemblance.Hisheadis

bulbousandpale,coveredinintricateMogadoriantattoos;hiseyesareemptyandblack,justliketheMogs;histeetharefileddownandsharp.IfIlookhardenough,IcanalmostseetheLoriccasttohisfeatures,likecrumblingarchitectureburiedbeneaththepalenessandgrossMogartwork.SetrákusRalooksupfromhisfood,meetingmygaze.Facinghimhead-onstillgivesmeachillandI

havetoforcemyselfnottoturnaway.‘Eat,’hesaysagain.‘Youneedyourstrength.’Ihesitateforamoment,notsurehowfarIshouldpushmyinsubordination,butalsoreallynotwanting

tosampletheMogversionofsushi.Imakeapointofdroppingmyforksothatitclattersloudlyagainstthesideofmyplate.Itechoesinthehigh-ceilingedroom–SetrákusRa’sprivatediningarea–whichisonlyslightlymorefurnishedthantheothercoldroomsaboardtheAnubis.ThewallsarecoveredinpaintingsofMogadoriansbravelychargingintocombat.Theceilingisopen,providingabreathtakingviewofEarth,theplanetimperceptiblyrotatingbelowus.‘Donotpushme,girl,’SetrákusRagrowls.‘Doasyou’retold.’Ipushmyplateawayfromme.‘I’mnothungry.’Hestudiesme,acondescendinglookinhiseyes,likeaparenttryingtoshowabrattychildhowpatient

theycanbe.‘Icanputyoubacktosleepandfeedyouthroughatube,ifyou’dprefer.Perhapsyou’dbebetter

manneredwhenInextwokeyou,oncethewarwaswon,’hesays.‘Butthenwewouldn’tbeabletotalk.Youwouldn’tbeabletoenjoyyourgrandfather’svictoryfirsthand.Andyouwouldn’tbeabletoentertainyourfutilenotionsofescape.’Iswallowhard.Iknowwe’llbegoingdowntoEartheventually.SetrákusRaisn’tgoingtohavehis

warshipsorbitEarthforawhileandthenfloatpeacefullyaway.There’sgoingtobeaninvasion.I’vebeentellingmyselfthatoncewelandI’dhaveachancetorunforit.Obviously,SetrákusRaknowsthatI’dratherdiethanbehisprisonerorhisco-rulerorwhateverhe’sgotinmind.But,fromthesmuglookonhisface,hedoesn’tseemtocare.MaybehethinkshecanbrainwashmebeforewereturntoEarth.‘HowamIsupposedtoeatwithyournastyfacerightthere?’Iaskhim,hopingtoseehisself-satisfied

lookfalter.‘It’snotexactlyappetizing.’SetrákusRastaresatmelikehe’stryingtodecidewhethertoleapacrossthetableandthrottleme.

Afteramoment,hereachestothesideofhischairwherehiscaneispropped.Ornatelycarvedfroma

shimmeringgoldenmetalwithanominousblackeyeonthehandle,it’sthesamecaneIsawSetrákusRauseduringthefightatDulceBase.Ibracemyselfforanattack.‘TheEyeofThaloc,’SetrákusRasays,noticingmeeyeingthestaff.‘LikeEarth,itwillonedaybepart

ofyourInheritance.’BeforeIcanaskafollow-upquestion,theobsidianeyeinthecane’shandleflashes.Iflinch,butit

quicklybecomesclearthatI’mnotinanydanger.Instead,it’sSetrákusRawhobeginstoconvulse.BandsofredandpurplelightprojectfromtheEyeofThalocandscanoverhisbody.AlthoughIdon’texactlyknowhow,IcansenseenergymovingfromthecaneintoSetrákusRa.Hewrithesandcontortsashisskinpeelsawayfromhisbody,expandingoutwardandshifting,likeabubbleformingincandlewax.Whenit’sover,SetrákusRalookshuman.Actually,helookslikeamoviestar.He’sassumedtheform

ofahandsomeolderguyinhismid-forties,withimmaculatelyarrangedsalt-and-pepperhair,soulfulblueeyesandjustamodestamountofstubble.He’stall,butnolongerintimidatinglyso,andhe’swearingastylishbluesuitandpresseddressshirt,casuallyopenatthecollar.Ofhispreviousappearance,onlythethreeLoricpendantsremain,theircobaltjewelsmatchinghisshirt.‘Better?’heasks,hisusualscratchyvoicereplacedbythisman’ssmoothbaritone.‘What…?’Ilookathim,dumbfounded.‘Whoareyousupposedtobe?’‘Ichosethisformforthehumans,’heexplains.‘Ourresearchshowsthey’renaturallydrawntomiddle-

agedCaucasianmenofthesespecifications.Apparently,theyfindthemleaderlyandtrustworthy.’‘Why…’Itrytogathermythoughts.‘Whatdoyoumean,it’sforthehumans?’SetrákusRagesturestowardsmyplate.‘EatandIwillansweryourquestions.That’snotunreasonable,

isit?Ibelievethehumanscallitquidproquo.’Ilookdownatmyplateandthepaleblobwaitingformethere.IthinkaboutSixandNineandtherest

oftheGardeandwonderwhattheywoulddoinmysituation.ItseemslikeSetrákusRawantstospillhisguts,soIshouldprobablylethim.Maybewhilehe’stryingtosubtlywinmeover,he’llletslipthesecrettobeatingtheMogadorians.Ifthatevenexists.Eitherway,takingabiteoftheboiledslugonmyplateseemslikeasmallpricetopayifitmeansgatheringsomeimportantinformation.Ishouldn’tthinkofmysituationasbeingheldprisoner;it’smorelikeI’monamissionbehindenemylines.I’mafreakingspy.Ipickupmyknifeandfork,cutasmallsquareofftheedgeofthemeatandplopitintomymouth.

There’shardlyanytasteatall,it’salmostlikechewingawadded-upballofnotebookpaper.It’sthetexturethatreallybothersme–thewaythemeatstartstofizzandmeltassoonasittouchesmytongue,breakingdownsoquicklythatIdon’tevenreallychew.Ican’thelpbutthinkofthewayMogadoriansdisintegratewhenthey’rekilledandhavetostopmyselffromgagging.‘Itisn’twhatyou’reusedto,butit’sthebesttheAnubisisequippedtoproduce,’SetrákusRasays,

almostapologetically.‘Thefoodwillimproveoncewe’vetakenEarth.’Iignorehim,notreallycaringaboutthefinerpointsofMogadoriancuisine.‘Iate,nowanswermy

question.’Heinclineshishead,lookingcharmedbymydirectness.‘Ichosethisformbecausethehumanswill

finditcomforting.It’swhatIwillweartoacceptsurrenderoftheirplanet.’Igapeathim.‘They’renotgoingtosurrendertoyou.’

Hesmiles.‘Ofcoursetheywill.UnliketheLoric,whopointlesslyfightagainstimpossibleodds,thehumanshavearichhistoryofsubjugation.TheyappreciatedemonstrationsofsuperiorforceandwillgladlyacceptthetenetsofMogadorianProgress.Andthosewhodon’twillperish.’‘Mogadorian“Progress.”’Ispitthewords.‘Whatareyoueventalkingabout?You’regoingtomake

everyonelikeyou?Amon–’Idon’tfinishmyquestion.Iwasgoingtocallhimamonster,butthenIthoughtbacktomyvision.I

callouslyorderedSix’sexecutionrightinfrontofJohn,Samandacrowdofpeople.WhatifsomethinglikeSetrákusRaisalreadylurkinginsideme?‘Ibelievetherewasatleastonequestioninallthatvitriol,’SetrákusRasays.Hemaintainshis

infuriatingsmile,madeevenworsenowthathe’swearingahandsomehumanface,andgesturestowardsmyplate.Ishoveldownanotherbiteofthehorriblefood.Heclearshisthroatlikehe’sabouttogiveaspeech.‘Wesharethesameblood,granddaughter,whichiswhyyouwillbesparedthefateofthoseGardewho

foolishlyopposeme.Because,unlikethem,youarecapableofchange,’SetrákusRaexplains.‘ImayhavebeenLoriconce,butoverthecenturiesIhavemademyselfintosomethingbetter.OnceIcontroltheEarth,Iwillhavethepowernecessarytochangethelivesofbillions.AlltheyneeddoisacceptMogadorianProgress.Thenmyworkwillatlastbearfruit.’Isquintathim.‘Power?Fromwhere?’SetrákusRasmilesatme,touchingthependantsthathangaroundhisneck.‘Youwillseewhenthetime

isright,child.Then,youwillunderstand.’‘Ialreadyunderstand,’Ireply.‘Iunderstandthatyou’readisgusting,genocidalfreakwhogavehimself

abadMogadorianmakeover.’SetrákusRa’ssmileflickersandforamomentIwonderifI’vepushedmylucktoofar.Hesighsand

dragshisfingersacrosshisthroat,theskinofhisassumedformpartingtorevealthethickpurplescararoundhisthroat.‘PittacusLoregavemethiswhenhetriedtokillme,’hesays,hisvoicecoldandlevel.‘Iwasoneof

them,butheandtheotherElderscastmeout.BanishedmefromLorienbecauseofmyideas.’‘What?Didtheynotwanttoelectyousupremerulerorsomething?’SetrákusRapasseshishandacrosshisthroatonceagainandthescartissuedisappears.‘Theyalreadyhadaruler,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoicedroppinglower,asifthememorymakeshim

angry.‘Theyjustrefusedtoadmitit.’‘What’sthatsupposedtomean?’Thistime,hedoesn’tmakemetakeabiteoffood.He’sonarollnow.‘Mydear,theElderswereruled

bytheplanetitself.Lorienmadetheirchoicesforthem.WhowouldbeGardeandwhowouldbeCêpan.Theybelievedweshouldliveascaretakersandletnaturedetermineourfates.Idisagreed.TheLegaciesgrantedbyLorienaresimplyaresource,likeanythingelse.Wouldyouletthefishintheoceandictatewhoisfittoeatthem,orallowtheironinthegroundtodecidewhentobeforged?Ofcoursenot.’ItrytodigestallthisinformationandcompareitwithwhatIlearnedfromCraytonandhisletter.‘Youjustwantedtobeincontrol,’Isayafteramoment.‘Iwantedprogress,’hecounters.‘TheMogadoriansunderstood.UnliketheLoric,theywereapeople

readytobeelevated.’

‘You’reinsane,’Isay,pushingmyplateaway,donewiththiswholequestion-and-answerthing.‘Youareanunenlightenedchild,’hereplies,thatcondescendingpatienceback.‘Whenyourstudies

begin,whenyouseewhatIhaveaccomplishedforyouandwhattheLorichavedeniedyou,thenyouwillunderstand.Youwillcometoloveandrespectme.’Istandup,eventhoughIhavenowheretogo.SetrákusRahasbeengentlewithmesofar,butit’sbeen

madecrystalclearthatIcanonlymovearoundthesterilehallwaysoftheAnubisasheallowsit.Ifhewantstokeepmehereandforcemetofinishmydinner,hewill.ItwouldprobablybesmootherformeifIletallhisdistortionsandhalf-truthsgounchallenged,butIjustcan’tdoit.IthinkofNine,Sixandtheothers–Iknowthey’dneverholdtheirtonguewhenfacedwiththismonster.‘Youdestroyedourplanetandallyou’veeveraccomplishedishurtingpeople,’Isay,tryingtomimic

mygrandfather’smockingpatience.‘You’reamonster.Iwillnevernothateyou.’SetrákusRasighs,hishandsomefeaturescreasingbrieflyinconsternation.‘Angeristhelastrefugeoftheignorant,’hesays,holdinguphishand.‘Letmeshowyousomethingthey

deniedyou,granddaughter.’Acoilofbrightredenergybeginstoswirlaroundhisraisedhand.Nervous,Itakeastepbackwards.‘TheElderschosewhowouldescapefromLorien,andyouwerenotmeanttobeamongthem,’

SetrákusRacontinues.‘YouweredeniedtheadvantagesoftheotherGarde.Iwillrectifythat.’TheenergycoalescesintoacracklingorbinfrontofSetrákusRa’shand,hoversthereforamoment,

andthenzipstowardsme.Idivetothesideandtheorbalterscourse,makingabeelineformelikeithasamindofitsown.Ihitthecoldfloorinarollandtrytoavoidtheenergy,butit’stoofast.Itburnsthroughthehemofmydressandattachestomyankle.Iscream.Thepainisexcruciating;it’sasifalivewireisbeingdraggedacrossmyskin.Ipullmyleg

intowardsmeandtrytoslapatthespotwheretheorbhit,likeI’monfireandneedtopatouttheflames.That’swhenIfirstseeit.Thetwistingredenergyisgone,leavingbehindabandofjagged,pinkscar

tissuearoundmyankle.It’sreminiscentoftheangulartattoosI’veseenetchedondozensofMogadorianskulls,butthere’salsosomethingunsettlinglyfamiliaraboutit.It’sascarverysimilartotheonestheGardehavesignifyingtheLoriccharm.WhenIlookupatSetrákusRa,Ihavetobitemyliptochokeoffascream.Thebottomhalfofhispant

leghasburnedaway,anidenticalcharmfreshlybrandedintohisownankle.‘Now,’hesays,smilingbeatifically,‘justlikethem,wearelinked.’

6

Iguessinawaywe’vekidnappedDale.Hedoesn’tseemtomind.Thescrawnyredneckishavingagrandoldtimeloungingattherearofhisdecades-oldpontoonboat,pullingfromhisflaskofmoonshine,andbrazenlyoglingmeandMarina.Thisboatofhisisliterallyheldtogetherinplacesbyducttapeandshoelaces,andwecan’ttravelthroughthewindingswamplandstreamstooquicklyforfearofoverheatingtheengine.Also,everysooften,Ninehastouseabuckettoscoopdarkbrownswampwateroutoftheboatbeforethefootwellscollecttoomuchandwesink.Notexactlytravelinginstyle,butMarinaremainsconvincedthatDalestumbledonaMogadorianencampment.So,fornow,he’sourguide.Lastnight,Daleinsisteditwastoodarktotrynavigatingtheswampbutpromisedhewouldleadusto

thisdecommissionedNASAbaseinthemorning.ItturnedoutthatthebartenderatTrapper’srentedtheshantiessurroundinghisplacetoanyswamppeoplepassingthrough.Hegaveonetousfornexttonothing,floatedusourmeal,too,probablysensingthatnothelpinguswouldjustcreatemoretrouble.NoonetrustedDalenottorunoffathisfirstopportunity,sowedecidedtotaketurnskeepingwatchon

him.NinedrewfirstshiftandendedupsittingwithDaleoutsideourlittleshack,listeningtostoriesaboutalltheinterestingthingsDalehadscavengedfromtheswamp.MarinaandIlaydownsidebysideontheflea-bittenmattresstossedontheflooroftheshack,theonly

otherfurnishingsahotplate,arusted-outsinkthatIdon’tthinkconnectedtoanypipes,andanoillantern.Consideringwe’dspentthelastcoupleofdayshikingthroughtheswampsandbarelyresting,thiswasaboutthemostcomfortableI’dbeenindays.Aswelaythere,InoticedthatMarinahadstoppedradiatingtheauraofcoldshe’dbeengivingoffsinceEightwaskilled.Ithoughtmaybeshe’dfallenasleep,butthenshestartedwhisperingtomeinthedarkness.‘Ifeelhimoutthere,Six.’‘Whatdoyoumean?’Iwhisperedback,notunderstanding.‘Eightis…’Ihesitated,notabletobring

myselftostatetheobvious.‘Iknowhe’sdead,’shereplied,rollingovertofaceme.‘ButIcanstillfeelhis–Idon’tknow,his

essenceorsomething.He’scallingtome.Idon’tknowwhy,orhow,Ijustknowit’shappeningandthatit’simportant.’Ifellsilent.IrememberedEight’sstoryaboutmeetingamysteriousoldmanwhilehidingoutinIndia.I

thinkhisnamewasDevdan.TheoldguytaughthimaboutHinduismandmartialartsand,eventually,disappearedbacktowhereverhecamefrom.EightreallycherishedwhathelearnedaboutHinduism–IthinkithelpedhimcopewithhisCêpan’sdeath.Hell,maybethere’ssomethingtoallthatreincarnationstuff.Eightwasdefinitelythespiritualoneofus,andifanyonewouldcalloutfrombeyondthegrave,it’dprobablybehim.‘We’llfindhim,’Isaidquietly,althoughIwasn’texactlyconfidentthatwouldbetrue.Ithoughtabout

whatNinesaidduringhisfreak-outearlierthatnight–thatwe’dalreadylostthewarandnoonehadtoldus.‘Ijustdon’tknowwhatwe’regoingtodoafterward.’

‘Itwillrevealitselftouswhenthetimecomes,’Marinarepliedpeacefully,squeezingmyhand,thenurturingMarinaI’dgottentoknowbrieflyresurfacing,replacingtheangryrevengeseekerI’dbeensurvivingwiththelastcoupleofdays.‘Iknowitwill.’So,thismorning,wereturnedtotheswamp.Thetreesarethickonbothsidesofthemurkywaterand

wefrequentlyhavetoslowdowntonavigatearoundgnarledbutambitiousrootsthathavespreadintothewater.Thecanopyofbranchesoverourheadsisdense,lettingsunlightthroughinpatches.Rottenlogsdriftby,theirbarknotalwaysdistinguishablefromthecraggyscalesofthealligatorsroamingthesewaters.Atleastthebugshavestoppedbitingme.OrmaybeI’vejustgottenusedtothem.Marinastandsatthefrontoftheboat,hergazestraightahead,moisturefromtheairdampeningherface

andhair.Istareatherback,wonderingifshe’slostit,orifthissixthsenseaboutEight’sbodyisanothernewLegacymanifesting.It’sattimeslikethesewecouldreallyuseaCêpan;Marina’shavingahellofatimecontrollingherfreezingLegacy.NineandIhaven’tbroughtitupwithher–he’sprobablyscaredshe’llbitehisheadoff,andI’mjustcountingonherlearningtocontrolitatthesametimeshegetsagriponallthatanger.SoeitherthisreturntotheswampishappeningbecauseofapotentiallyhaywirenewLegacy,old-fashionedintuition,grieforlegitimatecontactwiththespiritworld.Maybeacombinationofallfour.Itdoesn’tmatter,really.We’redoingthis.ItwasonlyafewdaysagothatFiveledusthroughwaterssimilartothese.We’dbeenhappierthen–I

rememberMarinaandEightclingingtoeachother,somethingsparkingthere,andNinewhoopingandactingstupideverytimehespottedanalligator.Irunahandthroughmyhair–it’sdampfromthehumidityandknottedfromthedaysspentouthere–andremindmyselfthatthisisnotimeforreminiscing.We’reheadingintodanger,butatleastthistimeweknowit.‘Howmuchfarther?’IaskDale.Heshrugs.He’sgottenalotmorecomfortablearoundussinceMarinahalf-frozehisfacelastnight.

Probablyonaccountofwhatever’sinthatflask.‘’Boutanhour,’hesays.‘Youbetternotbescrewingwithus,’Itellhim.‘Ifthisisbullshit,we’llleaveyououthere.’Thatmakeshimsitupalittlestraighter.‘Iswearit’strue,ma’am.Isawsomeweird-assaliensout

here.Youbet.’Iglareathim.Nine,finisheddumpingwateroverthesideoftheboat,snatchestheflaskfromDale’s

hand.‘What’veyougotinhere,anyway?’Nineasks,sniffingattheflask.‘Smellslikepaintthinner.’‘Imean,itain’tallpaintthinner,’Dalecounters.‘Trysome.’Ninerollshiseyesandhandshimbacktheflask,thenturnstome.‘Seriously?’heasks,loweringhisvoice,moreconcernedthatMarinawilloverhearthanDale,who’s

sittingrightnexttous.‘We’rerelyingonthisguy?’‘Notjusthim,’Ireply,shootingalookatMarina.‘Shesensessomething.’‘Sincewhendoesshe…?’Ninetrailsoff,foroncetakingamomenttoconsiderhiswords.‘Itstill

seemsalittlenutstome,Six.That’sall.’BeforeIcanrespond,Marinawavesherhandatus,gettingourattention.‘Cuttheengine!’shehisses.

Dalessnapstoandturnsofftheengine,stillnotwantingtopissoffMarina.Ourboatdriftsforwardsilently.‘Whatisit?’Iask.‘There’ssomeoneupahead.’Ihearitthen,too.Amotor–onethatdoesalotlesshiccuppingthanDale’s–gettinglouderasitmoves

increasinglycloser.Withthezigzagpatternthistributarytakesthroughthetrees,wecan’tyetseethisotherboat.‘Arethereotherdirtbagswamppeopleoutthisfar?’Nineasks,eyeballingDale.‘Sometimes,’Dalereplies.Helooksaroundatus,asifsomethinghasjustoccurredtohim.‘Now,hold

on.Areweindanger?BecauseIdidn’tsignupforthat.’‘Youdidn’tsignupforanything,’Nineremindshim.‘Hush,’Marinasnaps.‘Heretheycome.’Icouldturnusinvisible.ItoccurstometograbholdofMarinaandNine,usemyLegacyandmakeit

looklikeDale’saloneouthere.ButIdon’t.MarinaandNinedon’tlooklikethey’reinanymoodtoholdhandseither.IfthereareMogadoriansoutthere,wewantthisfight.Iwatchadarkoutlinepassthroughtheclutteroftreesandglideintothewaterinfrontofus.It’sa

pontoonboatjustlikeoursexceptmuchsleekerandprobablywithafewdozenlessleaks.Assoonaswecomeintoview,thesecondboatalsocutsitsengine.Itdriftsaboutthirtyyardsinfrontofus,itswakecausingustobobonagentlewave.TheboatismannedbythreeMogadorians.Becauseoftheheat,they’veremovedtheirstupidblack

leathertrenchcoatsandstrippeddowntotanktops,theirarmsshiningpastywhite,theirblastersanddaggersclearlyvisiblealongtheirbelts.Iwonderwhatthey’redoingouthere,brazenlyoutintheopen,andthenrealizethatthey’reprobablylookingforus.Afterall,theswampsareourlastknownlocation.TheseunluckyMogscoutsmust’vedrawnswampduty.Everyoneisverystill.WestareattheMogs,andIwonderifthey’llevenrecognizeusinthestate

we’rein.TheMogsstareback,notmakinganymovetorestarttheirboatandgetoutofourway.‘Friendsofyours?’Daleslurs.Hisvoicebreaksthestandoff.Inunison,twooftheMogsreachfortheirblasters,thethirdspinning

aroundtorestarttheirengine.Ishoveforwardwithmytelekinesis,hittingthefrontoftheirboatwithasmuchforceasIcanmuster,causingtheship’sbowtoriseupfromthewater.TheMoggoingfortheenginefallsoverboard,andtheothertwogostaggeringbackwards.Asplitsecondaftermytelekineticattack,Marinaleansoverthesideandplungesherhandintothe

swampwater.AsheetoficespreadsoutfromhertowardstheMogs’boat,thewatercrackingandpoppingasitflashfreezes.Theirboatisstuckonatilt,halfoutofthewater,astheicefloecoalescesaroundit.Nineboundsoutofourboat,gracefullyrunsacrossMarina’sicefloeandhurdlesoverthesideofthe

Mogs’boat.HegrabsthenearestMogaroundtheneck,hismomentumandtheboat’sslopeddeckcausingthemtostumbletowardstheboat’srear.ThesecondMoggetshisblasterupandaimsatNine,butbeforehecanfire,NineplantshisfeetandtossesthefirstMogathisbuddy.

ThescoutwhofelloverboardtriestoclimboutofthewaterandontoMarina’spatchofice.That’samistake.Ajaggediciclerisesfromthefloe’sedge,impalingtheMogadorian.BeforethatMoghaseventurnedtoash,IusemytelekinesistoteartheiciclethroughhimandsenditplungingintooneoftheMogsontheboat.ThefinalMog,daggerdrawn,chargesatNine,buthegrabstheMogbythewrist,twistsbackwardsandstabshimthroughtheeyewithhisownblade.Justlikethat,it’sover.Thewholefightlastedlessthanaminute.Evenasdysfunctionalasweseem

rightnow,wecanstillkillthehelloutofsomeMogs.‘Nowthatwasrefreshing!’Nineyells,grinningatmefromtheotherboat.IhearsplashingfromovermyshoulderandturnaroundjustintimetoseeDaleswimmingfrantically

throughtheswampwater.Hemusthavejumpedoverboard,andnowhe’sdog-paddlingawayfromusasfastashisscrawnyarmsanddrunkennesswillallow.‘Whereareyougoing,idiot?’Ishoutafterhim.Dalereachesamuddyoutcroppingofrootsandpullshimselfontoit,gaspingforbreath.Hestaresat

meandtheotherswithwide,wildeyes.‘Youpeoplearefreaks!’hescreams.‘That’snotverynice,’Ninesays,laughing,ashecarefullymakeshiswaybackontoDale’sboat,the

icefloeMarinacreatedalreadybeginningtomeltintheFloridaheat.‘Whataboutyourboat?’IshouttoDale.‘YougonnaswimbacktoTrapper’s?’Hesquintsatme.‘I’llfiguresomethingoutthatdon’tinvolvemutantpowers,thankyouverymuch.’Isighandraisemyhand,intendingtotelekineticallydragDale’sstupidassbackontohisboat,but

Marinatouchesmyshoulderandstopsme.‘Lethimgo,’shesays.‘Butweneedhimtofindthebase,’Ireply.‘We’recloseenough,’Marinasays,shakingherhead.‘Andbesides–’‘Uh,holyshit,’Nineinterrupts,shieldinghiseyesandstaringupatthesky.‘Ithinkwecanjustfollowthatthing,’Marinafinishes.Thedaysuddenlygetsverydark.Ilookupasashadowpassesoverhead,cuttingoffthelimitedlight

thatwassqueezingthroughtheswamp’scanopy.Throughtheleaves,allIcanseeisthearmor-platedhideofaMogadorianshipasitbeginstodescend.It’snothinglikethedinkysaucer-stylecraftsthatIwasabletoknockoutoftheskywithafewwell-placedlightningbolts.Thisshipisenormous,thesizeofanaircraftcarrier,ferociousgunturretsprotrudingfromitsbelly.Thelocalbirdssquawkandtakeflight,dartingawayfromthisterrifyinggiant.Instinctively,IreachoutandgrabNineandMarina,turningthethreeofusinvisible.Aboatof

Mogadoriansisonething.Idon’tthinkwe’rereadyforsomethingthisbig.Thewarshipaboveusdoesn’tcare,though.Itdoesn’tnoticeus.Toashipthatsize,we’reasinsignificantasthemosquitoes.Asitpasses,glidingabovetheswamplandandgraduallyallowinglighttore-enter,IfeellikeI’veshrunk,likeI’msmallagain.LikeI’machild.AndthenIrememberthatlastdayonLorien.ThenineofusandourCêpansrunningfortheshipthat

wouldtakeustoEarth.Thescreamsallaroundus,theheatoffirefromthecity,blasterfirehissingthroughtheair.Irememberlookingupintothenightskyandseeingshipsjustliketheonepassingoverus,

blottingoutthestars,theirturretsblazing,theircargodoorsfallingopentoletloosehordesofblood-hungryPiken.Aboveus,Irealize,isaMogadorianwarship.It’swhattheywillusetotakeEarthonceandforall.‘They’rehere,’Isay,thebreathnearlysuckedoutofme.‘It’sstarting.’

7

Gradually,thesuburbsoutsideWashington,D.C.starttochange.Thehousesbecomebiggerandfartherapart,untileventuallytheyaren’tvisiblefromtheroadatall.Outsidethevanwindowsareimmaculatelymaintainedmeadowsorminiatureparkswherethetreesarespacedatobsessivelyequalintervals,designedtokeepthehousesbehindthemhiddenfrompryingeyes.Thesidestreetsbranchingofffromthemainroadallhaveprestigious-soundingnameslikeOakenCrestWayorGoldtreeBoulevard,allofthemprotectedbyseverePRIVATEPROPERTYsigns.Inthebackseat,Samwhistles.‘Ican’tbelievetheyliveouthere.Likerichpeople.’‘Nokidding,’Ireply,myhandssweatingonthesteeringwheel.IwasthinkingthesamethingasSam

butdon’treallyfeelliketalkingaboutit,worriedthatIwon’tbeabletokeepthejealousyoutofmyvoice.I’vespentmyentirelifeontherun,dreamingaboutlivinginplaceslikethis–stable,quietplaces.AndherearetheMogs,carvingoutanormallifefortheirtruebornupperclass,livingthehighlifeonaplanetthey’reonlylookingtoexploitanddestroy.‘Thegrassisalwaysgreener,’Malcolmsays.‘Theydonotappreciateit,ifthat’sanyconsolation,’Adamsaysquietly,thefirstwordshe’sspoken

sincewestartedontheselastfewmilestoAshwoodEstates,hisformerhome.‘Theyaretaughtnottoenjoysomethingunlesstheycanpossessit.’‘What’sthatmean,exactly?’Samasks.‘Like,ifaMogadorianwenttothepark…?’‘“Onetakesnosatisfactionfromthatwhichonecannothold,”’Adamrecites,suppressingasneer

whenhefinishesthequotation.‘ThatisfromSetrákusRa’sGreatBook.AMogadorianwouldn’tcareaboutyourpark,Sam,notunlessthetreeswerehistochopdown.’‘Soundslikeagreatbook,’Isaydryly.IglanceoveratAdam,nexttomeinthepassengerseat.He’sstaringoutthewindow,adistantlookon

hisface.Iwonderifthisisstrangeforhim–it’sbasicallyahomecoming,eventhoughhe’snotactuallyfromEarth.Adamturnshishead,noticesmelookingathimandseemsalmostembarrassed.HisexpressionquicklychangestooneI’mfamiliarwith–coldMogadoriancomposure.‘Pulloverhere,’heinstructs.‘It’sonlyamilefartheron.’Ipullthevanovertothesideoftheroadandkilltheengine.Withoutthenoisefromthevan,the

constantchirpingfrombehindmeseemsevenlouder.‘Jeez,guys,calmdown,’SamsaystotheboxofexcitedChimæraesittingonthebenchbetweenhimand

Malcolm.IturnaroundtolookdownattheChimærae,alloftheminbirdform.Regal,whoserestingformisa

statelyhawk,perchesnexttoatrioofmorecommonbirds–apigeon,adoveandarobin.Thenthere’sasleekgrayfalconthatmustbeDustandanoverweightowlthathastobeStanley.Allofthemhavelightweightleathercollarsstrappedgentlyaroundtheirnecks.Thisissteponeofourplan.

‘Iseverythingworking?’IaskSam,wholooksupfromthelaptoprestingonhislegsandgrinsatme.‘Checkitout,’Samsaysproudly,turningthelaptoptofaceme.UsingtheChimæraeinthiswaywashis

idea.Tiledonthelaptopscreenarehalfadozengrainyvideofeeds,eachofthemshowingmyfacefroma

slightlydifferentangle.Thecamerasareworking.OnourwayfromBaltimoretoWashingtonwestoppedatadarklittlestorefrontcalledSpyGuysthat

specializesincamerasandhome-securitygear.Theclerkdidn’taskMalcolmwhyheneededtopurchasemorethanadozenoftheirsmallestwirelesscameras;heseemedgratefulforthebusinessandevenshowedushowtoinstallthenecessarysoftwareononeofourlaptops.Afterthat,wepickedupthecollarsatapetstore.TheotherscarefullyattachedthecamerastothemwhileIdrovesouthtowardsWashington.TheMogadorianshavespentsomucheffortrunningsurveillanceonus,stalkingus.Nowwe’regoing

toturnthetables.‘SpreadoutaroundAshwoodEstates,’ItelltheChimærae,punctuatingmycommandwithamental

pictureofthesatellitephotosofAshwoodthatI’vebeenstudyingsinceyesterdayandsendingthatontotheflocktelepathically.‘Trytocovereveryangle.FocusespeciallyonwheretheMogadoriansare.’TheChimæraerespondwithenthusiasticcawingandaflutteringofwings.InodtoSamandhethrowsopenthevan’ssidedoor.Whatfollowsisawildflurryofactivity,ourhalf

dozenshape-shiftingspybirdstakingoffallatonce,afunnelofsquawkingandflappingwingsastheyflyoutofthevan.Asseriousasoursituationis,there’ssomethingawesomeaboutthesight;SamisgrinningandevenAdamallowshimselfasmallsmile.‘Thisisgoingtowork,’Malcolmsays,pattingSamontheback.Sam’ssmileincreasesjustalittlebit

more.Theviewonthelaptopscreenisdisorienting,theChimæraeallswoopingandglidingindifferent

directions.Thefirsttosettleintosometreespositionthemselvesrightabovethewrought-irongatesofAshwoodEstates.Agateisbuiltintoabrickwallthere;thewallstretchesforafewyardsandthen,presumablyonceit’snolongervisiblefromtheroad,turnsintoamoresinister-lookingbarbed-wirefence.‘Guards,’Isay,pointingoutthetrioofMogadorians,twoofthemsittinginthegatehouse,oneofthem

pacinginfrontofthegateitself.‘That’sit?’Samasks.‘Onlythreeofthem?That’snothing.’‘Theydonotexpectafrontalattack.Oranyattack,really,’Adamexplains.‘Theirpurposeismainlyto

scareoffanydriverswhomightmakeawrongturn.’AstheremainingChimæraesettleontorooftopsandtreebranches,thevideofeedssnappingintofocus,

IstarttogetaclearerideaofAshwoodEstates’layout.Beyondthefrontgateisashortbutwindingentranceroadwithverylittlecover.Thatroadleadstowhatisessentiallyaverylargecul-de-sac,abouttwentywell-appointedhousesarrangedaroundacentralrecreationarea.Apparently,theMogadorianshavepicnictables,basketballhoopsandapool.Allinall,it’sanidyllicswathofsuburbia,exceptthere’snoonearound.‘Seemsquiet,’Isay,scanningthefeeds.‘Isitalwayslikethis?’‘No,’Adamadmits.‘Somethingisn’tright.’

OneoftheChimæraetakesflightandrepositionsitself,gettinganangleononeofthehousesthatwecouldn’tseebefore.Atrashtruckisparkedatthecurb,itsengineoff.‘There’ssomeone,’Samsays,enlargingthefeed.AsolitaryMogadorianholdingatabletcomputerstandsnexttothetruck.Helooksboredashethumbs

somethingintothetablet.AdamsquintsatthetattoosontheMogadorian’sscalp.‘Anengineer,’hesays.‘Youcantellthat?’Iask.‘It’sinthetattoos.Fortrueborn,thosearesymbolsofhonorandwhatthey’veaccomplished.The

vatborngetjobtitles,’Adamexplains.‘Makesiteasytoorderthemaround.’‘There’smore,’Sampointsout.WewatchasfourMogadorianwarriorscarryarefrigerator-sizedpieceofcomputerequipmentoutof

thehouse.Theytakeittowardsthecurbandsetitdowninfrontoftheengineer,thenwaitaroundwhilehecirclesthemachineandinspectsit.‘Lookslikeaserver,’Malcolmobserves.HeturnstoAdam.‘Couldtheybereplacingtheequipment

youdestroyed?’‘Possibly,’Adamreplies,buthedoesn’tsoundcertain.Hepointsoutatwo-levelhousewithaporcha

fewdoorsdownfromwheretheMogadoriansareworking.‘That’smyoldhome.Iknowforcertainthere’sanaccesspointtothetunnelsthroughthere,buttheotherhouseslikelyhaveaccess,too.’WhileAdam’stalking,theengineerfinisheshisinspectionoftheserver.Heshakeshishead,andthe

otherMogspicktheequipmentbackup.Theytossitintothetrashtruck,thenreturntothehouse.‘Iguesstheyaren’tbigonrecycling,huh?’Samsays.BeforethefirstgroupofMogscanheadbackintothehouse,asecondgroupemerges.They’recarrying

whatlookslikeabarber’schairfromabadsci-fimovie,thethingequalpartsfuturisticandfrightening,wiresandnodesdanglingfromit.Theengineerhustlesforwardtomeetthissecondgroup,helpingthemtoeasetheequipmentgentlyontothegrassofthefrontyard.‘Irecognizethat,’Malcolmsays,anedgetohisvoice.‘DrAnu’smachine,’Adamsays,turningtome.‘That’swhattheyusedonMalcolm.Andonme.’‘What’retheygoingtodowithitnow?’Iask,watchingtheengineerbeginhisinspection.‘Thislookslikeasalvageteam,’Adamexplains.‘IdidsomedamagetothetunnelsthelasttimeIwas

here.Now,they’resavingwhatequipmenttheycanandgettingridoftherest.’‘Whataboutallthetruebornswhoweresupposedtobehere?’Adamgrimaces.‘Theymighthavebeenevacuateduntilthisplacecanbebroughtuptospec.’IwidenmyeyesatAdam.‘Sowedroveoutherefornothing?Thetruebornarealreadygoneandthe

machineisbusted.’‘No,’hesays,andIcanseethegearsturningbehindhiseyes.‘Ifwecantakeoutthissalvageteam

beforetheygetoffadistresscall,we’dhavecompleteaccesstowhat’sleftofAshwood.Fromthere,wecangetontotheirnetwork–’‘Andthatgetsuswhat?’‘It’slikeifoneofmypeoplecouldopenoneofyourChests,John.We’llknowtheirsecrets.What

they’replanning.’‘We’llbeonestepahead,’Isay.

‘Yes.’Adamnods,watchingtheengineerasheevaluatesDrAnu’smachine.‘Butweshouldgetinthere.Whatthesalvageteamdecidestodestroycouldstillbeusefultous.’‘Allright,’Isay,watchingtheMogsalvageteamheadbackintothehouse.‘So,isthereasecret

entranceorsomething?’‘Atthispoint,Ithinkadirectassaultisourbestbet.’Helooksatme.‘Thatallrightwithyou?’‘Hellyes,’Ireply.Originally,we’dplannedtouseournetworkofChimæraesurveillancetoobserve

theMogsforawhile,figureoutthemoststrategicapproachtoattacking.But,nowthatwe’rehere,Ifindmyselfitchingtogointobattle.Ineedsomepaybackforeverythingthey’vedone–fortakingElla,destroyingNine’shome,killingoneofmyfriends.IfAdamsaysweneedtorushin,I’mreadytogo.Malcolmgrabsaboxfromundertheseat.Fromwithin,heproducestwoearbuds,oneformeandone

forAdam.Thedevicesareconnectedtothepairofwalkie-talkiesSamandMalcolmwillbeusing.IslipmineintomyearandAdamdoesthesame.‘Areweatallconcernedwiththelocalauthorities?’Malcolmasks.‘Afirefightinbroaddaylightmight

attractsomeattention.’Adamshakeshishead.‘They’reboughtoff,’hesays,thenlooksatme.‘Wewillwanttobequick,

though.Killthembeforetheycancallforreinforcements.IfIcangetpastthemintomyoldhouse,Ishouldbeabletocutofftheircommunications.’‘Icandoquick,’Ireply.IstrapmyLoricdaggertomycalf,hiddenundermytrouserleg.Next,Iclipmyredbraceletaroundmy

wrist.Theamberjewelinitscenterthatexpandstoformashieldshimmersinthemiddaysun.Immediately,thebraceletjoltsmewithicypinpricks,warningmethereareMogsinthearea.Ofcourseitwould–there’sonesittingrightnexttome.Adam’spresenceisgoingtoreallywreakhavoconmydangersense.‘Ready?’Iaskhim.Nexttome,Adampullsonanover-the-shoulderholster,asilencedhandgunnowhangingundereachof

hisarmpits.Henods.‘Whoa,holdon,’Samsays.‘Checkoutthisguy.’AdamandIturnbacktothelaptop,watchingasanotherMogadorianemergesfromthehousethe

salvageteamiscurrentlyunloading.He’stallandbroadshouldered,biggerthantheothers,andwithamoreregalbearing.Unliketheothers,hehasahugeswordstrappedacrosshisback.Whilewewatch,hebarkssomeordersattheengineer,thendisappearsbackintothehouse.WhenIglanceoveratAdam,hisfaceissomehowmorepalethanusual.‘Whatisit?’‘Nothing,’hesays,tooquickly.‘Justwatchoutforthatone.He’satrueborngeneral,oneofSetrákus

Ra’smosttrustedmen.He…’Adamhesitates,watchingthespotonthemonitorthisgeneraljustoccupied.‘HehaskilledGardebefore.’Ifeelheatrushingtomyhands.IfIwasn’treadyforafightalready,Idefinitelyamnow.‘He’sdead,’Isay,andAdammerelynods,openshisdoorandgetsoutofthevan.IlooktoSamand

Malcolm.‘We’llapproachonfoot,takeouttheguardsandthenyoupulluptocoverourback.’‘Iknow,Iknow,’Samsays.‘I’llwatchthemonitorandshoutinyourearwhenIseetrouble.’

Malcolmhasalreadystartedunpackinghissniperriflefromitscase.IsawhimusethatthinginArkansas–hesavedmyass.There’snooneI’dratherhavewatchingmybackthantheGoodes.‘Becareful,’Malcolmsays,raisinghisvoicesoAdamcanhear.‘Bothofyou.’SamandIslaphands.‘Givethemhell,’hesays.AndthenI’moutofthevan,movingatabriskjogtowardstheMogadorianstronghold.Adamkeepsup

alongsideme.‘John,’hesays,ourfeetcrunchinginthegravelonthesideoftheroad.‘Thereissomethingelseyou

shouldknow.’Ofcourse.JustwhenIwasbeginningtoletmyguarddownaroundthisguy,rightwhenwe’regoinginto

battletogether,he’sgoingtospringsomethingonme.‘Whatisit?’‘TheGeneralismyfather.’

8

Ialmostskidtoastop,butAdamdoesn’tseemtobeslowingdownany,soIkeeppacewithhim.‘You’rekiddingme.’‘No.’Adamfrowns,focusingontheroadahead.‘Wedon’texactlygetalong.’‘Areyougoingto…’Idon’tevenknowhowtophrasethis.‘Willyoubeableto…?’‘Fight?Kill?’Adamreplies.‘Yes.Showhimnomercy,becausehewon’tshowanytous.’‘Yourownfather,man?Imean,evenforaMogadorian,that’sprettycold.’‘Atthispoint,defeatinghiminbattleislikelytheonlywayhe’lleverfeelprideforme,’Adamreplies,

addingweakly,‘notthatIcare.’Ishakemyhead.‘Youguysaresoscrewedup.’WefallsilentastheentrancetoAshwoodEstatescomesintoview.TheMogadorianinfrontofthe

gatesspotsusandshieldshiseyesfromthesun,tryingtogetabetterlook.Wekeepupasteadypaceanddon’tmakeanyattempttoconcealourselves.We’reseparatedfromthegatesbyaboutfiftyyardsandclosingfast,buttotheMogwemightlooklikejustacoupleofjoggers.Hewon’tnoticethegunsstrappedtoAdamjustyet.‘Waituntilwe’realittlecloser,’Isaythroughgrittedteeth,andAdamnods.Atthirtyyards,theMogturnshishead,sayingsomethingtohistwobuddiesinthegatehouse.Warning

themthatsomethingmightbeup.Iseethemstandup,silhouettedinthewindow,peeringoutatus.TheMoginfrontedgesbackabit,hisfingersinchingtowardstheblastersurelyhiddenunderhiscoat.Buthehesitates,probablystillthinkshe’sbeingparanoid.Theyreallyneverthoughtwe’dcomeforthem.Theyaren’tprepared.Withtwentyyardstogo,IfireupmyLumen,flamesroaringacrossmyhands.Nexttome,instride,

Adamdrawsbothhisgunsandtakesaim.TheclosestMogtriestopullhisblaster,buthe’swaytooslow.Adamfirestwoshots,onefromeach

gun,bothofthemmuffledbysilencers.Strucktwiceinthechest,theMogteetersforamomentandthenexplodesintoacloudofash.Ilaunchafireballatthegatehouse.TheMogadoriansinsidearescramblingaroundbut,liketheir

friend,arealsotooslow.Thefireballexplodesthroughthewindow,sendingglasseverywhere,andcausingoneoftheMogstogoupinflames.Theotheronemanagestothrowhimselfoutthedoor,flamesdancinguphisback.He’sstandingrightinfrontofAshwood’slockedentrance,soIreachoutwithmytelekinesisandtearthewrought-irongateoffitshinges,crushingtheMog.‘Thinktheothersheardus?’IaskAdam,aswesteparoundthebentmetalgateandintoAshwood

Estates.‘Ourentrancedidlacksubtlety,’Adamobserves.Sam’svoicecracklesinmyear.‘Fourofthemrunninguptheaccessroad,’hewarns.‘Blastersready.’

Theaccessroadisuphillwithaslightbendatthetopafterwhichwe’llbeatthehousingdevelopment.Thereisn’tawholelotofcoverontheway.‘Staybehindme,’ItellAdam.Justthen,theMogscomearoundthebend.Theydon’taskanyquestionsbeforeunleashingavolleyof

blasterfire.Adamleapsbehindmejustasmyshielddeploys–it’slikeaparachuteexplodingoutofmyarm,theripplingcrimsonmaterialspreadingtoabsorbtheblasts.Adamgrabsholdofthebackofmyshirt.‘Goforward,’hesays.Ido,theshieldabsorbingmoreblasterfireasIpresstowardstheMogs.Thebraceletisnowasteady,

numbinglypainfulbuzzagainstmywrist.Carefullyfollowingmystepstokeepfromgettingshot,Adampopsaroundtheedgeoftheshield,gunningdowntwooftheMogsinonego.Realizingthey’renotmakinganyprogress,theothertwotrytoretreat.Ilowermyshieldandlaunchafireballthatexplodesbetweenthem,knockingthembothtotheground.Adamfinishesthemoffwithsomewell-aimedgunfire.Outofdangerfornow,myshieldretractsbackintomybracelet.‘Notbad,’Itellhim.‘We’rejustgettingstarted,’hereplies.Werundowntheaccessroadaroundthebend,andtheopulenthomesofAshwoodEstatesfinallycome

intoview.There’snooneoutandallthewindowsaredark;thewholeplacefeelslikeaghosttown.Toourright,IseeAdam’soldhouse,andafewhousesdownfromthatisthetrashtruckandthehigh-techchairtheengineerwasinspecting.Thesalvageteams,theengineerandtheGeneralarenowheretobeseen.‘They’recomingfromthebackyard!’Samyells.BothAdamandIspinaroundintimetoseeasquadronofMogwarriorssneakingtowardsusbetween

twoofthehouses.Itwould’vebeenaprettygoodambushifwedidn’thavescoutsperchedintheirtrees.Astheyraisetheirblasters,Adamisready.Hestompsthegroundandaconcussivewaveofforcerollsintheirdirection,pavementandchunksofgrassripplingupward.TheclosestMogsarecompletelythrownofftheirfeet,othersstaggerandoneofthemaccidentallydischargeshisblasterintoanother’sback.‘I’llfinishthemoff!’ItellAdam.‘Yougomakesuretheyaren’tcallingreinforcements.’Adamnods,thensprintsacrossthelawntowardshisoldhouse.Meanwhile,nexttothestunned

Mogadorians,Inoticeametaltankthathadcomeunmooredfromwhereitwasattachedtoahouse.Withmyhearingfocused,Icanhearafainthissemanatingfromthetank.Ialmostlaughatmyluck.It’sagasline.IlaunchafireballattheMogsbeforetheycancollectthemselves.ItwhizzesrightbytheleadMog,

whoIthinkactuallysmirksatme,thinkingthatI’vemissedinthosetwosecondsbeforethepropanetankexplodes,incineratingthelotofthem.Thewindowsofthetwoadjacenthousesareallblowninwardfromtheforce,largeblacksingemarksformingontheoutside,grassburning.Ihavetostopmyselffromappreciatingthedestruction–itfeelsalmostcathartictodestroythisplace,toteardownwhattheMogshavebuilt,afterhowmanytimesthey’vetorndownmyattemptsatanormallife.‘Damn,dude,’Samsaysinmyear.‘Wefeltthatoverhere.’Iyankmywalkie-talkieoffthebackofmyjeans.‘What’sitlooklike,Sam?’‘You’reclear,’hesays.‘It’sweird.Ithoughtthere’dbemoreofthem.’

‘Theycouldbedowninthetunnels,’Ireply,startingtowardsthehouseAdamrushedinto.IscantheemptywindowsasIgo,waryofanyMogswhomightbelyinginwait.It’sjusttoodamnquiet.‘Andthathuge-assgeneralguy,’Samsays.‘Hewasn’twiththeonesyoublewup.’I’mcrossingthelawntowardsAdam’shousewhenthefrontwindowshattersandAdam’sbodycomes

flyingout.Hislegssmackhardagainsttheporchrailingandhe’sturnedheadoverheels,flippedlikearagdollintothefrontyard.Iruntohimasheshakilytriestopickhimselfup.‘Whathappened?’Ishout.‘Father…isn’thappy,’hegroans,lookingupatmeasIcrouchdownoverhim.There’sahugepieceof

glassstickingoutofhischeek,atrickleofdarkbloodrunningdownhisneck.Heyanksitoutandtossesitaside.‘Canyougetup?’Iask,grabbinghisshoulder.BeforeAdamcananswer,aboomingvoiceinterrupts.‘NumberFour!’TheGeneralstridesconfidentlythroughthefrontdoor,lookingdownatmefromtheporch.He’shuge

andmuscular.ThetattoossplashedacrosshispaleskullarewaymoreintricatethananyMogI’veseenoutsideofSetrákusRa.Isensemotionbehindhim–otherMogadorians,Ican’tbesurehowmany.Theydon’tcomeoutofthehouse.It’salmostliketheGeneralwantstodothisalone.Istandupandfacehim,myhandsglowingandhot,afireballfloatinginmypalm.‘YouknowwhoIam,huh?’Iaskhim.‘Indeed.Ihavelonghopedwewouldmeet.’‘Uh-huh.Ifyouknowme,thenyouknowyoudon’tstandachanceagainstme.’Icranemynecktolook

pasthim.‘Noneofyoudo.’TheGeneralactuallysmiles.‘Verygood.Bravado.Awelcomechangeofpace.ThelastLoricI

encounteredran.Ihadtostabhimintheback.’IdecideI’vehadenoughtalkandwhipthefireballathim.TheGeneralseesitcoming,hunkerslowand

inonesurprisinglyfluidmotiondrawshisswordfromitssheath.Heslicestheairinfrontofhimjustasthefireballgetsclose,andtheglowingMogadorianbladeabsorbsmyattack.Notgood.TheGeneralleapsofftheporch,swordraisedabovehishead,andbringsitdowninaviciousarc

towardsme.He’sfast–wayfasterthantheotherMogsI’vebeenfighting–andmyshieldbarelyhastimetodeploybeforehisswordwouldcleavemeintwo.Theshieldrebuffsthebladewithaloudclang,buttheforceisstillenoughtoknockmebackwardsandoffmyfeet.‘John!’Adamshouts,andtheGeneral,havinglandedrightnexttohim,takesamomenttokickhisson

hardacrosstheface.Adamscreams,rollingaway.‘Youareaperpetualdisappointment,’theGeneralseethesatAdam,solowIcanbarelyhearhiswords.

‘StaydownandImayyetshowyoumercy.’Ipopontomykneesquickly,channelinganotherfireball.TheGeneralpointshisswordatmeandIfeel

somethinglikearushofair,almostlikethebladeissuckingintheenergyaroundit.Myfireballguttersandshrinks,forcingmetofocushardertobuilditbigger.Meanwhile,thegrassaroundtheGeneralgoesfromgreentobrown,thebladedrainingthelifefromit.Ihaven’tseenoneoftheMogsarmedwithaweaponlikethissincethatfightinthewoodsoutsideParadiseHigh.‘Don’tletithityou!’Adamwarns,spittingblood.

Buthiswarningistoolate.Adagger-shapedboltofenergytearsloosefromtheGeneral’sbladeandscreamstowardsme;theenergyisblack,ormorelikedevoidofanycoloratall,andchangestheverytextureoftheairthatitpassesthrough,suckinguplifeandoxygen,likeaminiblackhole.Idon’thaveachancetododgeit.Myshielddeploys,expandingintheusualumbrella-likeway,but

immediatelyturnsblackandbrittlewhentheGeneral’sblasthits.Frozenlikethat,myshieldslowlybeginstocrumble,blownawaylikesomuchMogadorianash.Dark,rustlikeveinsbegintospreadthroughthebraceletitself,andIhurriedlysnapitoffbeforetheymakecontactwithmyskin.Whenithitstheground,mybraceletbreaksinhalf.TheGeneralsmilesatmeagainandasks,‘Nowwillyourun?’

9

TheMogadorianswhoweretakingcoverinsidethehousestarttolaugh.Onebyone,theyfilterontotheporch,eagertogetacloserlookastheirgreatgeneraldispatchesoneoftheGarde.There’sacoupledozenofthem,thesalvageteamplussomewarriorsandscouts,allofthemvatborn.Notexactlythehigh-prioritytargetswewerehopingfor,butthatdoesn’tmatternow.ThereareonlytwotruebornMogsinAshwoodEstates–oneofthemisAdam,andhe’slaidoutinthegrassjustafewyardsfromme,darkblooddrippingfromhisface.Theotherischargingrightatme.AstheGeneralbearsdownonme,swordleveledatmythroat,there’samomentwhereIthinkwemight

havebittenoffmorethanwecanchew,AdamandmetryingtotakeonanentireMogadoriantown.ButthenIrememberitisn’tjustthetwoofus.Withashriek,Dust,stillinfalconform,dive-bombstheGeneral.Histalonssinkdeepintothe

General’sface,thehugeMogadoriangruntinginpainbeforehemanagestobackhandDustaway.It’sexactlythedistractionIneed.Quickly,IformanotherfireballandpitchitattheGeneral.Thistime,

hedoesn’thaveachancetogethisswordup,andthefirehitshimrightinthechest.Iexpecthimtoatleastbeknockedoffhisfeet,buttheGeneralmerelystumblesbackafewsteps.Thefrontofhisuniformburnsaway,revealingacarapaceofobsidianMogadorianarmorbeneath.Dust,stunnedbytheblow,flopsintothegrassattheGeneral’sfeet.Hebringshissworddownhardat

theChimæra,butDusttransformsintoasnakeatthelastsecondandmanagestoslitherthroughthegrassawayfromtheblade.TheGeneral,freshclawmarksacrosshisface,swingshisgazebacktome.‘Hidingbehindyourpets!’theGeneralbellows.‘Disgraceful.Fightmewithhonor,boy.Nomore

tricks.’IholdupmyhandandsmileattheGeneral,noticingthebirdsflutteringinfromallsides.‘Holdon.Just

onemoretrick.’Andthat’swhentherhinocerosdropsfromthesky.OnemomenttheChimæra–I’mnotevensurewhichone–isarobinflyinginnocentlyabovetheheads

oftheMogadorians;thenextit’sahalf-tonAfricanrhinobelly-floppingontopofthem.AcoupleoftheMogsontheporcharecrushedoutright,thewoodbreakingandsplintering,thefrontofthehouseevensinkingalittleatthebeast’sweight.AnotherMogisgoredbytherhinoasitstartstorampagearound.TheotherMogsspillintotheyard,blastersfiring.Theyaren’tlaughinganymore.ThiswholenobleexecutiontheGeneralhadthemwatchinghasbeenruinedbyoursmallarmyofChimærae.It’schaos.Allaroundus,birdsaremorphingintomorelethalforms–abear,acoupleofjunglecats

andalumberinglizardthingthatIthinkisaKomododragon–andrunningdowntheMogadorians.IseesomeoftheChimæraesustainblasterburnsastheMogsfiremadlyatthem,tryingdesperatelytoregroup.Theywon’tbeabletoholdoutlong.Foronce,we’vegottheelementofsurprise.

‘Lookslikeyoushouldbetheonerunning,’IyellattheGeneralasIsquareupwithhim.Truthbetold,I’mnotsurewhattodowithhim.HeisAdam’sfather,afterall.Adamtoldmetoshownomercy,butitstillfeelswrongtokillafatherinfrontofhisson,eveniftheyareMogadorians.IglanceovertoAdam,hopinghe’llatleastgivemeathumbs-uporthumbs-down,buthe’sstillcrumpledinthegrass,strugglingtopickhimselfup.Dustisnexttohiminwolfform,alsolookingalittlebeatenup,gentlylickingAdam’sface.‘MynameisalreadywritteninthehistoriesasakillerofGarde!’theGeneralroarsbackatme,not

evencaringaboutthedecimationofhismengoingonbehindhim.‘IftodayisthedayIdie,Iwilltakeyouwithme.’Hechargesme,swordstabbingrightformysternum.Iholdupmyarm,expectingmyshieldtodeploy

anddeflecttheblow.Ittakesmeasplitsecondtoremembermywristisbare,myshielddestroyed.TheGeneralalmostskewersmeformyover-relianceonmybracelet.IhavetospintothesideatthelastsecondandcanfeelhowcloseIcame,hisbladetearingthroughthebackofmyshirt.TheGeneral’sswordmightmiss,buthiselbowdoesn’t.Usinghismomentumtoswingaround,he

catchesmerightinthetemple.HemustbewearingthatMogadorianarmoralloverhisbody,becausetheelbowfeelsmorelikeahammer.Istumbletotheside,seeingstars.TheGeneralslashesatmeagain,andIjustbarelymanagetolashoutwithmytelekinesis,shovinghimbackwards.Hisheelsdiguptuftsinthegrassasherefusestoleavehisfeet.Insteadofchargingbackatme,theGenerallevelshissword,anotherminivortexdevelopingatthe

blade’stip.I’mcaughtout–noshield,nocover–andIknowIcan’tletthatlife-drainingenergyhitme.Ibracemyself,readytodiveaside.Beforetheswordcandischarge,theGeneral’srighthandexplodes.Heroarsanddropshisblade,

holdinguphishandtolookatthenickel-sizedholethroughthepalmthatwasn’tthereasecondago.‘Dadsays,“You’rewelcome,”’Sam’svoicechirpsinmyear.Iglanceovermyshouldertoseeourvanparkedontheaccessroad.MalcolmGoodestandsnexttothe

driver-sidedoor,usingitforcoverashepeersthroughthescopeofhisrifle.‘Interlopers,’theGeneralgrowls.BeforeMalcolmcanfireanothershot,theGeneraltakesoffata

sprint,usingthetrashtruckforcover.He’ssurprisinglyfastconsideringhisbulkandthatfullsuitofarmor.Well,I’dwantedhimtorun.Ichaseafterhim,thoughtsofhowhehuntedandkilledGardefuelingme.Outofthecornerofmyeye,I

seeaMogwarriordrawabeadonmewithhisblaster.Ashefires,aChimæraintheshapeofablackpantherleapsontohisback.TheblastsailswideandendsupshearinginhalfthechairDrAnuusedinhisexperiments.IknowourgoalwastokeepthisMogtechnologyintact,butthatdoesn’tmattertomenow.I’mseeingred.TheGeneral–soproudofkillingGarde.Killingchildren.I’mgoingtowritethelastchapterinhisprecioushistory.Rightnow.AsIcomearoundthetrashtruck,IseetheGeneralhasmadeittothebasketballcourtsandstopped.He

beckonsmeonward,waitingformeatcentercourt.Ichargein,ignoringthepartofmethatknowshe’ssettingmeupforsomekindoftrap.Whateveritis,itwon’tstopme.TheGeneralgrowlssomethinginMogadorian.Itsoundslikeacommand.Undermyfeet,beneaththe

asphalt,ageneratorofsomekindvibratestolife.

Ifeelastaticchargeasadome-shapedforcefieldrisesupoverthebasketballcourt,trappingmewiththeGeneral.Everythingissuddenlyveryquiet,thenoiseoftheChimæraemaulingtheMogadoriansblockedoutbytheforcefield.Itakeastepawayfromthenearestwall,sensingthesametypeofelectricjoltthatweencounteredat

thebaseinWestVirginia.IrememberhowsickIwasafterthat–ittookmedaystorecover–andknowthatIcan’tgettooclose.EvenasI’mthinkingthis,anover-eagerChimæraintheshapeofatigerflingsherselfattheGeneral.

TheblueenergyrepulsesthepouncingChimæra,shocksherandleavesherinaconvulsingheapontheground,stillverymuchoutsidetheforcefield.‘WeusedtofightPikenagainsteachotherinthisplace,’theGeneralmuses,wavinghishandatthe

enclosedspace.‘Itwasarewardforthevatborn.Pitymoreofthemaren’theretowitnesstoday’scontest.’‘Youwantsomealonetimewithme,isthatit?’ItaunttheGeneral,makingsuretoputsomedistance

betweenmeandtheforcefield.‘Iwanttokillyouinpeace,’hereplies.‘Withyourmanyfriendswatchinghelplessly.’‘Goodluckwiththat.’Withouthesitation,IchargetowardstheGeneral,pitchingfireballsathimasIgo.Heabsorbseachof

them.Hugechunksofhisuniformburnaway,butIdon’tseemtobedoinganydamagetothearmorunderneath.Notlettinganypainregisteronhisface,theGeneralrushesrightforme,likehe’sgoingtobarrelintome.Heprobablyweighsasolidtwohundredpoundsmorethanmewiththatarmor.Butscrewit.Wecrashtogetherandthewindgoesoutofme,butImanagetostayupright.Ipressmyhand,still

engulfedbytheflamesofmyLumen,againstthesideoftheGeneral’sface.Heletsoutagruntofpain,butthat’shisonlyreactiontomeburninghisface,hispaleskinsearingblackandpopping.Bothofhishandswraparoundmythroat,bigenoughthathisfingersoverlapatthebackofmyneck.Hesqueezesmyneckandimmediatelydarkspotsforminmyvision.Ican’tbreathe.Withthehandnot

burningthesideoftheGeneral’sface,Ipryathisfingers.ItfeelslikemythroatwillcompletelycollapseifIlethisgripgetanytighter.It’shardtoconcentratewithhimchokingme,butImanagetokeepuptheintensityofmyLumenwhile

simultaneouslyusingmytelekinesis.Imaneuvermydaggeroutfrombeneathmytrouserleg.Withoutafreehand,IgatherasmuchtelekineticforceasIcanmusterandsendthebladelancingtowardstheGeneral’sheart.Mydaggerdeflectsoffhisarmor.BeforeIcanstabathimagain,hetightenshisgriponmythroatandI

losecontrolofmytelekinesis.Feelingfaint,it’sallIcandotokeepmyLumenburningagainstthesideofhisface.‘Whodoyouthinkwilldiefirst,boy?’theGeneralsneers,smokefromhisownburnedfacespillingout

ofhismouthwhenhespeaks.Itrytobackpedal,tobreakawayfromhim,butheputsallhisweightdown,forcingmetomyknees.Suddenly,aMogadorianswordisthrusttowardsmyface.Unabletomovemyhead,Icanonlyflinch

backwards.Thetipoftheglowingbladestopsjustshortofmyeye.TheGeneral’sgripslackensandthendropsawayentirely.Ifallontomyside,gaspingforbreath,tryingtofigureoutwhatjusthappened.

‘Throughtheback.Isn’tthathowyoudoit,Father?’AdamholdstheGeneral’sbroadswordintwohands–it’salmosttooheavyforhim–andyanksitout

ofhisfather’sback.HedroveitstraightthroughtheGeneral’schest,theglowingbladepiercingthatMogadorianarmorasifitweremadeoftinfoil.Iwastoobusyfightingformylifetonoticetheforcefieldcomedown.Luckily,theGeneralwas,too.HestaresatAdam,stunned.TheGeneralmustrealizehismistake–alltheMogsknowthevoicecommandtobringdowntheforcefield,butoneofthemwasn’tfightingonhisside.TheGeneralgropesatthewoundonhischestandforamomentIthinkhe’sgoingtokeepcoming.But

thenhestaggers,reachingouttograspatAdam,almostasifhewantstohughim.Ormaybestranglehim.It’shardtotell.Adamstepsaside,adetachedlookonhisface,andallowstheGeneraltofallface-firstontothe

pavement.Beyondthecourt,thefightingisover,theMogadoriansalldead.BackinAdam’sfrontyard,SamkneelsoverawoundedChimæra.Malcolmstandsafewfeetofffromus,onthesideline,watchingthescenewiththeGeneral,alookofconcernonhisface.IpickmyselfupandstandnexttoAdam.‘Adam,areyou…?’Myvoiceishoarse,throatrawandsore.Adamholdsupahand,cuttingmeoff.‘Look,’hesaysflatly.Atourfeet,theGeneralbeginstodisintegrate.Itdoesn’thappenquicklylikeI’veseenwiththemany

vatbornscoutsandwarriorsI’vekilled.TheGeneraldecomposesslowly,partsofhimflatteningoutfasterthanothers.Insomespots,hisfleshmeltsawaybutnotthebonebeneath,leavingaskeletalelbowjuttingupfromthegroundnexttoaribcage,allattachedtoahalf-disintegratedskull.‘YoucanseewhereSetrákusRaaugmentedhim,’Adamsays,hisvoicealmostclinicalasheexplains.

‘Healedwounds,cureddiseases,improvedhisstrengthandspeed.Hepromisedimmortality.Buttheunnaturalpartsdisintegrate,likethevatborn.Therest,what’sleft,thatistrueborn,realflesh.’‘Wedon’thavetogetintothisnow,’Imanagetosay,stilltryingtocatchmybreath.It’snotthatIdon’t

appreciatetheinformation.It’sjustthatAdam’sdadislyingdeadatourfeetandhe’sgivingalessoninMogadoriangeneticslikenothinghappened.‘They’retoofargonetorealizeit,butthisisthefateSetrákusRaoffersmypeople.Ashesandspare

parts,’Adamsays,staringathisfather’sremains.‘IwonderhowmuchmorewouldbeleftiftheGreatLeaderhadneverpoisonedhisbodyandmind.’Adamletsgooftheswordanditthunksheavilytotheground.Iputmyhandonhisshoulder,the

revulsionIfeltforhimoverthelastcoupleofdaysforgotten.Hejustsavedmylifeandkilledhisownfathertodoit.‘Adam,it’sokay,’Istart,notreallysurewhattosayinthiscrazysituation.‘Ihatedhim,’hereplies,notlookingatme.Hestaresattheburneduniform,pilesofashandrandom

bonesthatusedtobetheGeneral.‘Buthewasmyfather.Iwishthingscouldhaveendeddifferently.Forallofus.’IcrouchdownovertheGeneral’sremainsandcarefullyremovethesimpleblackleathersheaththathe

woreacrosshisback.It’salittlesingedbutstillholdingtogether.IpickuptheswordfromwhereAdamdroppedit,sheathitandholditouttohim.‘Idon’twantthat,’Adamsays,staringattheswordwithalookofdisgust.

‘Thingscanenddifferently,’Itellhim.‘Usethisinawaythatyourfatherneverdid.Helpuswinthiswarandchangethefateofbothourpeople.’Adamhesitatesforamomentbeforeacceptingtheswordfromme.Heholdsthebladeinbothhands

andstaresdownatit.Afteralongmomentofcontemplation,Adamslingsthesheathoverhisshoulder.Hegruntsattheweightbutmanagestostandupstraight.‘Thankyou,John,’hesaysquietly.‘Isweartoyou,thisbladewillneveragainbeusedagainstaLoric.’Samwalksovertous.‘Youguysallright?’Adamnods.Itouchtheskinofmythroat,whichalreadyfeelsswollenandpuffyfromwherethe

Generalstrangledme.‘Yeah,I’mgood,’Ireply,thenlooktoAdam.‘Arewedone,though?Oraretheremorecoming?’Heshakeshishead.‘Ishutdowncommunicationsrightbeforemy–rightbeforetheGeneralcaughtup

withme.Therewon’tbeanyreinforcements.’‘Nice,’Samreplies,lookingoutattheemptywindowsofAshwoodEstates.‘Sowejusttookovera

Mogadorianbase.’BeforeIcanbaskinanysenseofaccomplishment,InoticeadarklookonAdam’sface.He’snolonger

staringdownathisfather.Instead,hiseyesareturnedtowardsthehorizon,likehe’sexpectingtoseesomethingbadheadedourwayatanymoment.‘Whatisit?’Iaskhim.‘Therewassomethingelse,’hesaysslowly,choosinghiswordscarefully.‘Iwasonlyonthe

communicationsnetworkforafewmoments,butIpickedupsomechatter.Troopmovements.MassrelocationsoftrueborntotheWestVirginiafortress.Deploymentsofwarriorgroupstopopulationcenters.’‘Whoa,whoa,’Isay,holdingupmyhands.‘Whatdoesallthatmean?’‘Invasion,’Adamreplies.‘Invasionisimminent.’

10

SetrákusRahassomeofhisminionsstickmeinacoldroomwithoutanywindows.Nomorepoliteconversationsovernastydinners,Iguess.It’ssosmallinherethatIcanstandatthecenter,stretchoutmyarmsandalmostbrushtheopposingwallswithmyfingertips.There’salittledome-shapedprotrusioninthemiddleoftheceiling.Ibetit’sacamera.Againstonewallisasmallmetaldeskwithachairthatlookslikeit’sdesignedformaximumdiscomfort.OnthedeskisacopyofTheGreatBookofMogadorianProgress.I’msupposedtosithereandstudymygrandfather’smasterwork.Readthreesectionsandspendatleast

twentyminutesindeepcontemplationofeach.Nothanks.I’mnotsureifit’sthesamecopyIusedtohitthatMogadorianladyonmyfirstdayhere.Therearealot

ofthesebookslyingaroundtheAnubis.It’sliketheonlythingtheMogsread.Anyway,they’vechainedthisonetothedesktomakesureIdon’tturnitintoaweapon.Insteadofstudying,IleanagainstthewallfarthestfromthedeskandwaitfortheMogstorunoutof

patience.ItrytoignoretheitchingsensationcomingfromtheMogadoriancharmfreshlyburnedintomyankle.Ifthey’rewatchingme–andI’malmostcertainthatthey’realwayswatchingme–Idon’twantthemtoseemelookinguncomfortable.Idefinitelydon’twantthemtoknowhowdisgustedIamattheideaofbeingconnectedtoSetrákusRa.

TheMogshatetheLoric,buttheyfalloverthemselvestopleasetheir‘BelovedLeader,’eventhoughheusedtobeoneofus.Basedonwhathetoldmeatdinner,SetrákusRaturnedhimselfintosomefreakishhybridspeciesmadefromthepowerfulLegaciesofanElderandthetechnologicaladvancementsoftheMogs.Orsohesays.It’shardtofigureoutwhat’sfactandfictionwithhim.Whateverheisnow–Loric,Mogorsomethinginbetween–SetrákusRahasspentcenturiesmakingtheMogsviewhimasasavior.Asagod.Wherehecamefromdoesn’tmattertothemanymore.AndeventhoughIgetafewsidewayslooksfromsomeofthesoldiersaboardtheAnubis,tomostofthecrew,I’monSetrákusRa’slevel.I’mthegranddaughterofaself-proclaimedgod.Sofar,that’skeepingmesafe.Asifbeingbloodrelativeswasn’tenough,nowwe’rebondedbyhisversionofaLoriccharm.I

rememberfeelingleftoutwhenIdiscoveredalltheotherGardewereconnectedinthesameway,allofthemonceprotectedbythesameforce.Iwantedtobepartofthat.NowI’vegottwothickandjaggedbandsofscartissuearoundmyankle.Becarefulwhatyouwishfor,Ella.I’mzoningout,tryingtothinkupawaytotestwhatthecharmdoeswithouthurtingmyself,whena

noisestartsplayingintheroom.Itsoundsalmostexactlylikeasmokealarm.Atfirstit’slikearinginginmyears,butsecondslaterit’samplifiedenoughthatitdrownsoutmythoughts.Icovermyears,butthesoundonlygetslouder.It’scomingthroughthewallsfromeverydirectionatonce.

‘Turnitoff!’IyelltotheMogsI’msurearewatchingme.Inresponse,thevolumeincreases.Myheadfeelslikeitmightsplitopen.Istumbleawayfromthewallandthevolumeimmediatelylowersfromadeafeningshriektoapiercing

whistle.WhenItakeanothersteptowardstheGreatBook,thevolumedropsanotherfraction.Igetthehint.WhenIfinallyopenupthebook,thenoisedropstoanannoyingbuzz.Sothat’showSetrákusRaintendsto‘educate’me–bymakingitsotheonlypeaceIcanfindisliterally

inthepagesofhisMogadorianencyclopedia.MaybeIshouldtrytomakethemostofthis.TheremightbesomeinformationIcanuseagainsthimin

SetrákusRa’spainfullyboringbook.Itcan’thurttoskimalittle.There’snowayI’lleverbelieveanyoftheliesonthesepages.TheringingcutsoffentirelywhenIstarttoreadthefirstpage.EventhoughIresentit,Ican’thelpbut

letoutalittlesighofrelief.Thereisnogreaterachievementforaspeciesthantheshoulderingofone’sowngeneticdestiny.ItisforthatreasonthattheMogadorianracemustbeconsideredthemostelevatedofalllifethroughouttheuniverse.

Ugh.Ican’tbelievethisthinggoesonforlikefivehundredpages,orthatit’sbecomerequiredreadingforanentirespecies.I’mnotgoingtofindanythingusefulinhere.Assoonasmyeyesdriftawayfromthepage,theheinousbuzzingresumes,moreintensethanbefore.I

gritmyteethandlookbackatthebook,skimmingoveracouplemoresentencesuntilsomethingoccurstome.Igrabthetopofthefirstthirtypagesorsoandtearthemoutofthebindings.Thepiercingnoiseinmy

earsreachessirenlevel,myeyeswatering,butIforcemyselftogoon.IholdupthepagessothatwhicheverMogadorianiswatchingcansee,andthenItearthemdownthemiddle.ThenItearthemintofourths,smallerandsmaller,untilI’vegottwohandfulsofGreatBookconfettitotossintotheair.‘HowamIsupposedtoreaditnow?’Ishout.Thewailinggoesonforanothercoupleofminutes.Itgetstothepointwheremyneckandbackstartto

achefromthewaymyshouldersarebunchedup,likethey’retryingtocovermyears.Icontinuetearingmorepagesoutofthebook.Ican’tevenhearthepaperripping.Andthen,allofasudden,thenoisestops.Thebonesinmyface,myteeth–everythinghurts.ButI’ve

beatenthem,andthesilenceinthattiny,uncomfortableroomisthebestI’veeverexperienced.Myrewardisacoupleofhoursofalonetime.NotthatIcanevenreallytellhowmuchtimeispassing.

Isitontheedgeoftheuncomfortablechair,restmyheadonthedeskandtrytonap.Mythoughtssoundlouderinmyheadthantheyshould,andtheringinginmyearswon’tletmesleep.That,andthefeelingthatI’mbeingwatched.WhenIopenmyeyes,itfeelsliketheroomhasactuallygottensmaller.Iknowit’sjustmyimagination,butI’mstartingtofreakoutalittle.Myankleisitchinglikecrazy.IpullupthehemofmydarkMogadoriangown–afreshone,nottheone

SetrákusRaburned–andstareattherawfleshonmyleg.I’mfailingatmygoalofgivingnothingaway,butIcan’thelpmyself.Ireachdownandmassagemyankle,lettingoutadeepsighasIdo.IpressmypalmagainstthebrandandwishthatthescarwillbegonewhenIliftmyhand.Ofcourseit’sstillthere,butatleasttheclammysweatonmypalmactuallyfeelssortofgoodagainstthesearedflesh.Somethingoccurstomethen.WhatifIusemyAeternustoreturntoayoungerage?Wouldtheskinon

myankleheal?

Idecidetotryit.IclosemyeyesandpicturemyselfasIwastwoyearsago.Thefeelingofgettingsmallerislikelettingoutaheldbreath.AtleastthistimewhenIopenmyeyestheroomseemstohavegottenbigger.Ilookdownatmyself.I’veshrunkdownafewinches,mademyselfskinnier,themusclesI’dstarted

developingoverthelastfewmonthssmoothedaway.Andyet,thejaggedMogadoriansymbolonmylegremains,pinkandachyasever.‘Aeternus.Wehavethatincommon.’It’sSetrákusRa.Hestandsinthenowopendoorwayofmylittlestudyroom.Stillinthatinfuriatingly

plastichumanform.Heobservesmewithacasualsmile,leaningagainstthedoor,hisarmsfoldedacrosshischest.‘It’suseless,’Ireplybitterly,coveringupmyankle.Iclosemyeyesandeasebackintomytrueage.‘WhatIgetforbeingrelatedtoyou.ThedumbestLegacyofall.’‘Youwon’tfeelthatwaywhenyou’remyage,’Setrákussays,ignoringmyinsult.‘Youwillbeyoung

andbeautifulforever,ifyouwish.Itwillbeaninspirationtoyoursubjectstoseetheirleaderradiantandageless.’‘Idon’thaveanysubjects.’‘Notyet.Butsoon.’IknowexactlywhoSetrákusRameansformetolordover,butIrefusetoacknowledgeit.Iregret

usingmyAeternus.Nowheknowssomethingelseaboutme,anotherwayforhimtotryfindingcommongroundwithme,likewe’rethesame.‘Isthecharmbotheringyou?’heasksgently.‘It’sfine,’Ireplyquickly.‘It’slikeit’snoteventhere.’‘Hmm.Theirritationshouldpassinadayorso.’Hepauses,hishandonhischininreflection.‘Iknow

ithurtsnow,Ella.Butintimeyouwillcometoappreciatethelessonsyouarelearning.Youwillthankmeformybenevolence.’Ifrownathim,surethathe’sgoingtoramblenomatterwhatIsay.SoIdon’tsayanythingatall.Iglareupathim.‘Sowhat?You’re,like,protectingmewiththisthing?Isthatthepoint?’‘Iwouldseenoharmcometoyou,child,’SetrákusRareplies.‘DoesthischarmworkliketheonetheGardehad?’Itakeasteptowardshimandthedoorway.‘IfIrun

outofhereandoneofyourminionstriestostopme,willanythinghedoestohurtmebereflectedbackathim?’‘No.Ourcharmdoesnotworklikethat,’SetrákusRaanswerspatiently.‘AndIwouldstopyou,

granddaughter.Notoneofmyminions.’Itakeanothersteptowardshim,wonderingifhe’llbackaway.Hedoesn’t.‘IfIgettooclose,willthe

charmbreak?’SetrákusRadoesn’tmove.‘Justaseachcharmworksdifferently,sodoeseachonehaveaunique

weakness.IfonlyI’ddiscoveredthatbringingtheGardetogetherwouldhavebrokentheElders’cravencharmsooner,IwouldhavealreadyobliteratedtheGarde.’HetouchesthethreeglowingLoricpendantsdanglingfromaroundhisneck.‘Although,Imustadmit,Ihaveenjoyedthehunt.’Itrymybesttosoundcasualandsincere.‘Shouldn’tIknowwhatthatweaknessis?Idon’twantto

accidentallygobreakingourconnection,Grandfather.’

SetrákusRaactuallygrinsatme.I’mbeginningtorealizethatheappreciatesitwhenI’mduplicitous.Then,hiseyesdrifttowardstheshreddedpagesofhisbookandhisgrinfalters.‘Perhapssoon,whenyouareready,whenyoutrustthepurityofmymotives,’hereplies,thenabruptly

changesthesubject.‘Tellme,granddaughter,besidestheAeternus,whatotherLegacieshaveyoudeveloped?’‘OnlywhateverIusedtohurtyouatDulceBase,’Ilie,figuringit’sagoodideatokeepmytelepathya

secret.I’vetriedusingittoreachouttotheGarde,butthedistancefromtheAnubistoEarthmustbetoogreat.Onceweland,I’lltryagain.Untilthen,thelessSetrákusRaknowsaboutme,thebetter.‘AndIcan’tcontrolthatone.Idon’tevenknowwhatitis.’‘Iwashardlyhurt,’SetrákusRascoffs.‘YourotherLegacieswilldevelopsoon,dear.Inthemeantime,

wouldyoulikemetoshowyoutheextentofyourpower?’‘Yes,’Ireply,almostsurprisedatmyowneagerness.Itellmyselfthatit’ssmarttolearnhowtousemy

Legacies,evenifmyteacheristhebiggestmonsterintheuniverse.Inresponse,SetrákusRasmiles.Almostlikehethinkshe’sgottenthroughtome.Hehasn’t,butlethim

goonthinkingthatI’mbecominganeagerpupil.HewaveshishandatthemessI’vemadeofhisbook.‘First,cleanthisup,’hecommands.‘IwillseeyouhaveachancetopractiseyourLegaciesonceyour

betrothedarrives.’Mywhat?

11

SunsetintheevergladeswouldbeprettyifnotforthemassiveMogadorianwarshipblottingoutthehorizon.Whateveralienmetalthewarshipismadefrom,itreflectsnothing,thepinkandorangelightofthedyingdaysimplyabsorbedintothehull.Thebehemothdoesn’tland–there’snotenoughclearedspaceintheswamplandforittosetdown,unlessitwantstocrushthesmallerMogadorianshipsparkedonthenarrowrunwaybelow.Instead,thewarshiphovers,metalgangwaysunfurlingfromtheship’sundersideandconnectingtotheground.Mogadoriansscurryupanddowntheramps,loadingequipmentintotheship.‘Weshouldwipethemout,’Marinasaysmatter-of-factly.Nineblinksather.‘Areyouserious?IcountatleastahundredMogsandthebiggestgoddamnshipI’ve

everseen.’‘Sowhat?’Marinacounters.‘Don’tyoulovetofight?’‘FightsIcanwin,yeah,’Ninereplies.‘Andifyoucan’twin,youjustrunyourmouth,right?’‘Enough,’IhissbeforeNinecansayanythingmore.Idon’tknowhowlongMarina’sgoingtoholdthis

grudgeagainstNineorwhatit’lltaketoeasethetension,butnowisdefinitelynotthetimetodealwithit.‘Bickeringisn’tgettingusanywhere.’We’reonourstomachsinthemud,shieldedfromthebusyMogadoriansbyovergrowntallgrass,rightat

theedgeofwheretheswampbeginstoencroachonthemanmadeclearing.Therearetwobuildingsinfrontofus;oneisaglass-and-steelone-storeythatlooksalmostlikeagreenhouse,andtheotherisanaircrafthangarwithanarrowlandingstrip,perfectforsmallpropellerplanesorthesaucer-shapedMogadoriancrafts,nowherenearlargeenoughforthewarshipfloatingaboveus.JustlikeDaletoldusbeforehefled,thewholeplacelookslikeitwasabandoneduntilrecently.Theswampisbeginningtocreepbackinandcracktheasphalt,themetalstrutsofthegreenhousearerustedover,andtheNASAlogohasalmostcompletelyfadedfromthesideofthehangar.Ofcourse,theseconditionsdon’tappeartohavedeterredtheMogsfromsettingupasmallbasehere.Butnow,itlookslikethey’repackingup.‘Marina,doyousenseanything?’Iask.Atthispoint,we’vegotnothingelsetogoonexceptthis

intuitionofhers.It’sgottenusthisfar–rightintoaswarmingnestofMogadorians.Mightaswellletittakeusalittlefurther.‘He’shere,’shesays.‘Idon’tknowhowIknow,buthe’shere.’‘Thenwe’regoingin,’Isay.‘Butwe’redoingitthesmartway.’Ireachoutandgrabbothoftheirhands,turningthethreeofusinvisible.IfaMogadorianwastolook

overherenow,we’dbenothingmorethanthreestrangeindentationsinthemud.Asagroup,westandup,confidentthatthehordeofMogswon’tbeabletoseeus.‘Marina,youleadtheway,’Iwhisper.

Aswestepoutoftheswamp,Ninetripsoverarootandnearlytopplesover,ourchainalmostbreaking.Thatwould’vebeentheshortestcovertmissioninhistory.Isqueezehishandhard.‘Sorry,’hesaysquietly.‘It’sjustweirdnotbeingabletoseemylegs.’‘Thatcan’thappenagain,’Iwarnhim.‘I’mreconsideringthatwholerushing-in-and-killing-them-allthing,’Ninereplies.‘Beingsneakyisn’t

exactlymystrongsuit.’Marinamakesanannoyednoise,soIsqueezeherhandhard,too.‘Weneedtomoveasaunit,’Isaythroughgrittedteeth,hopingwecanregainsomeofthatinstinctual

teamworkwemanagedduringtheearlierfightwithMogscouts.‘Takeitslow,bequietanddon’tbumpintoanything.’Withthat,westartslowlyforward.I’mnottooworriedaboutthenoiseourfootfallsmakeonthe

unevenpavement;theMogadoriansarebusyloadingheavygearfromthegreenhousetothewarship,thewheelsontheirdolliessqueakingandgrinding.I’musedtomovingaroundwhileinvisible,trustingmyinstincts,butIknowthatitcanbehardfortheothers.Weapproachslowly,graspingontoeachother,keepingasquietaspossible.Marinatakesustowardsthegreenhousefirst.TheMogsareconcentratedaroundthatarea,wheeling

outcartsloadedupwithbizarre,madscientist–lookingdevices.IwatchasoneMogpushesawheeledshelvingunitclutteredwithpottedplants–flowers,patchesofgrass,saplings–allofthemthingsfoundonEarth,andyetallofthemveinedwithastrangegrayfluid.Theylookdroopy,onthevergeofdying,andIwonderwhatkindofexperimentstheMogswererunningonthem.There’satallMogadorianatthebaseoftherampleadingtothewarship.Hisuniformisdifferentfrom

theusualwarriorgarb–thoseMogsareatleastsortoftryingtofitinonEarth,evenifthey’redressedlikegothicweirdos.Thisguyisdefinitelysomekindofmilitaryofficer,hisattireformalandsevere,allblack,coveredinshiningmedalsandstuddedepaulets.ThetattoosacrosshisscalparemuchmoreelaboratethananyI’veseen.Heholdsacomputertabletinhishands,checkingitemsoffwithaswipeofhisfingerastheMogsloadthemontotheship.HebarkstheoccasionalorderattheothersinharshMogadorian.Marinatriestomoveusclosertothegreenhouse,butItightenmygripandplantmyfeet.Ninebumps

intomyback,lettingoutanannoyedgruntthatwe’restopped.ThepathinfrontofusislikeaMogadorianobstaclecourse–they’reeverywhere.AnycloserandweruntheriskofastrayMogwalkingrightintous.IfEightisinthatgreenhousewiththeirexperimentsandcargo,ouronlychancetogethimwouldbeafull-onassault.I’mnotreadytogodownthatroadyet.Sensingmyreluctance,Marina’shandgrowsalittlecolderinmine.‘Notyet,’Ihissather,mywordsbarelylouderthanasoftbreath.‘Wecheckthehangarfirst.’Wemakeitabouttenmorestepsbeforeananimalgroanstopsusinourtracks.Fromthegreenhouse,a

teamofMogswheeloutalargecage.Insideisacreaturethatmighthavebeenacowatonepointbuthassincebeentransformedintosomethingseriouslynasty.Theanimal’seyesarewetandjaundiced,painful-lookinghornsjutoutofitsskull,anditsudderisimmenselyswollenandcoveredinthesamegrayishveinsInoticedontheplants.Thecreaturelookslethargicanddepressed,barelyalive.WhateverexperimentstheMogswererunningdownherearetrulydisgustingand,likeNine,I’mstartingtoreconsiderMarina’sideaofjustwipingoutallthesebastards,massivewarshipornomassivewarship.

‘Holdup,’Ninewhispersinmyear.‘I’vegotanidea.’Exposedasweare,I’mnotsureit’sagreattimeforoneofNine’scrazyideas.But,amomentafterhe

stopsus,thecow-beastinthecagegroansagainandlumbersawkwardlytoitsfeet.Itstaggerstothesideandpushesallitsweightagainstonesideofthecage,causingtheMogspushingittoyellforassistanceasthewholethingthreatenstotopple.Then,themonstermule-kicksoneofitshugeclovenhoovesatthebars,nearlysmashingthefaceofaMog.‘Iaskedittogiveusadistraction,’Ninewhispers,moreMogsclosinginonthecagetotrysedating

theirexperiment.‘Poorthingwashappytohelp.’Nine’sanimaltelepathyworkslikeacharm.Asifit’satlastdiscoveredapurposeinlife,thecow

thrashesabout,bullingtowardsthesidesofitscage,evencatchingoneMogintheshoulderwithitshorn.Thechaoscreatesanopeningforustoslipthroughthemassinfrontofthegreenhouseandmakeourwaytowardsthehangar.WeallstopatthesoundofaMogblasterbeingfired.Turningaround,Iseetheofficerholsteringhis

blaster,asmokingholeinthesideofthecow’shead.Itslumpsinthecage,unmoving.Heyellssomeorders,andtheMogadoriansbeginloadingthecorpseontothewarship.AsItenseup,Ninewhisperstome,‘Betterthisway.Itwasinatonofpain.’WithsomedistancebetweenusandthehighestconcentrationofMogs,Ifeelcomfortableenoughto

whisperback.‘Whatweretheydoingtoit?’Ninepausesbeforeanswering.‘Icouldn’t,like,haveaheart-to-heartwiththething.ButIthinkthey

weretryingtofigureouthowtheycouldmakeitmoreefficient.They’re,uh,experimentingwiththeecology.’‘Demented,’Marinamutters.Wepickupsomespeedaswemovetowardsthehangar.Onourright,attheedgeoftherunway,area

trioofthesmaller,saucer-shapedMogadorianships.AmaintenancecrewoffiveMogadorianshuddlesaroundoneofthem,pullingcircuitboardsoutoftheship’sunderbellyandgenerallylookingbefuddled.IguessMogadorianscanhavetechnicaldifficulties,too.Otherthanthoseguys,thecoastisclear.Thehuge,sheet-metaldoorsofthehangar,wideenoughforasmallplanetopassinandout,areonly

openafewfeet,justenoughtoletapersonpassthrough.Therearelightsoninsidethehangar,butallIcanseethroughthegapisemptyspace.Marinaslowsdownaswereachthedoorsandthenstopsfullytopeekinside.Whileshe’sdoingthat,I

lookovermyshoulder.Nothing’schanged–theMogsarestillloadingmaterialsontothewarship,completelyunawarethatwejustsnuckthroughtheirranks.‘Anything?’Ninewhispers,andIcansensehimcraninghisneck,tryingtoseethroughthecrackinthe

hangardoors.BeforeIcananswer,IhearMarina’sbreathcatchinherthroat.Myhandstings,shotthroughwithcold,likeI’msuddenlyclutchingablockofice.‘Shit,Marina!’Ihiss,butshe’snotlistening.Instead,she’slungingthroughthedoors.Consideringmy

handisnumb,ittakesallmywillpowertokeepholdofher.ItugNinealongbehindmeandhisshoulderstrikesthesteeldoor,hisgruntcoveredbytheechoingmetallicrattling.Thehangarisalmostcompletelyempty,theMogadorianshavingalreadyclearedalltheirgearout.

Largefloodlightsshinedownfromtherafters,illuminatingthemetaltableandchairinthecenterofthe

room.They’retheonlythingsleftinthehangar,andthelightsfromabovecastlongshadowsacrosstheconcretefloor.Eight’sbodyisonthetable.Heiswrappedinablackbodybag,unzippedtothewaist.He’sshirtless,thequarter-sizedwound

whereFivestabbedhimthroughtheheartplainlyvisibleonhischest.Hisbrownskinisashen,butEightstilllooksverymuchlikehimself,likeatanymomenthe’llteleportoffthetableandplaysomeannoyingjokeonme.Thereareblackelectrodeswithshort,fragile-lookingantennaeattachedtoEight’stemplesandafewmorerunningdownhissternum.Theelectrodesgeneratesomekindoffieldthat’sbarelyvisibletotheeye,likealowandsteadycurrentofelectricityispassingoverEight’sbody.Ithinkit’ssomethingtheMogsattachedtoEighttokeephisbodyintactfortheirexperiments.Inadditiontotheelectrodes,someonehascleanedthebloodoffhimand,surprisingly,they’velefthisLoricpendantaroundhisneck,thejewelshimmeringdullyagainsthischest.Itkillsmetoseehimlikethis,butEightlooksalmostpeaceful.Ofcourse,Eightisn’tthereasonMarinashovedthroughthehangardoors,orthereasonthatshe’s

currentlygivingmyhandawickedcaseoffrostbite.SeatednexttoEight,headinhishands,isFive.Fivesitscrouchedforward,almostlikehewisheshecouldfoldinonhimself.There’sathickpadof

gauzeovertheeyeMarinastabbedbackintheswamp,averyfaintpinkstainbeginningtosoakthrough.Hisgoodeyeisred-rimmed;itlooksasifhe’sbeencryingorhasn’tbeensleeping–orboth.Five’sheadisfreshlyshavensincewelastsawhim,andIwonderhowfaroffheisfromgettingasetofhisownMogadoriantattoos.He’sdressedinMogadorianformalattiresimilartotheofficerdirectingtrafficatthewarship.However,hisuniformisseverelywrinkled,thebuttonsaroundtheneckundone,everythinglookingalittletootight.There’snowaytheone-eyedtraitordidn’thearusenter.ThankstoMarina,wemadeatonofnoise

comingthroughthedoor,andtheemptinessofthehangaramplifieseverythingtothepointwhereI’msuddenlyextremelyconsciousofmybreathing.Evenworse,IcanhearalowgrowlcomingfromMarina,likeshe’sfightingbackanintensescream,readytothrowherselfatFive.Behindme,IcansenseNinebasicallyholdinghisbreath.Five’sgoodeyeflicksbrieflyinourdirection.Hedefinitelyheardus,buthecan’tseeus.Maybe

there’shopehe’lljustwriteitoffasnoisefromtheMogsoutside.IwantanothergoattherenegadeGarde,too–onewherehedoesn’tsuckerpunchmeintounconsciousnessbeforethefightevenstarts–butwehavetopickourbattles.FacingoffagainstFiveinanenclosedspacewithaMogadorianwarshipatourbackisdefinitelynotthebattlewewant.We’llneedtofigureoutanotherwaytorecoverEight’sbody.IpullatMarina’sarm,theicypinpricksinmyhandnowreplacedbyfull-onnumbness,tryingto

communicatetoherjusthowterribleanideacharginginwouldbe.Shetugsagainstmeforamoment,butthenIstarttofeelhercalmdown,whichIcantellbecausemyhandstartstowarmup.ButasMarinaslowlyandquietlyreleasesadeepbreath,Iseeitmistinfrontofher,theairaroundher

toocold.Acloudofbreathfromaninvisiblegirl,floatinginthebrightlightsofthehangar.Fiveseesit,hiseyenarrowing.Hestandsupfromhischairandlooksrightatthespotwherewe’re

standing.‘Ididn’tmeantodoit,’hesays.

12

IclenchMarina’sandNine’shands,hopingthatwillbeenoughtokeepthemfromsayinganythingbacktoFiveandtotallygivingawayourposition.I’mnotreadytoloseouroneadvantage–invisibility–justyet.Thankfully,theybothmanagetocontrolthemselves,Five’swordshangingoutthereunanswered.‘Iknowyouwon’tbelieveme,’Fivecontinues.‘Butnoonewassupposedtogetkilled.’Five’sbeseechinggazeisstillaimedrightatus,soslowly,quietly,Ibeginleadingtheotherstothe

side.Wemovejustinchesatatime,carefulofeachother,notmakinganynoise.Gradually,weslipoutfromunderFive’sgaze,flankinghim.Now,he’sstaringattrulyemptyspace,stupidlywaitingforaresponse.Withagrunt,Fiveturnsaway.It’slikehewasnevertalkingtousatall.Instead,hestartsspeaking

directlytoEight’sbody.‘Youshouldn’thavedonewhatyoudid,divinginfrontofNine,’Fivelectures,hisvoicealmost

wistful.‘Itwasheroic,Iguess.Ikindaadmireyouforit.Butitwasn’tworthit.TheMogadoriansaregoingtowinanyway,youknow?Alevelheadedguylikeyouwould’velearnedhisplace.Youcould’vehelpedwiththerebuildingandunification.Nine,though…he’stoobrain-deadtoknowwhenhe’sbeat.He’snogoodtoanyone.’IfeelmusclestenseinNine’sarm,butfornowheresiststheurgetothrowhimselfatFive.That’sgood

–he’slearning.Ormaybe,likeme,he’sstunnedthisishappeningatall,Fivejustramblingawaylikethis,pretendingwe’renothere.FiveputshishandgentlyonEight’sshoulder.ThesleeveofhisuniformridesupandInoticetheleather

sheathstrappedtohisarm,theonethatholdstheneedle-shapedspring-loadeddaggerthatheusedtokillourfriend.‘Hetoldme–’Five’svoicebreaksalittleashecontinuesaddressingEight.‘HetoldmeI’dhavea

chancetotalkyouguysintojoining.NoonewouldhavetogethurtifyoujustacceptedMogadorianProgress.Hekepthiswordbefore,Imean,I’mlivingproof,right?Whenthecharmbroke,hecould’vekilledme,buthedidn’t.’FivemustbetalkingaboutSetrákusRa,aboutadealhestruckwiththeMogadorianleader.Hewalks

aroundthetable,turninghisbackonus.Marinatakesasteptowardshim,butIdon’tlethergoanyfarther.Idon’tknowwhyFiveistalkingsomuch,buthehastoknowwe’rehere.I’mnotsureifthisisatrap,ifhe’sbaitingus,orwhatisgoingon.ButIwanttolisten.‘Ididn’texpectyoutobesobrainwashed,’Fivesays,standingoverEight,hishunchedbackpresenting

aperfecttarget.‘Thinkingabouteverythinginblackandwhite,heroesandvillains.’FivereachesdownandliftsEight’spendant,squeezingthejewelinhisfist.HisLegacy–Externa,he

calledit,wherehisskintakesonthequalityofwhateverhetouches–kicksin,Five’sskinbrieflyflashingtheshimmeringcobaltofLoralite.Afteramoment,heletsthependantgowithasigh,andhisfleshreturnstonormal.

‘Butthen,maybeI’mthebrainwashedone,right?Isn’tthatwhatyouguyssaidtome?’Fiveletsloosealowlaugh,thenreachesuptocarefullyadjustthegauzeoverhisdestroyedeye.‘Theyfillyourheadwithallthisshit–theElders,theGreatBook.Alltheserulesaboutwhowe’resupposedtobe.ButIdon’tcareaboutanyofit.I’mjusttryingtosurvive.’IfeelNine’shandsweatinginmine;hemustbestrugglingtoholdhimselfbackfromattacking.Marina,

meanwhile,isn’tradiatingthefuriouscoldshewasmomentsago,probablybecausethesceneunfoldingbeforeusissomisguidedandpathetic.IfFive’sspeech–clearlyforourbenefit–hasrevealedanything,it’sthathe’sprettymuchlosthismind.FivebrushesaspeckofsomethinggentlyfromEight’sforehead,thenshakeshishead.‘Anyway,thepointis,I’msorry,Eight,’Fivesays,thatknow-it-alltonestillinhisvoicebutmixed

withanundercurrentofsincerity.‘Iknowitdoesn’tmeananything.I’llbeacoward,atraitor,amurdererfortherestofmylife.Thatwon’tchange.ButIwantyoutoknowthatIwishthingscould’veturnedoutdifferently.’Behindus,someoneclearshisthroat.AllofusweresowrappedupinFive’sunhingedmonologue–

Fiveincluded–thatwedidn’tnoticetheMogadorianofficerenter.HeeyesFivewarily,hisposturestiffandformal.Lookingathim,standingtherelikeasoldierreadytodeliverareport,itoccurstomethatthisMogadorianmightactuallytakeordersfromFive.Ifthat’sthecase,heseemswaydisgustedbyit.‘Wearefinishedloadingtheship,’theofficersays.TheMogwaitsforFivetoacknowledgehim,butFivestayssilentforalong,awkwardmoment.He

stayshunchedoverEight’sbody,breathingslowly.Itenseupandwonderifhisstrangegameisoverandifnowhe’sthinkingaboutsoundingthealarm.TheMogadorianofficerdoesabadjobofhidinghowmuchFive’ssilenceperturbshim.‘Oneofthe

huntingpartieshasn’treportedback,’hecontinues.‘Andthemechanicsarehavingdifficultiesgettingoneofthescoutvesselstowork.’Fivesighs.‘That’sfine,’hesays.‘We’llleavethembehind.’‘Yes,thoseweremyorders,’theofficerreplies,notsosubtlyassertinghispower.‘Areyoureadyto

leave?’Fiveturnstotheofficer,amalicioustwinkleinhisremainingeye.‘Yeah.Let’sgetoutofhere.’Fivewalkstowardsthehangardoors,hismovementsmockinglysluggish.Westandtotheside,

watchingallthistranspire,stayingquiet.Theofficerarchesaneyebrow,notsteppingoutofFive’sway.‘Aren’tyouforgettingsomething?’theofficerasksFivewhenthetwoarenearlyface-to-face.Fivescratcheshishead.‘Huh?’‘Thebody,’theofficersays,annoyed.‘YourinstructionsaretobringtheLoric’sbody.Andthe

pendant.’‘Oh,that,’Fivereplies,andglancesbackatthemetaltablewhereEightrests.‘Thebody’sgone,

Captain.TheGardemusthaveslippedinhereandtakenit.Onlyexplanation.’TheMogadoriancaptaindoesn’tknowwhattosay.Hemakesashowofcraninghisneck,lookingpast

FivetowhereEightisstillverymuchonthetable.Then,hestudiesFive’sface,hiseyesnarrowedimpatiently.‘Isthissomekindofgame,Loric?’thecaptainhisses.‘Orareyoublindinbotheyesnow?TheGarde

isrightthere.’

FiveignorestheinsultandshakeshisheadattheCaptain,clickinghistongue.‘Happenedonyourwatch,too,’Fivesays.‘Youletthemstealawarassetfromrightunderyournose.

That’sbasicallytreason,myman.Youknowwhatthepunishmentforthatis.’TheMogadorianopenshismouthforanotherdisbelievingprotest.He’scutoffbyascrapeofmetal,

Five’sbladepoppingoutfrombeneathhissleeve.Withouthesitation,hedrivesthepointintotheundersideoftheofficer’sjawandstraightupintohisbrain.Beforehestartstodisintegrate,there’salookoftotalsurpriseontheMog’sface.Fivedoesn’tmoveastheMogturnstoash.HedisintegratesslowerthanthemanyotherdyingMogs

I’veseen,andwhenit’sfinishedtherearejaggedbonespokingoutofhiscrumpleduniform.Fivepusheshisbladebackintothemechanismonhisforearmandkickstheofficer’sremainsawayfromthedoors.Then,hecarefullybrusheshimselfoffandstraightenshiscoat.Fromwherewe’restanding,Fiveisinprofile,andtheeyethat’svisibleistheonecoveredbythe

gauzebandage.Becauseofthat,it’snoteasytogetareadonhisexpression.‘Goodluck,’Fivesays,thenstepsthroughthehangardoors,easingthemclosedbehindhim.Noonesaysanythingorevenmovesforaboutaminute,allofusalittleworriedthatasquadronof

Mogswillbestorminginhereatanysecond.Finally,Nineshakesoffmygrip,poppingbackintothevisibleworld.‘Okay.Whattheholyhellwasthatabout?’heexclaims.‘Isthatkidtryingtobuddyupnoworishejust

totallyloonytunes?’‘Itdoesn’tmatter,’Ireply.‘We’vegotEight,that’swhat’simportant.WecandealwithFiveanother

time.’‘He’saloneandlost,’Marinasayssoftly,lettinggoofmyhandaswell.Shenoticesmerubbingsome

warmthbackintoit,thechilledfeelingstilllingering,andfrowns.‘Sorry,Six.Hebroughtitoutofme.’Iwaveitoff,notwantingtogetintoMarina’sLegacycontrolatthemoment.Itiptoetothehangardoors

andedgethemopenjustacrack.I’mjustintimetoseeFivedisappearinguptherampandontothewarship,thelastoneaboard.Oncehe’sinside,therampcurlsbackintothewarship’sunderbellyandthehugeshipbeginstoriseup,itsenginespurringwithasoftnessthatseemsalmostimpossibleforavesselthatsize.Onceitreachesacertainheight,thewarshipstartstoflickerandIbeginhavingtroubledistinguishingitsoutlinefromthepurpleclouds.Hulking,virtuallysilent,andequippedwithsomekindofcloakingdevice–howarewesupposedtofightsomethinglikethat?‘Yousoundlikeyoufeelsorryforhim,’NinesaystoMarina.‘Idon’t,’shesnapsatNine,butIcanhearsomedoubtcreepingintoMarina’svoice,thattoughexterior

she’sbeenputtingonshowingsomefaults.‘I…didyouseehiseye?’‘IsawaholeinhisheadcoveredbyaBand-Aid,’Ninereplies.‘Dudehasthatandmorecomingto

him.’‘DoyouthinkEightwouldwantthat?’Iask,honestlywondering.‘Hediedtryingtokeepusfrom

killingeachother.’Thewarshiprisenoutofsight,Iturnaroundtofacetheothers.Ninechewshislipandstaresatthe

floor,consideringwhatIjustsaid.MarinahastakenaseatinFive’sformerchairatEight’sside.Shetentativelytouchestheelectrodesandwavesherfingersthroughtheenergyfield.Whennothinghappens,

Marinagentlybrushesherfingersthroughhiscurlyhair.Hereyesshinewithfreshtears,butsheholdsthemback.‘IknewI’dfindyou,’shewhispers.‘I’msorryIeverleftyou.’IwalkovertojoinMarinaatthetable,gazingdownatEight.Maybeit’smyimagination,butitseems

likehehasthefaintestsmileonhislips.‘IwishI’dknownyoubetter,’IsaytoEight,reachingouttoplacemyhandlightlyonhisshoulder.‘I

wishourliveshadbeendifferent.’Ninehesitatesbuteventuallyjoinsusatthetable,standingnexttoMarina.Atfirst,heavoidslooking

directlyatEight’sbody,hislipspursed,themusclesinhisnecktwitchinglikehe’stryingtoliftsomethingheavy.He’sashamed,Irealize.Itseemstotakeagreateffortonhispart,butafteramomentNinemanagestolookatEight.Immediately,hereachesouttozipupthebodybagalittlemore,enoughsothatEight’swoundishiddenfromview.‘Ohman,’hesaysquietly.‘I’msorryfor…’Nineshakeshishead,runningahandthroughhishair.‘I

mean,thankyouforsavingmylife.Fivewasright,uh,youprobablyshouldn’thave.IfI’djustshutmymouthyou’dprobablystillbe…shit,I’msorry,Eight.I’msosorry.’Ninetakesashudderingbreath,obviouslyholdingbacktears.Marinaputsherhandsoftlyonhisback

andleansagainsthim.‘Hewouldforgiveyou,’shesayssoftly,adding,‘Iforgiveyou.’NineputshisarmaroundMarinaandpullsherintoahugthat’stightenoughtomakehersqueak.He

burieshisfaceinherhair,hidinghistears.Mymindisandhasalwaysbeenracing–wonderingaboutJohn,Samandtheothers,worryingabouthowwe’regoingtofindourwaybacktothem,ifthey’reevenstillaliveanduncaptured–butseeingMarinaandNinelikethis,comingtogether,startingtoheal,itgivesmehope.We’reastrongpeople.Wecangetthroughanything.‘Weneedtogetmoving,’Isaygently,reluctanttoendthismomentbutknowingthatIhaveto.NinefinallyreleasesMarina,andIcarefullyzipupEight’sbodybag.Ninereachesdownand,withan

equalamountofcare,liftsEight’sbodyintohisarms.Justasweturntowardsthehangardoors,theyrumbleopen.ThegroupofMogadorianswhowereworkingonthescoutship.Iforgotallaboutthem.Theystandin

thedoorway,caughtinthemiddleofpushingtheirbrokenshipintothehangar.Theylookaboutassurprisedtoseeusaswearetoseethem.Beforewecandoanything,amechanicalgrindingemanatesfromtheship.Thefront–oratleastthe

sideofthesauceraimeddirectlyatus–opensup,ablasterturretclankingintoviewandwhirringtolifewithanelectricsizzle.TheremustbeaMoginside.‘Getdown!’Nineshouts.There’snocoverinthisemptyhangarexceptthemetaltable,andit’swaytoolatetogoinvisible.

Marinaflipsoverthetable,NinecroucheswithEight’sbodystillinhisarms,andIdivetotheside,hopingthatwe’refastenoughastheturretopensfire.

13

‘DoesthenameGrahishSharmameananythingtoyou?’Sarahasks.Ithinkforamoment,tryingtopluckthenameoutofmymemory.‘Soundskindoffamiliar.Why?’I’mstandingintheyardoutsideAdam’soldhouse,Sarah’svoicearrivinglong-distanceoverthe

disposablecellphone.Beyondtheemptybasketballcourts,thesunisjustbeginningtodipbelowthehorizon.AlargebirdcutsacrosstheorangeskyandIwonderifit’soneofours–we’vesettheChimæraeupassentriesallaroundthegroundsofAshwoodEstateswithorderstofindusifanyintrudersshouldappear.Sofar,it’sbeenquiet.IfIdidn’tknowbetter,it’dseemlikeIwashangingoutinapeculiarlyquietsuburb,onewhereeveryone’sstillatwork.‘He’sfromIndia,’Sarahexplains.‘He’sthecommanderofsomethingcalledtheVishnuNationalist

Eight.’ThenameclicksatthementionofEightandIsnapmyfingers.‘Oh,right.That’sthearmyguywhowas

protectingEightintheHimalayas.’‘Hmm,’Sarahsays.‘Sohisstorychecksout.’Ipaceacrossthelawn,picturingSarahwithherblondhairpulledupinastudiousbun,pensand

pencilsstuckthroughit,poringoversomedocumentsinthenewofficesofTheyWalkAmongUs.NevermindthatthoseofficesarelocatedinanabandonedranchfiftymilesoutsideofHuntsville,Alabama.NevermindthatSarahwasescortedtherebyherex-boyfriendMark,who’sactuallyturnedouttobesurprisinglycapableatthiscloak-and-daggerstuff.It’stheimageofSarahthatIfocuson.‘Whatstoryisthat?’‘Well,it’salotofrumorandinternetweirdnessthatwe’retryingtocutthrough.ButthisSharmaguyis

claimingtohaveshotdownanalienspacecraftandcaptureditscrew.’‘SomeoftheMogswhowereafterEight,probably,’Ireply.‘Right.Tookthemaliveandeverything.EventhoughithappenedinIndia,itshouldstillbenational

news,butit’snot.Someone’skeepingalidonit.Mark’stryingtomakecontactwithSharma.HewantstorunthestoryonTheyWalkAmongUs,hopefullyexposetheMogstothegeneralpublic.’‘Huh,’Isay,rubbingthebackofmyneckandthinkingoutloud.‘Mighthelprallysomesupportifthings

getbad.’‘Howbadarethingsgoingtoget,John?’Iswallowhard.EventhoughIusedmyhealingLegacyshortlyafterbattle,IcanstillfeeltheGeneral’s

fingersclenchedaroundmythroat.‘Idon’tknow,’Isay,notsurewhyI’mhidingAdam’stheoryonimminentinvasionfromSarah.Iguess

maybeI’mstilltryingtoprotecther.Iquicklychangethesubject.‘How’sMarkdoing,anyway?’‘He’sdoingfine,’Sarahreplies.‘He’schangedalot.’‘Howso?’Sarahhesitates.‘I…it’shardtoexplain.’

Idon’tdwellforverylongonthepresentstateofMarkJames.Itisn’twhatIwanttotalkabout.Really,afternearlydyingthisafternoon,allIwantistohearSarah’svoice.‘Imissyou,’Isay.‘Imissyou,too,’Sarahreplies.‘Afteralongdayoffightingalieninvadersandunravelinginternational

conspiracies,Iwishwecouldjustsnuggleuponthatoldcouchinmybasementandwatchamovie.’Thatmakesmelaugh,thefeelingbittersweetasIpicturethekindofnormallifeSarahandImightbe

leadingifweweren’ttryingtosavetheworld.‘Soon,’Itellher,tryingtosoundconfident.‘Ihopeso,’shereplies.IsensemovementbehindmeandturnaroundtofindSamstandingontheruinedporchofAdam’shouse.

Hemotionsformetocomeinside.‘Sarah,I’vegottago,’Isay,feelingreluctanttohangupthephone.We’vebeencheckinginwitheach

othereveryeighthourslikeweplanned,andIfeelasenseofreliefeverytimeIhearhervoice.EverytimeIdisconnect,Istartthinkingaboutthenexttime…thetimewhenshewon’tcall.‘Becareful,okay?Thingsmightbegettingprettyheavysoon.’‘Thingsaren’talreadyheavy?’sheasks.‘Youbecareful,too.Iloveyou.’Isaygood-byetoSarahandtiltmyheadatSam.Helooksalmostexcited,likehe’sgottensomegood

newsinthelastfiveminutes.‘What’sup?’‘Comedown,’hesays.‘Wefiguredsomethingout.’Iclimbontowhat’sleftoftheporchafterthisafternoon’sskirmishandfollowSamthroughthehalf-

sunkendoorwayintothelivingroom.Theinteriorofthehousematchestheexterior–theperfectideaofhumansuburbia–exceptthefurniturelookslikeitwasarrangedexactlyasseenonthepagesofacatalogue.There’sabsolutelynosenseofitbeinglivedin.ItrytoimaginewhatitwaslikeforAdamgrowinguphere,trytopicturehimbashinglittlePikenactionfigurestogetheronthefloor,andjustcan’tdoit.Atthebackofthelivingroomisamassivemetaldoorsecuredbyaseriesoflocksoperatedbya

keypadcoveredinMogadoriansymbols.Thedooristheonethingthatbreaksthesuburbanillusionandit’sactuallykindofsurprisingtomethattheMogsdidn’ttryhidingitbehindabookcaseorsomething.Iguesstheyneverthoughttheirenemieswouldmakeitthisfar.Thedoorisalreadyopen,unlockedbyAdamearlier,andit’sthroughtherethatSamandIdescendintothetunnelsbeneathAshwoodEstates.Wewalkdownalongmetalstaircase,thephonyhomelinessaboveimmediatelyreplacedbysterile

stainlesssteelandbuzzinghalogenlights.ThelabyrinthinenetworkoftunnelsbeneathAshwoodismuchmoreinkeepingwithmyideaoftheMogadorians–functionalandcold.It’snotquiteassprawlingdownhereasthehollowed-outmountaininWestVirginia,butitdefinitelyputsDulceBasetoshame.Iwonderhowlongittookthemtocarveallthisout,theMogstunnelingintotheEarthduringthoseyearsIwasontherunwithHenri,expandingtheirreachwithoutusevenrealizingit.There’sajaggedandlongcrackinthewallthatstartsabouthalfwaydownthestepsandrunsahead

deeperintothetunnels.Samreachesouttodraghishandalongit,coatinghisfingerswithconcretedust.‘We’resurethisplaceisn’tgoingtocollapse,right?’

‘Adamdoesn’tthinkso,’Samreplies,clappinghishandsclean,thenoiseechoing.‘Itcreepsmeoutdownhere,though.Seriouslyclaustrophobic.’‘Don’tworry.Wewon’tbestayinglong.’Wepassothercracksaswenavigatethetwistinghallways,placeswherethefoundationshifted,broken

sectionsofconcretegrindingagainsteachother.ThedamagewascausedthelasttimeAdamwashere,whenheunleashedhisearthquakeLegacytorescueMalcolm.Therearesomehallwayswheretheceilingshaveoutrightcollapsed.Downthehall,wepassbyalarge,well-litroomthatlookslikeitmighthavebeenalaboratoryatone

point,lotsofnozzlesandleversandworktables,butnoequipment.EverythingmusthavegottendestroyedinAdam’sattack,andtheMogsalvageteamnevergotthechancetoreplaceit.Nexttothelab,wepassarowofoppressiveeight-by-eightroomswiththickdoorsmadefrombulletproofglass.Cells.Allofthemcurrentlyunoccupied.‘Thearchivesareuphere,’Samtellsme.‘Dad’sbeenintherenonstop.TheMogsrecorded

everything.’Westopbyasmallroom–almostlikeanoffice–withahugebankofmonitors.Malcolmsitsbehind

theroom’ssinglecomputerterminal,bleary-eyedfromwatchingwhoknowshowmanyhoursoffootage.On-screen,aMogadorianscoutspeaksdirectlyintothecamera.‘IthasbeenthreedayssinceweleakedrumorsofaLoricpresenceinBuenosAires,’thescoutreports.

‘TherehasyettobeanysignofGarde,butsurveillancecontinues–’Malcolmpausesthevideowhenhenoticesus,rubbinghiseyes.‘Findanythinguseful?’Iask.Malcolmshakeshisheadandpullsupalistoffilesonthecomputer.Hebrushesafingerdownthe

touchscreen,andthefilesbeginanendlessscroll.Therearethousandsofthem,andalltheirtitlesareinMogadorian.‘FromwhatIcangather,thisisalmostfiveyears’worthofMogadorianintelligence,’Malcolm

explains.‘I’dneedanentireteamtogothroughitall.EvenwithAdamtranslatingthesetitles,whicharebasicallyjustdatesandtimes,it’shardtofigureoutwheretobegin.’‘Maybewecanhiresomeinterns,’Samsuggests,thentugsmyarm.‘Comeon,wegottaseeAdam.’‘Dowhatyoucan,’ItellMalcolmbeforeSamdragsmeaway.‘Eventhesmallestbitofinformation

mighthelp.’AfewmorestepsdownthehallandwereachtheroomAdamdescribedasthecontrolcenter.The

roomisprettymuchundamaged,soit’swherewesetupshop.Thewallsarecoveredinmonitors,security-camerafootagefromAshwoodstreamingoversome,butalsovideofeedsfromotherplaces,includingonehackedsecuritycameraoutsidethebarricadedJohnHancockCenter.Beneaththemonitorsarearowofcomputers,notexactlyuser-friendlysinceallthekeysareinMogadorian.Iputmyhandsonmyhipsandsurveythisplace,watchingthecamerafeedsthatnottoolongago

would’vebeentrainedonme.Itfeelsstrangetobeontheotherside.LikeSam,thisplacemakesmeuneasy.‘Arewesafehere?’Iask.‘Allthesecameras…therearen’tanypointedbackatus?’‘I’vedisabledthem,’Adamreplies.He’sinaswivelchairatoneofthecomputers,typingoutastring

ofcommands.Heturnsaroundtofaceme.‘UsingtheGeneral’sauthorization,I’vesentacodebacktothe

MogadoriancommandinWestVirginiareportingthatthesalvageteamuncoveredatoxicchemicalleak.It’lltakesometimetocleanup.They’llassumethefailedcamerashavesomethingtodowiththesalvageteam’swork.’‘Howmuchtimedoesthatbuyus?’‘Acoupleofdays?Aweek?’Adamreplies.‘They’llbecomesuspiciouswhentheGeneraldoesn’t

checkin,butweshouldslipthroughthecracksforawhile.’‘Whatdowelookforinthemeantime?’‘Yourfriends,’Adamreplies.‘Infact,IbelieveI’vealreadyfoundthem.’‘Yeah,Florida,’Isay.‘Wealreadyknewthat.’‘No,hefoundthem.Like,exactly,’Samreplies,grinningatme.‘That’swhyIcametogetyou.Check

thisout.’Sampointsatoneofthescreens,thisonedisplayingamapoftheUnitedStates.Themapiscoveredin

trianglesofvarioussizes.There’sasmalltriangleoverourlocationalongwithafewsimilar-sizedindicatorsscatteredthroughoutthecountry.Therearebiggertrianglesglowingontopofpopulationcenters.NewYork,Chicago,LosAngeles,Houston–allthesecitiesaremarkedonthemap.Thebiggesttriangleofallistothewestofus,rightaroundwheretheMogs’mountainbaseishiddeninWestVirginia.‘Thisisa,uh…’SamlooksoveratAdam.‘What’dyoucallthisthing?’‘Tacticalassetoverview,’Adamreplies.‘Itshowswheremypeoplehaveongoingoperations.’‘They’remassinginthemajorcities,’Isay,studyingthemap.‘Yeah,’Adamreplies,grimly.‘Inpreparationfortheinvasion.’‘Let’snotfocusonthei-wordrightnow,okay?’Samsays.‘Lookatthis.’SamhaspluggedthetabletdisplayingthelocationoftheotherGardeintooneofthecomputers.He

handsittomeandmyeyesimmediatelyshoottoFlorida.Myheartskipsabeat;there’sonlyoneblinkingdotonthemap.IttakesmeamomenttorealizethatthefourdotssymbolizingeachoftheremainingGardehaveactuallygottensoclosetogetherthattheyperfectlyoverlap.‘They’realmostontopofeachother,’Isay.‘Allfourofthem.’‘Yep,’Samreplies,takingbackthetablet.‘Andlookatthis.’HeholdsthetabletupnexttothemapofMogadorianactivity.Thefourdotsperfectlylineupwithone

ofthesmallerorangetrianglesinFlorida.‘TheMogshavethem,’Isay,grittingmyteeth.‘Adam,isthatabaseofsomekind?’‘Aresearchstation,’hereplies.‘Therecordsshowtherewassomegeneticexperimentationbeingdone

there.Itisn’tthekindofplacewe’dnormallykeepprisoners,especiallynotGarde.’‘Whyeventakeprisonersatthispoint?’Samasks.‘Imean,IgetSetrákusRahassomeweirdthingfor

Ella.Buttheothers…’‘Theyaren’tprisoners,’Isay,hittingSamonthearminexcitementasthisdawnsonme.‘Theothersare

uptosomething.They’reontheattack.’‘I’mworkingongettingusavisualofthebase,’Adamsays,hisfingersracingacrossthekeyboard.‘How’reyougoingtodothat?’Iask.IsitdownintheswivelchairnexttoAdamandwatchhishandsflickacrosstheMogadoriankeyboard.

Whateverhe’sdoingseemsalmostlikesecondnature.

‘I’velockeddownascoutshipsotheywon’tbeabletooperateit.Thatwastheeasypart.Accessingandisolatingitsonboardsurveillancewhilestillkeepingthecraftinoperableisprovingtrickier.’‘You’rehackingintoaship?’Samasks,leaningoverthebackofAdam’schair.IwatchthemonitordirectlyinfrontofAdamcracklewithstatic.‘Howdoesthathelpus?’‘Thiscontrolroomisanervecenter,John,’Adamexplains,takingamomentawayfromtypingto

gesturearound.‘Informationfromalltheotherbasesfeedstohere.Itisjustamatterofaccessingit.’‘Accessingithow?’‘HuntingtheLoricforsomanyyearshasmademypeopleparanoidtoevermissapotentiallead.Every

operationisrecorded.There’ssurveillanceeverywhere.’Adamstrikesakeywithatriumphantflair.‘Evenaboardourownships.’Themonitorsaboveflickerbrieflyandthendisplaygrainyfootageofarunwayinthemiddleofa

swamp.‘IftheGardearenearby,wemightbeabletoseethem,’Adamexplains.‘Ifthey’renotinvisible,’Isay,squintingatthemonitor.Beneaththecamera,ahandfulofMogadorianslookfrustratedastheyyankenginepartsfromthescout

ship’shull.Theycleantheseparts,reattachthemand,whennothinghappens,starttakingapartsomethingelse.‘What’retheydoing?’Samasks.‘TryingtofixwhatI’vedone,’Adamrepliesexcitedly,seemingpleasedthathe’soutsmartedhis

people.‘Theyassumeenginefailure,notautomatedsystemsoverride.Itwilltakethemawhiletocatchon.’AnotherMogadorian,thisonewearinganimpressive-lookinguniformsimilartotheGeneral’s,

approachesthem.Heyellsatthemechanics,thenwalksoffscreeninahuff.‘Doesthecameramove?’Iask.‘Ofcourse.’Adamhitsabuttonandthecamerabeginstoscantotheside,followingthedressed-upMogadorian.At

first,thereisn’tmuchtoseeexceptpavementand,inthedistance,someswampland.However,afterashortwalk,thedressed-upMogadoriandisappearsintoanairplanehangar.‘Doyouthinkthey’reinthere?’Iask.‘Thiscamerashouldbeequippedwithheatvision,ifIcanfigureouthowtoaccessit,’Adamreplies,

tentativelytappingafewofthekeysinfrontofhim.BeforeAdamcanfigureitout,Fivewalksthroughthehangardoors.EventhoughI’dguessedhewasa

traitorfromElla’svision,I’dbeenholdingontoafoolishhopethatitwasn’ttrue.Or,darkasitmightseem,thatFivewastheonekilledinbattle.Butthereheis,inarumpledMogadorianuniform,andwithabandagecoveringhisrighteye.IcanhearSamsuckinabreath;he’sstunned.TheonlypartofmyvisionsthatIhadn’ttoldanyone

aboutwasseeingFive,notwantingtosmearhisnameifIwaswrong.‘He’s…’Samshakeshishead.‘Thatsonofabitchtraitor.Itmust’vebeenhimwhotoldtheMogs

aboutChicago.’‘Oneofyourown,’Adamsaysquietly.‘Thatisunexpected.’

IhavetolookawayfromFive’simagebeforemybloodboils.‘Youdidn’tknowaboutthis?’IaskAdamthroughclenchedteeth.‘No,’hesays,shakinghishead.‘Iwould’vetoldyou.SetrákusRahimselfmusthavebeenkeepinghim

asecret.’Iforcemyselftolookbackatthescreen.Ikeepcalm,studyingmynewenemy.Hisslumpedshoulders,

hisfreshlyshavedhead,thedarklookinhisremainingeye.Whatcouldhavebroughtoneofourowntosuchaterribleplace?‘Iknewtherewassomethingoffaboutthatjerk,’Samsays,pacingnow.‘John,man,whatarewegoing

todoabouthim?’Idon’treply,mainlybecausetheonlysolutionIcanthinkofatthatmoment,seeingFiveintheenemy’s

uniform,istokillhim.‘Where’shegoing?Followhim,’ItellAdam.Adamdoes.ThecamerafollowsFiveacrosstherunwayuntilhereachesarampthatleadsontothe

biggestspaceshipI’veeverseen,somassivethatitsentirebulkisn’tevenpickeduponcamera.‘Damn,’Ibreathe,myeyeswidening.‘Whatthehellisthatthing?’‘Warship,’Adamanswers,anoteofawesneakingintohisvoiceashesquintsatthescreen.‘Ican’ttell

whichone.’‘Whichone?’Samexclaims.‘Howmanyofthosethingsdotheyhave?’‘Dozens?Maybemore,maybeless.TheyrunontheoldfuelofMogadoreandwhatevermypeople

managedtominefromLorien.Notthemostefficientthings.Andslow.WhenIgotintroubleasaboy,mymotherwouldthreatentogroundmeuntilthefleet’sarrival…’Herealizeshe’sramblingandtrailsoff,lookingupatus.‘Youdon’tcareaboutthis,doyou?’‘Maybenotthebesttimeforreminiscing,’Ireply,watchingasFiveboardstheship.‘Butwhatelsecan

youtellusaboutthefleet?’‘They’vebeentravelingsincethefallofLorien,’Adamcontinues.‘Mogstrategistsbelievethey’vegot

enoughfirepowerleftforonelastsiege.’‘Earth,’Isay.‘Yeah,’Adamreplies.‘Then,mypeoplewillsettlehere.MayberebuildthefleetifSetrákusRafindsa

reason.’‘Youmeanifthere’sanylifeintheuniverseleftforhimtoconquer,’Isay.Samshakeshishead,stillmarvelingatthehulkingwarship.‘Sotheyhaveasecretweakness,right?

LikehowyoucanshootthatonespotontheDeathStarandthewholethingblowsup?’Adam’sbrowfurrows.‘What’saDeathStar?’Samthrowsuphishands.‘We’rescrewed.’‘Ifthey’vebeentakenprisonerandareaboardthatthing…’Idon’tfinishthethought,mainlybecausea

courseofactionjustisn’tcomingtome.TakingoveramostlyabandonedMogadorianbaseisonething;findingawayaboardamassivewarshipisanotherentirely.Especiallywhenthatmassivewarshipisslowlyrisingintothesky.MaybeSam’srightandweare

screwed.Thethreeofuswatchinsilenceasthewarshipclimbs.Beforeit’sentirelyoffscreen,theship’s

carapaceflickersandthewholethingdisappearsfromview.Well,notentirely–theship’soutlineisstill

vaguelyvisible,asifthelightarounditisbendinginstrangeways.Thedistortionisalmostliketryingtofocusonanobjectthat’sunderwater.‘Cloaking,’Adamsays.‘Allofthewarshipshaveit.’‘Hey,lookatthetablet,’Samsays.‘Maybeeverythingisn’ttotallydepressing.’Asthenowinvisiblewarshipfloatsupward,oneofthedotsonthetabletslowlypullsawayfromthe

others.Five’sdot.Afterafewseconds,itbeginstoflickererraticallyacrossthescreen.We’venowgottwoGardeindicatorsbouncingspasticallyoverthemap.‘JustlikeElla,’Samsays,furrowinghisbrow.‘Thewarshipmustbereturningtoorbit,’Adamsays.‘Whichmeans…’‘Ellaisalreadyaboardoneofthosethings,’Ifinishthethought.‘Theybroughtheruptothefleet.’‘Howarewegoingtogetupthere?’Samasks.‘Wewon’thaveto,’Adamresponds.‘Thefleetwillcometous.’‘Oh,right,’Samsays.‘Worldwideinvasion.Sowe’replanningtojustwaitforthat?’Itapmyfingeronthetablet,pointingoutthethreedotsstillinFlorida.‘Theplanistogettheothers.

They’restillthere.Wejusthaveto–’IstopmyselfwhenIlookbackatthescreen.Therunwayisstartingtomove.‘Ithoughtyoudisabledtheship.Whyaretheymoving?’Withahurriedseriesofkeystrokes,Adamcranesthecameradown.Fromthisangle,wecanseethe

crewofMogadoriansgrimacingastheypushthescoutvesselmanuallytowardsthehangar.‘Iguesstheygaveupongettingitstarted,’Samobserves.OneoftheMogsrunsaheadtoslideopenthemetaldoorsandthere,caughtoutinthemiddleofthe

emptyhangar,areNine,MarinaandSix.Samletslooseanexcitedshoutthathecutsoffquickly,theharshmathsinkingin,thattherearethreeGardewherethereshouldbefour,andthatNineiscarryinginhisarmswhatisobviouslyabodybag.‘Eight,’Samsays,swallowing.‘Shit.’IturntoAdam,notreadytogrieveyet.‘Doesthisshipyou’vehackedhaveanyguns?’

14

Afterabarrageofnear-deafeningblasterfireinthewide-openspaceofthehangar,thescoutshipgoeseerilysilent.MarinaandIcrouchnexttoeachother,bothofushuddledbehindtheflipped-overmetaltable.Weexchangealook–thetabledidn’tsustainevenasingleshotofblasterfire.Infact,itdoesn’tseemliketheship’sturretcameevenclosetohittingus.‘Niceaim,dipshit!’Nineshouts,laughing.He’sofftothesideofthetable,flatontheground,half

shieldingEight’sbodywithhisown.Ipokemyheadoutfrombehindthetable.Betweenusandthescoutvesselareadozenpilesofash,

formerlytheMogadorianmechanics.Theship’sgunturretisstillsmokingbuthangsdormantnow,nottheleastbitinterestedinus.Cautiously,Istandup.Marinajoinsme.‘Whatthehellisgoingon?’Iask.‘Whocares?’Ninesays,heftingEight’sbody.‘Let’sgetoutofhere.’‘Perhapssomekindofmalfunction?’Marinaproposes,inchingclosertotheship,whichstillblocksour

wayout.Thethreeofusspreadout,makingsurenottostanddirectlyinthepathoftheblaster.‘ItonlyshottheMogs,’Isay.‘That’soneconvenientmalfunction.’Allthreeofusjumpwhentheship’scockpitopensupwithahydraulichiss.There’saburstofstatic

fromaspeakerinthecockpit,andthenafamiliarvoiceringsout.‘Guys?Canyouhearme?’‘John?’Iexclaim,notbelievingmyears.ThelastIsawhim,hewasinacomaalongwithElla.Isprint

totheshipandjumpontoitsfrontend,standingovertheopencockpittobetterhearhisvoice.‘It’sme,Six,’Johnsays.‘It’sgoodtoseeyou.’‘Seeme?’Iask,thennoticethesmallcameramountedoverthecockpitentrance.Itwigglesbackand

forth,almostnoddingingreeting.‘Dude,whathappened?’Nineasks,eyeingthecockpitskeptically.‘Isyourbrain,like,trappedina

Mogadorianshipnow?’‘What?No,don’tbeanidiot,’Johnreplies,andIcanpicturethelookofannoyedamusementonhis

face.‘We’vetakenoveraMogadorianbaseandusedtheirtechtohackintothisship.’‘Nice,’Ninereplies,likethat’sallheneededtohear.Hejumpseffortlesslyontotheship’shood,still

holdingEight,andlandsrightbesideme.Oursideofthesaucer-shapedvesseldipsalittleathisweightbeforerightingitself,thelandinggearwhining.Ninekicksthemetalhullwithhisheel,testingitout.‘Sothisisourride?’Inanswer,theship’senginebeginstovibratebeneathourfeet.Ilookdownintothecockpit–thereare

sixhardplasticseatsinthere,alongwithablinkingdashboardcoveredinrandomMogadoriansymbolsandasetofcontrolsthatlooksimilartowhatyou’dfindonanairplane.NotthatI’veeverflownoneofthosebefore,muchlessonemadebyMogadorians.‘WesawwhathappenedinChicago,’Marinasays,alsoclimbingontotheship.

‘Iseveryoneallright?’‘Yeah,’Johnrepliesquickly,thenseemstoreconsider.‘TheytookElla,butIdon’tthinkshe’sindanger

yet.’Marina’seyebrowsshootupinalarm,andIcanfeelthecoldstarttorolloffher.‘Whatdoyoumean

theytookher?’‘I’llexplaineverythingwhenyougetintheair,’Johnsays.‘First,let’sgetyououtofthere.’‘Soundsgood,’Ninereplies,andhopsdownintothecockpit,gentlyplacingEight’sbodyacrossa

coupleoftheseats.‘Uh,John,oneproblem,’Isay,followingNineintotheantiseptic-smellingMogship.‘Howarewe

supposedtoflythisthing?’There’sapauseonJohn’sendandthenadifferentvoiceresponds,thisonewithaharshaccentthat

makesmyshoulderstense.‘Icouldflyyouremotely,butI’mworriedhackingintotheship’scomputermighthavedamagedsome

oftheauto-navigationprotocols.It’llbesaferifyoudoitmanuallywithmewalkingyouthroughit,’theMogadorianexplainsquickly.Then,asifrealizingwemightbefreakedout,theguyadds,‘Hey.I’mAdam.’‘TheguyMalcolmtoldusabout,’Isay,rememberingthatdinnerconversation.‘Don’tworry,Six,’Sam’svoiceinterjects,andIcan’thelpbutgrinatthesoundofit.‘He’stotallynot

evil.’‘Oh,well,inthatcase,let’sfly,’Ninesayssarcastically,butsettlesintooneofthehard-backedplastic

seatsallthesame.Ihopintothepilot’schair.Marinahesitatesforamoment,givingtheconsolewheretheMog’svoicecamefromalookofdistrust.‘Howdoweknowthat’sreallyJohn?’sheasks.‘SetrákusRacanchangeforms.Thismightbesome

kindoftrap.’InmyexcitementtohearJohnandSam,Ihadn’tevenconsideredthepossibilitythatthiscouldbeaploy.Behindme,Nineshoutstowardsthecommunicator.‘Hey,Johnny,rememberbackinChicago?WhenyouwereclaimingtobePittacusLoreandwehada

debateaboutwhethertogotoNewMexico?’‘Yeah,’John’svoicesoundslikeit’scomingthroughclenchedteeth.‘How’dwesettlethat?’Johnsighs.‘Youdangledmeofftheedgeoftheroof.’Ninegrinslikethat’sthebestthingever.‘It’sdefinitelyhim.’‘Marina,’Johnsays,probablythinkingNine’slittletestwasn’tgoodenough.‘Thefirsttimewemet,

youhealedtwobulletwoundsinmyankle.Andthenwealmostgothitbyamissile.’AsmallsmileformsonMarina’sface,thefirstI’veseenindays.‘Ithoughtyouwereaboutthecoolest

guyI’devermet,JohnSmith.’Ninebarksoutalaughatthat,shakinghishead.Marinaclimbsaboard,takingaseatnexttoEight’s

body.Shedrapesahandprotectivelyonthebodybagandsettlesin.‘Watchyourheads,’Adamwarnsasthecockpithissesclosedaboveus.There’samomentwhereIfeel

asenseofpanicatbeingsealedinsideaMogadorianship,butIshovethatfeelingdownandtightlyclutchthesteeringapparatus.It’sdiminthecockpit,theglasshavingatintedsunglasses-likelook.Streamsof

dataincompressedMogadoriansymbolsareprojecteddirectlyontotheglass,thereadoutssomethingonlyaMogpilotcouldmakesenseof.‘Allright,’Isay.‘Whatnow?’‘Holdup,’Nineinterjects,leaningforward.‘Howcomeyougettodrive?’Adam’svoicecomesthroughclear,patientbutauthoritative.‘Turnthewheelinfrontofyou.Thatwill

rotatetheship.’Idoasheinstructs,thewheelturningeasily,thesaucerportionoftheshipdoinga180withoutthe

wheelsmovingatall.Istopturningwhenwe’repointedtowardsthehangar’sexit.‘Good,’Adamsays.‘Now,theleveronyourleftmovesthewheels.’Igriptheleverandpushitjustatad.Theshipjerksforwardalmostimmediately.Thecontrolsare

sensitive,anditdoesn’ttakemuchpressuretogetusslowlyrollingoutontotherunway.‘Giveitsomegas,Six,damn,’Ninecomplains.‘Driveitlikewestoleit.’‘Don’tlistentohim,’Marinasays,huggingherself.‘Ifyou’reoutfromunderthehangar,youcanstop,’Adaminstructs.Ilookupthroughtheglassofthecockpit,seeonlyskyandsoletgoofthelever.Theshipcreakstoa

stop.‘Okay,’Adamsays.‘Now,graspthewheelinfrontofyouatthreeandnine.Doyoufeelthetriggers?’Itakethewheelagainandfeelaroundforthetwobuttonsindentedinitsunderside.‘Got’em,’Ireply,

testingoutthetriggerontheleftbysqueezingit.AssoonasIdo,thevibrationfromtheship’senginereachesabone-rattlingcrescendoandweriseintotheair.‘Ho,shit!’Nineyells.Nexttome,Marinasqueezesherselfalittletighter,closinghereyes.‘Becareful,Six,’shewhispers.Iletgoofthebuttonandtheshipeffortlesslymaintainsitselevation.We’rehoveringabouttwenty

yardsofftheground.‘Youweren’tsupposedtodothatyet,’Adamadmonishes.‘Uh,yeah,sorry.Firsttimeflyingaspaceship,’Ireply.‘Nobigdeal,’Adamreplies.‘Thetriggeronyourleftincreasesyourelevation.Theoneonyourright

decreasesit.’‘Leftup,rightdown.Gotit.’‘Also,’Adamsays.‘you’reinwhatmypeoplecallaSkimmer.Itisn’tbuiltforinterplanetarytravel,so

itisn’tquiteaspaceship.’Ninemakesaloudsnoringnoise.‘IsthisdudeabouttogiveusalessoninMogadorianaviationor

something?Thehell?’‘YouknowIcanhearyou,right?’Adamrepliesoverthemic.‘Andno,Iamnot.’‘SorryaboutNine,’Isay,givinghimadirtylookovermyshoulder.‘Doesthisthingcomewithejector

seats?’‘Yes,actually,’Adamreplies.‘Whoa,now,’Ninesays,edgingforwardsohisbuttisn’tentirelyontheseat.‘Don’tgetanyideas,Six.’IshushNinewhenIhearaseriesofclankingnoisesemanatingfromtheship’sunderbelly.‘Whatisthat?’Iask.‘Don’tworry,’Adamreplies.‘Ijustremotelyputupyourlandinggear.’

Whentheclankingfinishes,twosmallpanelsonthesteeringwheelslideaside,revealingthumb-sizedbuttonspositionedsotheycanbepressedatthesametimeastheelevationtriggers.‘Youshouldseeacoupleofbuttons,’Adamcontinues.‘Depressthemtoaccelerate.Simplyletthemgo

tobrake.’Igripthesteeringwheelmoretentativelythanbeforeandgentlysqueezethebuttons,carefulnottohit

thetriggersonthewheel’sunderside.TheSkimmerzipsforward,thenlurchestoastopwhenIletthebuttongo.‘It’slikeavideogame,’Ninesays,leaningoverthebackofmychair.‘Anyidiotcouldworkthisthing.

Nooffense,Mogguy.’‘Nonetaken.’Ipressdowntheacceleratoralittlemoreforcefullyandtheshipshootsforward.Adiagnosticonthe

screenstartsflashing–awarninginanylanguage–rightbeforeIscrapethebottomoftheSkimmeragainstthetopofatree.Ihearbranchesbreakingand,craningmyneck,seethemhitthegroundbelow.‘Oops,’Isay,andglancesidelongatMarina.‘Six,Iswear,’shesays,flashingmeahalf-panickedlook.‘You’llwanttogetsomemoreelevation,’Adamsays.‘And,um,considersteering.’Ninelaughsandleansback.Ipullthetriggerforverticalandweriseuphigher.Asweclearthedense

treesoftheswampland,thehorizonbecomesvisible.Alaser-finedottedlineappearsonthecockpitglass,superimposedovertheview,likeatrail.‘I’veplottedyourcourse,’Adamsays.‘Justfollowtheline.’Inodandgivetheshipsomejuice,followingthelaser-pathnorth.‘Allright,boys,’Isay.‘Herewecome.’

TheflightfromFloridatoWashingtontakesabouttwohours.OnAdam’sinstructions,Ikeepouraltitudelowenoughthatwewon’tbepickeduponsatellitesoraccidentallycrosspathswithanyairplanes,buthighenoughthattherewon’tbearashofUFOsightingsalongtheEasternSeaboard.Although,consideringhowseriousthethreatofall-outMogadorianinvasionseems,maybeweshouldletourstolenshipbeseen,shootoffsomefireworks,warnthelocals.AftertheinitialrushofelationathearingJohnandSam,atknowingourfriendsarealive,the

conversationturnsgrim.Overtheradio,theydescribewhatwentdownattheJohnHancockCenter.Afterthat,JohntellsusaboutwhathesawinthenightmarevisionhesharedwithEllaandwhyhethinksSetrákusRadoesn’twanttohurther.John’spiecedtogetheratheorythatEllacouldberelatedtoSetrákusRaandthattheMogadorianrulercouldactuallybesomekindoftwistedLoric,thebanishedEldermentionedinCrayton’sletter.I’mnotreadytograpplewiththatyet.OnceJohn’scaughtusup,it’sourturntofillintheothersonwhathappenedinFlorida.Evenoverthe

radio,IcantellJohn’stryingnottopressustoomuch.IthinkaboutthedaysthatJohn’sbeenlivingwithafreshscaronhisankle,wonderingwhichoneofuswouldn’tbemakingitback–asmuchasithurtstotalkabout,hedeservestoknowwhathappenedtoEight.However,neitherMarinanorNineareveryforthcoming,soitfallstometodescribehowFivebetrayedus,howhemurderedEighttechnicallybyaccident,butonlybecausehewasactuallytryingtomurderNine.Iwasunconsciousformostofthefight,soIkeepthedescriptionbarebones,justthefacts,notsugarcoatinganything.Then,IgivethemthedetailsofrescuingEight’sbodyfromtheMogadorianencampmentandtellthemaboutwhatFivedidtohis

Mogadorianpal.WhenI’mfinished,agrimmoodsettlesinsidethecockpitandwerideinsilenceuntilwereachsuburbanD.C.Ilandtheshipinthemiddleofabasketballcourt.We’reinafancy-asssuburbandevelopment,one

madeextraordinarilyeeriebyallitsdarkenedwindowsandgeneralemptiness.ThecockpitopensforusandMarinaflashesmearelievedlookasshestandsup.Carefully,NinepicksupEight’sbodyandclimbsoutoftheship.Marinastaysclosetohim,herhandonNine’selbow,makingsurethatEightdoesn’tgetjostledtoomuch.It’sstillhardtobelievethat’sourfriendinthatbodybag,anditfeelswrongtobecarryinghimaroundsomuch.‘Yourtravelsarealmostover,’IoverhearMarinawhispertoEight’sbody.ShemustfeelthesameasI

do.MarinaandIhopdowntothegroundandturnaroundtohelpNinelowerEight’sbody.Insteadof

passingEightdown,Ninesquintsintothedarknessaroundus.‘Whoa,’hesays.‘Thereare,like,somerandomcreatureswatchingusrightnow.’‘Creatures?’Ireply,lookingupathim.Nine’sexpressionhasgoneblank–well,blankerthanusual–

thewayhegetswhenhe’susinghisanimaltelepathy.‘Oh,Iforgottomentionwefoundsomenewfriends!’It’sJohn,joggingtowardsusfromthecrookeddoorwayofahousethatlookshalfsmashed,likethe

groundtriedtoswallowitupbutcouldn’tquitefinish.Samisafewstepsbehindhim,beamingatme,althoughwhenhenoticesmenoticinghim,hequicklytonesdownthewattageofhissmile,goingforsomethingalittlelesseager.BehindJohnandSam,pushingagurney,areMalcolmandapale,lankyguythatIassumemustbeAdam,thedarkhairhanginginhisfacemakinghimlookhalf-Mogandhalf-emorockstar.‘SomanyChimærae,’Ninesays,noddingexcitedlyashegazesoutintothedarkness.‘That’s

awesome.’‘Wenamedthechubby,lazyoneafteryou,’Samreplies.‘Lessawesome.’Uponreachingus,JohnwrapsMarinainatighthug.It’sdarkout,butIcanseedaysofworryetchedin

thedarkbagsunderhiseyes.Irememberthatwide-eyedkidIfoundfightingMogadoriansathishighschoolandwonderifJohnfeltlikethatagain,likehewasbacktobeingaloneagainsttheworld.Itshouldbeareliefthatwe’rereunited,butwe’reoneless,andIknowJohnwellenoughtoknowthathe’sbeenbeatinghimselfupoverourlossfordays.‘Youmadeit,’JohnsaysasheletsMarinagoandhugsmenext.Hisvoiceisquiet,formeonly.‘I

didn’tknowwhatIwasgoingtodoif–’‘Youdon’thavetosayanything,’Ireply,squeezinghimback.‘We’reherenow.We’regoingtofight.

We’regoingtowin.’Johntakesastepbackfromme,arelievedlookbrieflypassingacrosshisface,likeheneededsomeone

totellhimthat.Henodstomeandthenwalksovertotheship,takingEight’sbodyinhisarmssothatNinecanjumpdown.EveryonefallssilentasMalcolmwheelsthegurneyforwardsothatJohncansetdownthebody.‘TheMogsputsomethingonhim,’Marinasays.Shetakesalurchingsteptowardsthegurney.‘Some

electricalfield.’

Adamtakesatentativestepforwardandclearshisthroat.‘Electrodes?Overtheheart?Onthetemples?’‘Yes,’MarinareplieswithoutlookingatAdam,hereyesfixedonEight’sbodybag.‘TheMogsusethatto,uh…’Adampauses,thenfinishesawkwardly.‘Tokeepspecimensfresh.It

won’tharmtheremains,justpreservethem.’‘Specimens,’Ninerepeatsdryly.‘I’msorryaboutyourfriend,’Adamsaysquietly,pushingahandthroughhishair.‘Ijustthoughtyou

shouldknow…’‘It’sallright.Thanks,Adam,’Johnsays.HeputsahandonMarina’sshoulder.‘Comeon.Let’sgethim

inside.’‘What–’Marinachokesupandhastotakeadeepbreath.‘What’reyougoingtodowithhim?’‘We’vesetasideaquietroominside,’Malcolmrepliesgently.‘I’mnotsurewhatcustomstheLoric

haveforburials…’IlookfirstatJohn,whosefaceisscrunchedupinthought,thenatNine,wholooksabsolutelybaffled.‘Wedon’tknowthemeither,’Isay.‘Imean,whenwasthelasttimewehadachancetoproperlyhonor

oneofourfallen?’‘Wecan’tburyhimhere,though,’Marinasays.‘ThisisaMogplace.’Malcolmnods,understanding,andtouchesMarinasoftlyontheshoulder.‘Doyouwanttohelpme

bringhiminside?’Marinanods.Together,sheandMalcolmwheelEight’sbodybacktowardsthesunkenhouse.Adam

followsthematarespectfuldistance,hishandsclaspedawkwardlybehindhisback.Afteramoment,NineclapsJohnhardontheback,breakingthetension.‘SodidImishearoverthecommunicator,ordidyousendyourgirlfriendoffonasuper-sexysecret

missionwithherex-boyfriend?’‘We’refightingawarhere,Nine,it’snotajoke,’Johnrepliessternly.Afteramoment’sawkward

pause,abegrudgingsmilebreaksonhisface.‘Also,shutup.It’snotsupersexy.Whatdoesthatevenmean?’‘Wow,youreallyneedmyguidance,’Ninesays.HethrowshisarmaroundJohn’sshouldersandleads

himtowardsthehouse.‘Comeon.I’llexplainwhatsexyis.’‘Iknowwhatit–ugh,whyamIevendiscussingthiswithyou?’JohnshovesNineinfrustration,but

Ninejustholdsontighter.‘Getoffme,idiot.’‘Comeon,Johnny,youneedmyaffectionnowmorethanever.’Irollmyeyesastheguyswalktowardsthehouse,havingtheirlittlebromoment.Thatleavesmealone

withSam,standingafewfeetaway,lookingatmeintently.Icanseehimtryingtofigureoutwhattosay,ormorelikelyworkingupthenervetosayit.Theguy’sprobablybeenchewingonthismomentforhours,workingonhisamazingspeechtothegirlhewasn’tsurehe’deverseeagain.‘Hey,’iswhathesettlesonatlast.‘Heyback,’Ireply,andbeforehecangetanotherwordout,Iwrapmyarmsaroundhimandkisshim

hardenoughthatIprobablyknockthewindoutofhim.Samseemsstunnedatfirstbutkissesbackafteramoment,tryingtomatchmyintensity.Igrabhimbythefrontoftheshirtandpullhimsothatwe’repressedupagainstthesideoftheSkimmer–notexactlythemostromanticplaceintheworld,butI’lltakeit.I

grabSam’shandsandputthemonmyhips,thenclutchthesidesofhisfaceandrunmyfingersupthroughhishair,allthisdesperateenergypouringoutofmeandintothiskiss.Afteracoupleofminutes,Sambreaksawayfromme,breathless.‘Six,whoa,whatisgoingon?’ThelookonSam’sfaceisn’twhatIwasexpecting.Yes,there’sflushedbewilderment,butmixedin

withthatsurpriseisanundercurrentofconcern.Itmakesmelookaway.‘Ijustreallywantedtodothat,’Ireply,tellinghimthetruth.‘Ididn’tknowifI’dgetanotherchance.’IpressmyfaceagainstthesideofSam’sneckandfeelhisheartbeatagainstmycheek.I’vespentthe

lastfewdaysputtingonastrongfront,tryingtokeepittogetherwithMarinaandNinebothonthevergeoffallingapart.Finally,atleastwhilewe’reouthereinthedark,Icanletmyselfgoalittlebit.Samhasmearoundthewaist,soIsinkagainsthim,lethimholdmeupandtakeashudderingbreathagainsthisneck.‘Itcanjustendsoquickly…,’Iwhisper,leaningbacktogetalookathim.‘Ididn’twanttonothave

donethat,youknow?Idon’tcareifitcomplicatesthings.’‘Meneither,’Samsays.‘Obviously.’Westarttokissagain,thistimealotgentler,Sam’shandsslowlymovingupmysides.Whenthewolf

howls–loud,echoing,nearby–myfirstinstinctisthatit’sNinespyingonusfromthehouseandmakingstupidnoises.ButthenasecondandthirdwolfmakeahowlingchorusandIleanbacktopeeratSam.‘Whatthehellisthat?’Iask.‘Wolvesinthesuburbs?’‘Idon’tknow–’hestartstoreply,butthenhiseyeswiden.‘TheChimærae.They’rewarningus.’Amomentafterhesaysit,Ihearthewhup-whup-whupofatleastthreehelicoptersbearingdownonus.

IfIsquint,Icanseetheiroutlinesapproachinginthenightsky.Andthentherearetheblueflashinglightscomingfromthehousingdevelopment’sonlyaccessroad;thelightsareattachedtoacaravanofblackSUVs,allofthemspeedinginourdirection.

15

Atthesoundofscreechingtiresandhelicopterrotors,NineandIburstbackoutside,leapingoverthehouse’sbrokenporchandontothelawn.We’rejustintimetoseealightningstrikeslicedownfromthesky,courtesyofSix.It’sawarningshot;thebolteruptsapieceofasphaltrightinfrontofablackSUVthat’scareeninguptheaccessroad,causingittoswerve.‘Thehellisthis?’Ninegrowls.‘Ithoughtweweredonewiththefeds.’‘Adamsaidthey’resupposedtoleavethisplacealone,’Ireply.‘SomedealwiththeMogs.’‘Iguessthatendedwhenyoukilledthemall,huh?’Therearethreechoppersoverhead,circlinglikevultures.Somesignalmustpassbetweenthem,

becausetheyallturnonspotlightsatthesametime.OneofthemtrainsonmeandNine,anotherontheentranceofthehousebehindusandathirdonSixandSam.Inthebrightlight,InoticeSam,unarmed,quicklyclimbingintotheSkimmerforcover.Six,herhandssplayedintheair,intheprocessofsummoningsomenastyweatherforouruninvitedguests,goesinvisiblebeforethespotlightcanreallygetafixonher.Meanwhile,undeterredbythelightningstrike,aparadeofblackSUVsfilesuptheaccessroad,blue

lightsflashingbeneaththeirwindshields.Theyskidtoastopnexttoeachotherinatightformation,eventuallycreatingablockadeofbulletproofglassandshiny,dent-resistantpaneling.Theirdoorsflingopenandabunchofagentsinidenticalnavy-bluewindbreakersleapout.Theoneswhoaren’tyellingintowalkie-talkieshavegunstrainedonus,allofthemhunkeredbehindtheircardoorsforcover.Ittakesthemlessthanaminutetohaveuspinneddowninthecul-de-sac.‘Dotheyreallythinkthiswillstopus?’Nineasksashetakesastepawayfromthehouse,almostdaring

theagentstotryshootinghim.‘Idon’tknowwhatthey’rethinking,’Ireply.‘Buttheydon’tknowabouttheChimærae.’Icansensethemlurkingintheshadowsjustofftheaccessroad.Thesegovernmentguysmightthink

they’vegotussurrounded,buttheglowingeyesinthedarknesswouldargueotherwise.TheChimæraeholdtheirposition,waitingforasignal.IhearacreakbehindmeandhalfturntofindMarinaontheporch,jaggediciclesextendingfromher

handsliketwindaggers.That’snew.Nexttoher,usingthedoorwayforcover,isAdam,holdingaMogadorianblaster.‘Whatdowedo?’Marinaasks.Inoticestormcloudsgatheringoverhead.Sixisreadytothrowdownifweneedto.Butsofar,the

governmentguyshaven’tdoneanythingexceptmakealotofnoise.Theydidn’tcomeinshooting,whichistheonlyreasonIhaven’tfiredupmyLumen.‘Idon’twanttohurtthemifwedon’thaveto,’Isay.‘Butwedon’thavetimeforanybullshit.I’mdamn

surenotbeingtakeninforquestioning.’

Apparently,Nineinterpretsmywordsasencouragementtodosomethingcrazy.HestridesforwardandpicksupthebaseofDrAnu’schair,whichgotshearedinhalfbyblasterfireduringthisafternoon’sbattle.Thethingmustweighclosetotwohundredpounds,butNineheftsiteasilywithonehand,swingingitbackandforthasademonstration.‘Youguysareonprivateproperty!’Nineshouts.‘AndIdon’tseeanywarrants!’BeforeIcanstophim,Nineflingstheentirechunkintotheair,puttingitjustinchesfromthenoseofthe

nearesthelicopter.It’sprettyobviousfrommyvantagepointthatthechopperisn’tinanyrealdanger,butIguessthehumanpilotisn’tusedtohavingsuperstrongGardechuckingscrapmetalathim.Thepilotpullsbackonhiscontrolsandthechoppershakilygainsaltitude,itsspotlightmakingerratictrailsacrossthelawn.Thechairpiececomesdownwithaloudcrashinthemiddleofthestreet.‘Thatwasunnecessary,’Adamobservesfromthedoorway.‘Eh,agreetodisagree,’Ninesays.Ashebendsdowntopickupanotherpieceofthechair,Ihearthetelltalecockingofgunsfromtheline

ofSUVs.Sixmusthearthemtoofromwherevershe’slurking,becauseawaveoffogsuddenlyrollsacrossthelawnsofAshwoodEstates,makingusmuchhardertotarget.IlightmyLumenandstepforward,puttingmyselfbetweenNineandtheSUVs.Iholdupmyhandsso

theagentscanclearlyseethatthey’reenvelopedinfire.‘Idon’tknowwhyyou’rehere,’Iyelltowardsthelineofcars,‘butyou’remakingamistake.Thisisa

fightyouseriouslycannotwin.Smartestthingyoucandoisgobacktoyourbossesandtellthemtherewasnothinghere.’Topunctuatethespeech,IsendatelepathiccommandtoourChimærae.Howlsringsoutfromthe

darknessontheSUVs’flanks.Suddenlypanicked,someoftheagentsstartaimingtheirgunsintotheshadows,andoneofthechoppersusesitsspotlighttobegincombingthefieldsalongsidetheaccessroad.We’vegotthemscared.‘Lastwarning!’Ishout,lettingabasketball-sizedfireballfloatupfrommypalm.‘JesusChrist!’awoman’svoiceshoutsfromthelineofcars.‘Everybodystanddown!’Onebyone,theagentsatthecarslowertheirweapons.Astheydo,oneofthemsqueezesbetweena

pairofSUVsandwalkstowardsus,herhandsraisedinsurrender.Throughthefog,Irecognizeherrigidpostureandsevereponytail.‘AgentWalker?Isthatyou?’Nexttome,Ninelaughs.‘Oh,comeon.Yougoingtotryarrestingusagain?’Walkergrimacesasshegetscloser,hersharpfeaturesmorelinedthanIremember.She’spale,an

alarmingstreakofgrayrunningthroughherredhair.ItrytorememberhowbadlyshewashurtbackatDulceBase.Couldshestillbefeelingtheeffectsofthat?Beforeshecangettooclose,SixmanifestsbehindWalkerandgrabsherbytheponytail.‘Notanother

step,’shesnarls.Walker,eyeswide,obedientlystops.Sixreachesdownandtakesthegunoffherhip,droppingitinto

thegrass.‘I’msorryforthecommotion,’Walkersays,hervoiceslightlystrangledthankstotheangleSixhasher

headat.‘MyagentssawthatMogadorianshiplandandwethoughtyoumightbeunderattack.’

IlettheLumeninmyhandsgoout,tiltingmyheadather.‘Wait.Youcamerushinginherebecauseyouthoughtwewereunderattack?’‘Iknowyouhavenoreasontobelieveme,’Walkersays,hervoicehoarse.‘Butwe’reheretohelp.’Nexttome,Ninescoffs.IstarehardatWalker,waitingforthepunchline,orthesecretsignalforher

mentoopenfire.‘Please,’shesays.‘Justhearmeout.’Isighandmotiontowardsthehouse.‘Bringherin,’ItellSix,thenturntoNine.‘Iftherestofthemtry

anythingevenalittlesuspicious–’Ninecrackshisknuckles.‘Oh,Iknowwhattodo.’SixshovesWalkerupthebrokenstepsofAdam’shouseandthroughthefrontdoor.Ifollowafewsteps

behind,leavingtherestofourfriendstokeepaneyeonthesmallarmyofgovernmentagents.‘IsthataMogadorianIsawoutthere?’WalkerasksasSixpushesherintothelivingroom.‘Youhave

oneofthemprisoner?’‘He’sanally,’Isay.‘Rightnow,you’retheprisoner.’‘Understood,’Walkersays,soundingmoretiredthananything.WithoutSixhavingtopushher,Walker

sitsdownheavilyononeofthesofas.Inthelightofthelivingroom,Icanseethatthere’sdefinitelysomethingoffabouther.Maybeit’sowingtotheoddstreakofgrayinherhair,butWalkerlooksdrained.ShenoticestheentrancetotheMogadoriantunnelsbutdoesn’tlookparticularlyinterestedorsurprised.‘Ah,aguest,’Malcolmsaysasheappearsinthedoorwaybetweenthelivingroomandthekitchen,his

rifleslungoverhisshoulder.‘Andshebroughtlotsoffriends.Iseverythingallright?’‘I’mnotsureyet,’Ireply,anedgetomyvoice,keepingmyguardup.Sixcirclesaroundthecouchso

shecanstandwhereWalkercan’tseeher.‘Hm,’Malcolmsays.‘Iwasabouttoputapotofcoffeeon.Wouldanyoneelselikesome?IthinkIsaw

someteainthekitchen,too.’AshakysmileformsonWalker’sface.‘Isthissomekindofgood-cop,bad-coproutine?’Shelooks

fromMalcolmtome.‘Isheoneofyour…whatdoyoucallthem?Cêpans?’SixraisesherhandtoMalcolm.‘I’lltakeacup,actually.’WhenIflashheranannoyedlook,she

shrugs.‘What?Trustme,Icandrinksomecoffeeandtakedownthisladyatthesametime,ifIneedto.’AgentWalkerglancesoverhershoulderatSix.‘Ibelieveher.’IstrideforwardsoI’mstandingrightinfrontofWalkerandsnapmyfingersinherface.‘Allright,stop

wastingtime.Saywhatyoucameheretosay.’‘AgentPurdyisdead,’Walkerstates,lookingupatme.‘HadaheartattackatDulceBase.’‘Aw,Irememberhim,’Sixsays.‘Whatashame.’IrememberAgentWalker’spartner,too–anolderguy,whitehair,crookednose.Ishrug,notseeing

whatthishastodowithus.‘Condolences,Iguess.Sowhat?’‘Guywasaprick,’Walkerreplies.‘Itisn’tsomuchthathecroaked,it’swhathappenedafter.’Walkershowsmeherhands,thenveryslowlyreachesintothefrontpocketofherFBI-issue

windbreaker.SheremovesastuffedManilafolder,rolled-upandrubber-banded.Sheopensitup,reachesinsideandpullsoutaPolaroidphotograph.WalkerhandsittomeandIfindmyselfexaminingaclose-upofadeadAgentPurdy–orwhat’sleftofhim.Halfhisfaceismeltedaway,disintegratedintoashontheconcreteunderneathhim.

‘Ithoughtyousaiditwasaheartattack,’Isay.‘Itwas,’Walkerreplies.‘Thingis,afterward,Purdystartedtodissolveaway.Justlikeoneofthe

Mogadorians.’Ishakemyhead.‘Whatdoesthatmean?Why?’‘He’dbeengettingtreatments,’Walkersays.‘Augmentations,theMogscallthem.Mostofthesenior

MogPropeoplehavebeengettingthemforyears.’Theterm‘MogPro’ringsabellfromTheyWalkAmongUs,butIdon’tknowhowthisalladdsupwith

theaugmentationsAdamtoldusabout.‘Backup,’Itellher.‘Startatthebeginning.’Walkerself-consciouslytouchesherstreakofgrayhairandforamomentIwonderifshe’shaving

secondthoughtsaboutthisconfession.Butthenshehandsmethefoldershe’sbeenclutching,meetingmyeyes.‘Firstcontactwastenyearsago,’shesays.‘TheMogadoriansclaimedtheywerehuntingfugitives.

Theywantedtouseourlaw-enforcementnetwork,havefreereintomovearoundthecountry,andinexchangethey’dprovideuswithweaponsandtechnology.IwasjustoutoftheacademywhenallthishappenedsoIobviouslywasn’tinvitedtoanymeetingswiththealiens.Iguessnoonewantedtopissthemofforturndownweaponsmorepowerfulthananywe’deverseen,becauseourgovernmentcavedrealquick.Thedirectorofthebureauhimselfwasinonthenegotiations.Thiswasbeforehegotpromoted.Might’vebeenwhyhegotpromoted,infact.’‘Letmeguess,’Isay,rememberingthenamefromMark’swebsite.‘TheolddirectorwasBud

Sanderson.Nowsecretaryofdefense.’Walkerlooksmomentarilyimpressed.‘Right.Youconnectthedots,you’llfindalotofpeoplewho

negotiatedwiththeMogstenyearsagohavedonerealwellforthemselvessince.’‘Whataboutthepresident?’Sixasks.‘Thatguy?’Walkersnorts.‘Smallfish.Theoneswhogetelected,whogivespeechesonTV–they’re

justglorifiedcelebrities.Therealpower’swiththepeoplewhogetappointed,whoworkbehindthescenes.Theonesyou’veneverheardof.They’rewhotheMogswantedandthat’swhothey’vekeptaround.’‘He’sstillthepresident,’Sixcounters.‘Whydoesn’thedosomething?’‘Becausehe’skeptinthedark,’Walkersays.‘Andanyway,theVPisaMogProguy.Whenthetime

comes,thepresidentwilleithergoalongwiththeMogs,orhe’llgetremoved.’‘I’msorry,’Isay,holdingupmyhands.‘WhatthehellisMogPro?’‘MogadorianProgress,’Walkerexplains.‘It’swhatthey’recallingthe,quote,intersectionofourtwo

species,unquote.’‘Youknow,ifyoueverwantasecondcareer,Iknowawebsiteyoucouldwritefor,’ItellWalkerasI

startpagingthroughthedocumentsinherfile.TherearespecificationsforMogadorianblasters,transcriptsofconversationsbetweenpoliticians,picturesofimportant-lookinggovernmentguysshakinghandswithMogsinofficeruniforms.It’sthekindofdocumentdumpasitelikeTheyWalkAmongUswouldkillfor.Actually,alotofthisstuffwasalreadyonMark’swebsite.CouldWalkerhavebeentheonefeeding

himinformation?

‘Soyourbosssoldouthumanityforsomeupgradedweapons?’Sixasks,leaningoverthebackofthecouchtoglareatWalker.‘Thatsumsitup.Weweren’ttheonlycountrytosignupeither,’Walkercontinues,hertonebitter.‘And

theyknewhowtokeepusonthehook,too.Aftertheweapons,theystartedpromisingmedicaladvances.Geneticaugmentation,theycalledit.Claimedtheycouldcureeverythingfromtheflutocancer.Theywerebasicallypromisingimmortality.’Ilookupfromthefile,stoppingatapictureofasoldierwitharolled-upsleeve,theveinsonhis

forearmblackenedasifhisbloodhadturnedtosoot.‘How’sthatworkingout?’Iask,tappingthephoto.Walkercraneshernecktolookatthepicture,thenlockseyeswithme.‘Whatyou’relookingatisone

week’swithdrawalfromMogadoriangeneticinjections.That’showit’sworkingout.’IshowthephototoSixandsheshakesherheadindisgust.‘Sobasicallythey’rekillingyouslowly,’Sixsays.‘OrturningyouintoMogs.’‘Wedidn’tknowwhatweweregettinginto,’Walkersays.‘SeeingPurdydisintegratelikethat,though

…itopenedsomeeyes.TheMogsaren’tsaviors.They’returningusintosomethinginhuman.’‘Andyetyouguysarestilldealingwiththem,aren’tyou?’Ireply.‘Iheardthere’speopletryingtogo

publiconsomecapturedMogadorians,butsomeone’ssquashingthestory.’Walkernods.‘TheMogsclaimtheirgeneticaugmentationswillonlygetbetterwithtime.Alotofthe

goodoldboysinWashingtonwanttostickitoutandstaythecourse.They’veneverseenahumanbeingdisintegrate,Iguess.GuyslikeSandersonandsomeoftheotherhigh-rankingMogProcronies,they’vealreadystartedreceivingmoreadvancedtreatments.AlltheMogswantinexchangeisourcontinuedcooperation.’‘Cooperatehow?’Walkerraisesaneyebrowatme.‘Ifyouhaven’tfiguredthatoutyet,thenI’vedefinitelypickedthe

wrongsideandwearewellandtrulyscrewed.’‘Maybeifyou’dpickedtherightsideyearsagoinsteadofhelpingtohuntdownchildren–’Icatcha

lookfromSixandcheckmyanger.‘Whatever.Weknowthey’recoming.Nomorehidingintheshadowsorthesuburbs.They’recominginforce,right?’‘Right,’Walkerconfirms.‘Andtheyexpectustohandoverthekeystotheplanet.’Malcolmreturnsfromthekitchenwithtwocupsofcoffee.HehandsonetoSixandonetoWalker,the

agentlookingsurprisedbutgrateful.‘Excuseme,buthowwillthatwork?’Malcolmsays.‘Inafirst-contactsituation,there’scertaintobe

widespreadpanic.’‘Plus,theylooklikepasty-facedfreaks,’Sixadds.‘Peoplearegonnalosetheirshit.’‘Don’tbesosureaboutthat,’Walkerreplies,andgestureswithhermugtothefolderI’mstillholding.

Afterflippingthroughacouplemorepages,Icometoasetofphotographs.Twoguysinsuitsareeatinglunchinafancyrestaurant.ThefirstisaguyinhislatesixtieswiththinninggrayhairandafacelikeanowlIrecognizefromMark’swebsite;he’sBudSanderson,thesecretaryofdefense.Theother,ahandsomemiddle-agedguywholooksvaguelylikeamoviestar,I’veneverseenbefore.There’ssomethinghangingaroundhisneck,mostlyhiddenbyhissuitandthebadcameraangle.Itstirssomerecognitioninme,soIholdthepictureouttoWalker.

‘IknowSanderson,’Isay.‘Who’sthisotherguy?’Walkerraisesaneyebrowatme.‘What?Youdon’trecognizehim?I’mnotsurprised.Guyhasacouple

ofdifferentlooks,apparently.Me,Ididn’trecognizehimwhenhewasdestroyingyoukidsatDulceBase,bigasagoddamnhouse,withsomeflamingwhip.Actually,IguessthatwasaboutthetimeIdecidedMogProwasn’tforme.’MyeyeswidenandItakeanotherlookatthepicture.Theactualpendantsarehiddenbeneathhissuit

coat,butthemanclearlywearsthreechainsaroundhisneck.‘You’rekiddingme.’‘SetrákusRa,’Walkersays,shakingherhead.‘SealingthedealforMogadorian-humanpeace.’Sixcomesaroundthecouchtotakethepicturefromme.‘Damnshapeshifter,’shesays.‘He’sbeen

doingallthiswhilewe’vebeenontherun.Settingallthisupwhilewescrambledaround.’‘Hemightbeahead,butitisn’tover,’Malcolmsays.‘Well,that’ssomehearteningoptimism,’Walkersays,andsipshercoffee.‘Butitwillbeoverintwo

days.’‘Whathappensthen?’Iask.‘TheUNconvenes,’Walkerexplains.‘Conveniently,thepresidentwon’tbeabletomakeit,so

Sandersonwillappearinhisstead.He’llbetheretointroduceSetrákusRatotheworld.Anicebitofpoliticaltheaterabouthowthesweetlittlealiensmeanusnoharm.TherewillbeamotiontoallowtheMogadorianfleetsafepassageontoEarth,letthemdockhere,begoodneighborsintheintergalacticcommunity.Theworldleadershe’sboughtoffalreadywillsupportit.Believeme,they’vegotamajority.Andoncethey’rehere,onceweletthemin…’‘WesawoneofthosewarshipsinFlorida,’Sixsays,givingmeagrimlook.‘They’dbehardenoughto

takedownevenwithanarmythat’sreadyforbattle.’‘Buttherewon’tbeabattle.’Isay,finishingherthought.‘Earthwon’tevenputupafight.Andbythe

timetheydorealizethey’veletinamonster,it’llbetoolate.’‘Exactly,’Walkersays.‘NoteveryoneinthegovernmentisonboardwithSanderson.OftheFBI,CIA,

NSA,themilitary–aboutfifteenpercentareforMogPro.Lotsofpowerfulfriends,theymadesureofthat,butmostpeoplearestillentirelyinthedark.IfiguretheMogsestablishedthesameratioinothercountries.Theyknowhowmanyhumanstheyneedtocontroltogetthisdone.’‘Andyou’rewhat?Theonepercentthat’sfightingback?’Iask.‘Lessthanone,’Walkerreplies.‘It’salottogoupagainstifyoudon’thavesuperpowersand–what

wasthatoutthere?Anarmyofwolves?Anyway,mycrewhavebeenstakingoutAshwood,waitingforachancetostrikeor,Idon’tknow,dosomething.Whenwesawyoutaketheplaceover–’‘Allright,Walker,Igetit,’Isay,cuttingheroffandsettingasidethefile.‘Ibelieveyou,evenifIdon’t

reallytrustyou.Butwhatarewesupposedtodo?Howdowestopthis?’‘Gettothepresident?’Sixsuggests.‘Hehastobeabletodosomething.’‘That’soneidea,’Walkersays.‘Buthe’soneman,andseriouslywellguarded.Andevenifyoucould

gettohim,explaintohimaboutaliensandbringhimaroundtoyourside?There’sstillplentyofMogProprickswaitingtostageacoup.’IstareatWalker,knowingshealreadyhasaplanandisjuststringingusalong.‘Spititout.Whatdoyou

wantustodo?’

‘Weneedtowinoverthepeoplewho’restillinthedark.Todothat,weneedsomethingbig,’Walkersays,totallycavalier,likeshe’stalkingabouttakingoutthetrash.‘I’dlikeyoutocomewithmetoNewYork,assassinatethesecretaryofdefenseandexposeSetrákusRa.’

16

Iwatchfromtheobservationdeckasthewarshipapproaches,atfirstjustadarkspeckagainsttheblueEarthbutsteadilygrowinglargeruntilitblotsouttheplanetbelow.Thewarshipslowsonceit’srelativelyclosetotheAnubis–relativelybecausewecouldbemilesapartuphere,thevastnessofspacemakingdepthanddistancehardtofigure.I’mfarawayfromEarth.Farfrommyfriends.That’stheonlydistancethatmatters.Aportontheotherwarshipopensandasmalltransportshippopsintoview.It’swhite,perfectly

spherical,likeapearlfloatingthroughspace’sdarkocean.ThelittleshipbobsalonginmydirectionandIcanhearagrindingofgearsandawhooshofdecompressedair,theAnubis’sowndockingbay,rightbeneathmyfeet,preparingtoacceptthevisitor.‘Atlast,’SetrákusRasays,andsqueezesmyshoulder.Hesoundsexcitedaboutthisnewarrival,a

widesmileonhisstolen,humanface.Westandsidebysideontheobservationdeckrightabovethedockingbay,rowsofscoutshipsandasmallercollectionoftheorb-shapedtransportsanchoredbelowus.We’reawaitingmy‘betrothed.’Eventhinkingthewordmakesmewanttovomit.SetrákusRa’shand

restingallfatherlyonmyshouldermakesitalltheworse.Ikeepmyfacecompletelyneutral.I’mgettingbetterathidingmyemotions.I’mdeterminednottogive

anythingmoreawaytothismonster.IpretendlikeI’mexcited,too,maybejustalittlenervous.Lethimthinkthathe’swornmedownorthatI’vecheckedout.LethimthinkmylessonsinMogadorianProgressaretakingeffect,thatI’mbecomingtheghostlyversionofmyselfthatIwasinmyvisionofthefuture.Soonerorlater,Iknow,I’llbeabletoescape.OrI’lldietrying.Iturnawayfromthewindowandgazedownfromtheobservatory’sbalcony,watchingastheship

arrivesatourdockingbaydoors.Lightsflashbelow,warninganyMogsthatthey’llbesuckedintospaceiftheydon’tclearthearea.SetrákusRaalreadytookcareofthem,sendingtheMogtechniciansawaysothatwecouldgreetthisnewarrivalinprivate.TheheavydoorsopenandIcanfeelthepullofspaceeventhroughtheobservatory’sclosedairlock;thepressurechanges,likewatercominguncloggedfrommyear.Then,thetransportshipglidesaboard,thedoorssealbehinditandeverythingisquietagain.‘Come,’SetrákusRacommands,stridingoutfromtheobservatory,throughthenow-openairlockand

downthespiralstaircasethatleadstothedockingbay.Ifollowalongobedientlyathisheels,footstepsechoingonthemetaldeckaswepassbetweentherowsofscoutships.Cautiously,notwantingtolooktoointerested,IpeeraroundSetrákusRatocatchaglimpseoftheshipasitopensup.I’mexpectingoneoftheyoungerMogadoriantrueborn,somehigh-rankingup-and-comerhandselectedbySetrákusRa,liketheonesI’veseennervouslydeliveringstatusreportstotheir‘BelovedLeader.’TryasImighttokeepcool,Istillcan’thelpemittingalittlegaspwhenFivestepsoutoftheship.SetrákusRalooksbackatme.‘Youtwoarealreadyacquainted,yes?’

OneofFive’seyesishiddenbeneathagross-lookinggauzebandage,asmudgeofdarkbrownbloodinthecenter,theedgessweatstained.Helooksraggedandexhausted,andwhenhisgoodeyeflickstowardsme,histhickshouldersbecomeevenmoreslumped.HestopsrightinfrontofSetrákusRa,hisgazedowncast.‘Whatisshedoinghere?’Fiveasksquietly.‘Wearealltogethernow,’SetrákusRaanswers,andgraspsFivebytheshoulders.‘Theliberatedand

theenlightened,poisedonthebrinkofabsoluteMogadorianProgress.Innosmallpartthankstoyou,myboy.’‘Okay,’Fivegrunts.IrememberFivebeinginmyvision–hewastheretoescortSixandSamtowardstheirexecution.Six

spatrightinhisface–butIguessI’dglossedoverthatpart,moreconcernedwithmydisturbingconnectiontoSetrákusRa.Nowhereheis,receivingapatonthebackfromtheMogadorianleader,thefuturealreadytakingshape.AndapparentlyI’vebeenpromisedtohimforwhatevercreepyritualpassesforaMogadorianmarriage.Rightnow,though,that’snotmymostpressingconcern.BecauseifFiveishere,lookinglikehejustgotoutofafight…‘What–whatdidyoudo?’Iask,myvoicesqueakierthanI’dlike.‘Whathappenedtotheothers?’Fivelooksatmeagainandhislipsscrewup.Hedoesn’treply.‘Yougavethemachance,didyounot?’SetrákusRaasksFive,butIcantellhe’sspeakingformy

benefit.‘Youtriedtoshowthemthelight.’‘Theywouldn’tlisten,’Fiverepliesquietly.‘Theygavemenochoice.’‘Andlookhowtheyrepaidyouforyourattemptatmercy,’SetrákusRasays,brushinghisfingers

againstthebandageonFive’sface.‘Wewillhavethatrepairedimmediately.’ItakeasurprisedstepbackwardswhenFiveslapsawaySetrákusRa’shand.It’sastingingblow,the

impactechoingofftheshipsaroundus.Ican’tseehisface,butIcanseethemusclesinSetrákusRa’sbacktighten,hisalreadyrigidposturestiffeningthatmuchmore.Igetthesenseofanimmensebulkhidinginsidethathumanform,justwaitingtoexplodeoutward.‘Leaveit,’Fivesays,voiceshakyandquiet.‘Iwanttokeepitthisway.’WhateverrebukeSetrákusRamighthavebeenreadywithdoesn’tcome.Heseemsalmosttakenaback

byFive’sfervortoremainhalfblind.‘You’retired,’SetrákusRasays,finally.‘Wewilldiscussitfurtheronceyou’verested.’FivenodsandtakesacautioussteparoundSetrákusRa,asifhe’suncertainwhethertheMogadorian

overlordwillactuallylethimpass.WhenSetrákusRadoesn’ttrytostophim,Fivegruntsandsloucheshiswaytowardstheexit.HemakesitabouthalfwaytherebeforeSetrákusRacallsafterhim.‘Whereisthebody?’heasks,stoppingFiveinhistracks.‘Whereisthependant?’Fiveclearshisthroat,andInoticehishandsstarttoshake,atleastbeforehemakesaconsciouseffort

tosteadyhimself.HeturnsbackaroundtofaceSetrákusRa,whoislookingtowardstheopenship,obviouslyexpectingsomethingtobewaitingforhim.‘Whatbody?’Iask,feelingatightnessinmychest.Whentheyignoreme,Iraisemyvoicehigher.‘What

body?Whosependant?’‘Gone,’Fivesayssimply,answeringSetrákusRa.

‘Iaskedyouaquestion,Five!’Ishout.‘Whatbo–’Withoutlookingatme,SetrákusRawavesahandinmydirection.Myteethclicktogetherashe

telekineticallyshutsmymouth.It’slikebeingslapped,andmycheeksgrowhotwithanger.Someoneisdead,Iknowit.Oneofmyfriendsisdead,andthesetwobastardsareignoringme.‘Elaborate,’SetrákusRagrowlsatFive,andeveninhishandsomehumanform,Icantellhispatience

isbeginningtowane.Fivesighslikethiswholeexchangeisawasteofhistime.‘CommanderDeltochdecidedhewould

watchoverthebodypersonally,andIdidn’twanttoquestionhisorders.IfoundDeltoch’sremainsrightbeforeweleft.TheGardemusthavesnuckinandescapedwiththeirfriend.’‘Youweresupposedtobringhimtome,’SetrákusRahisses,hiseyesburningholesintoFive.‘Not

Deltoch.You.’‘Iknow,’Fivereplies.‘Hewouldn’tlistenwhenItoldhimthosewereyourorders.Atleasthediedfor

hisinsubordination.’IwatchadarkcloudpassoverSetrákusRa’sface,wheelsturningbehindhisstolenblueeyes,asifhe

knowsFiveisplayinghimsomehow,theragebuildingup.Ifeelhistelekineticgriponmyjawloosen.He’sdistracted,nowfocusedentirelyonFive.Beforehecansayordoanythingmore,Istepbetweenthetwoofthem,raisingmyvoicealittlehigher.Thistime,theyhavetopayattentiontome.‘Whatbody?Whoareyoutalkingabout?’Finally,Five’sgoodeyelandsonme.‘Eight.He’sdead.’‘No,’Isay,thewordpracticallyawhisperasItry,toolate,tostopmyselffromreacting.Mykneesfeel

weak,andFive’simpassivefacebecomesblurryasmyeyesfillwithtears.‘Yes,’SetrákusRachimesin,andalltheragehasbeendrainedfromhisvoice,replacedbysomething

morecoiledandsinister–histoneshowyandoverlycongenial.‘Fiveheresawtothat,didn’tyou,myboy?AllintheserviceofMogadorianProgress.’ItakeasteptowardsFive,myfistsclenched.‘You?Youkilledhim?’‘Itwas–’Foramoment,itlookslikeFivemightdenyit.ButthenheglancesquicklyatSetrákusRaand

simplynods.‘Yes.’Justlikethat,allmyefforttoshownoemotionaroundSetrákusRaslipsaway.Ifeelascreambuilding

upinsideme.IwanttoattackFive.Iwanttothrowmyselfathimandtearhimapart.IknowthatIwouldn’tstandachance–IsawthewayhehandledhimselfintheLectureHall,thewayhecanturnhisskintometaloranythingelsehetouches–butI’lldoasmuchdamageasIcan.I’llbreakmyhandsonhismetalskinifitmeansgettingjustonepunchin.SetrákusRaputshishandonmyshoulder,stoppingme.‘Ibelievenowwouldbeanexcellenttimeforthatlessonwediscussed,’hesaystomeinthatsame

phonytone.‘Alessoninwhat?’Ispit,glaringatFive.FivelooksalmostrelievedthatSetrákusRa’sattentionnowseemsfocusedonme.‘MayIbeexcused?’

heasks.‘Youmaynot,’SetrákusRareplies.Fromnexttooneoftheships,SetrákusRagrabsacartcoveredintools–wrenches,pliers,

screwdriversallmadeforservicingtheMogadorianships,butnotsodifferentfromtheonesonEarth–

andwheelsitovernexttous.Helooksdownatmeandsmiles.‘YourLegacy,Ella,iscalledDreynen.ItgivesyoutheabilitytotemporarilycanceltheLegacyof

anotherGarde,’SetrákusRalectures,hishandsclaspedbehindhisback.‘ItwasoneoftherarestonLorien.’Iwipemyforearmacrossmyeyesandtrytostandupalittlestraighter.I’mstillglaringatFive,butmy

wordsareforSetrákusRa.‘Whyareyoutellingmethisnow?Idon’tcare.’‘It’simportanttoknowone’shistory,’hereplies,undeterred.‘IfyoubelievetheElders,Legaciesarose

fromLorientosuittheneedsofLoricsociety.Iwonder,then,whatbenefitisderivedfromapoweronlyusefulagainstotherGarde?’Fiveremainsperfectlystill,refusingtomeetmyeyes.Distractedbymyanger,Iforgettomoderatemy

words,tokeepitcool.‘Idon’tknow,’Isnapsarcastically.‘MaybeLoriensawfreakslikeyoutwocomingandknewsomeone

wouldhavetostopyou.’‘Ah,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoiceoverloadedwithprofessorialsmugness,likeI’vesteppedrightinto

histrap.‘Butifthatisthecase,whydidtheEldersnotselectyoutobeamongtheyoungGardesaved?And,ifLoriendoessomehowshapeLegaciestosuittheneedsoftheLoric,whywoulditbestowLegaciestothoseillsuitedtousethem?ThemereexistenceofDreynensuggestsafallibilityinLorienthattheElderswouldseektodeny.Itischaosthatneedstobetamed,notworshipped.’ItrytotakeasteptowardsFive,butSetrákusRauseshistelekinesistokeepmeinplace.Ichokeback

myangerandremindmyselfI’maprisonerhere.IhavetoplayalongwithSetrákusRa’sstupidgameuntilthetimeisright.Revengewillhavetowait.‘Ella,’SetrákusRasays.‘DoyouunderstandwhatI’mtellingyou?’IsighandturnawayfromFivetostaredullyatSetrákusRa.Obviously,healreadyhasthiswhole

philosophicallecturemappedout.It’sprobablyoneofthelongersectionsinhisbook.There’snopointintryingtoarguewithhim.‘Soeverything’srandomandweshouldexploititandblahblahblah,’Isay.‘Maybeyou’reright,

maybeyou’rewrong.We’llneverknowsinceyouwentanddestroyedtheplanet.’‘WhatdidIdestroy,exactly?Aplanet,perhaps.ButnotLorienitself.’SetrákusRatoyswithoneofthe

pendantsdanglingfromhisneck.‘Itismorecomplicatedthanyouknow,mydear.Soon,yourmindwillopenandyouwillunderstand.Untilthen–’Hereachesovertothecart,plucksupaMogadorianwrenchandtossesittome,‘wepractise.’Isnagthewrenchoutoftheairandholditinfrontofme.SetrákusRaturnshisattentiontoFive,still

standingtheresilently,waitingtobedismissed.‘Fly,’SetrákusRaorders.Fivelooksup,confused.‘What?’‘Fly,’SetrákusRarepeats,wavingtothehighceilingofthedockingbay.‘Ashighasyoucan.’Fivegruntsandslowlylevitatesuntilhe’saboutfortyfeetintheair,hisheadnearlybrushingtherafters

ofthedockingbay.‘Nowwhat?’heasks.Insteadofreplying,SetrákusRaturnstome.I’vealreadygotanideawhathewantsmetodo.Mypalm

issweatingagainstthecoldmetalofthewrench.Hekneelsdownbesidemeandlowershisvoice.‘IwantyoutodowhatyoudidattheDulceBase,’SetrákusRasays.

‘Itoldyou,Idon’tknowhowIdidthat,’Iprotest.‘Iknowyouareafraid.Afraidofme,ofyourdestiny,ofthisplaceyoufindyourself,’SetrákusRasays

patiently,andforaterrifyingmomenthisvoicesoundsalmostlikeCrayton.‘Butforyou,thatfearisaweapon.Closeyoureyesandletitflowthroughyou.YourDreynenwillfollow.Itisahungrything,thisLegacythatliveswithinyou,anditwillfeedonwhatyoufear.’Isqueezemyeyesshut.Partofmewantstoresistthislesson,myskincrawlingatthesoundofSetrákus

Ra’svoice.ButanotherpartofmewantstolearntousemyLegacy,nomatterthecost.Itdoesn’tseemsounnatural–there’sanenergyinsidemethatwantstogetout.MyDreynenwantstobeused.WhenIopenmyeyes,thewrenchglowswithredenergy.I’vedoneit.JustlikeatDulceBase.‘Verygood,Ella.YoucanusetheDreynenbytouchor,asyouhavejustaccomplished,chargeobjects

withitforlong-rangeattacks,’SetrákusRaexplains.HetakesaquickstepbackwhenIthrustthewrenchtowardshim.‘Easynow,mydear.’IstareatSetrákusRa,unblinking,holdingthewrenchlikeImightholdatorchifIwastryingtoscare

offawildanimal.IwonderifIcouldhithimwithit,drainhisLegaciesandthenbashhisheadin.WouldFivetrytostopme?WouldIevenbeabletopullitoff?I’mnotyetsureofthefullextentofSetrákusRa’sLegacies,orwhatothertrickshemighthaveuphissleeve,orwhatmighthappenwiththecharmthatnowbindsustogether.Butmaybeitwouldbeworthit.AslowsmilespreadsacrossSetrákusRa’sface,asifhecantellI’mmakingthesementalcalculations

andheappreciatesthem.‘Goon,’hesays,andhiseyesflicktowardstheceiling.‘Youknowwhattodonext.Hefailedme.And

hekilledyourfriend,didn’the?’IknowthatIshouldresist,thatIshouldn’tdoanythingSetrákusRawantsmetodo.Butthewrench,

chargedwithmyDreynen,feelsalmosteagerinmyhand,likeit’shungryandneedsrelease.AndthenIthinkofEight,deadsomewheredownonEarth,killedbythechubbyboycurrentlyinamidairsulkrightaboveme,whomygrandfatherapparentlyhasdesignsaboutmarryingmeoffto.IturnaroundandhurlthewrenchatFive.I’mnotsuremythrowhastheaccuracyorthedistance,soIgiveitaboostwithmytelekinesis.Five

mustseeitcoming,buthedoesn’ttrytomoveoutoftheway.That’swhatmakesmestarttoregretmydecision–hisresignationandwillingnesstoreceivethispunishment.ThewrenchhitsFiverightinthesternumbutwithoutmuchforce.Evenso,itstickstohischestlikeit’s

magnetized.Hesucksinasharpbreath,hisboredlookfailinghimasheclawsatthewrench.Thatonlylastsforasecond,though,untiltheglowbrieflyintensifiesandFiveplummetsoutoftheair.Five’slandingisugly;hislegscrumplebeneathhim,hishandsfailtobracetheimpactandhisshoulder

cracksagainstthefloor.Heendsuplyingonhisface,breathinghard.Hetriestopickhimselfup,buthisarmisn’tquiteworkingright,andheonlymanagestopushhimselfaninchoffthefloorbeforesaggingbackdown.Thewrenchfallsfromhischest,thedamagedone,hisLegaciescanceled.SetrákusRapatsmeapprovinglyontheback.That’swhenIreallystarttofeelsomeguilt,seeingFivelikethat,evenknowingwhathedidtoEight.Itoccurstomethatmaybehe’sjustasmuchaprisonerasIam.‘Getyourselftotheinfirmary,’SetrákusRaordersFive.‘Idonotcarewhatyoudoaboutyoureye,but

Ineedyouable-bodiedwhenwedescendtoEarth.’‘Yes,BelovedLeader,’Fivecroaks,straininghisnecktolookupatus.

‘Thatwaswelldone,’SetrákusRasaystomeasheshepherdsmetowardstheexit.‘Come.WewillreturntoyourstudiesoftheGreatBook.’EventhoughI’mstillfuriousaboutwhathedidtoEight,aswepassFive’spronebody,Ireachoutto

himtelepathically.IrefusetolosemysenseofrightandwrongwhileI’mstuckhere.I’msorry,Itellhim.Idon’tthinkhe’llanswer,consideringhowhecouldbarelyevenlookatmebefore.JustasI’maboutto

cutoffourtelepathiclink,hisresponsecomes.I’mfine,hereplies.Ideservedit.Youdeserveworsethanthat,Ireply,althoughIcan’tquitemanagethemaliceIwant.It’shardwhile

I’mmentallypicturingEight,laughing,jokingaroundwithmeandMarina.Iknow,Fiveresponds.Ididn’t–I’msorry,Ella.Ipickupsomethingelsefromhismind.That’sneverhappenedbefore–maybemyLegacyisgetting

stronger.Idon’tthinktoomuchaboutit,becausethroughmymind’seyeI’mseeingEight’sbody,leftbehindonpurposeinanemptyhangar.Itrytomakesenseoftheimage,butFive’sthoughtsareaconfusedjumble.Therearesomanyconflictingimpulsesinhisbrain,andI’mnotaskilledenoughtelepathtomakesenseofthemall.I’vealreadywalkedpasthim,butafterourtelepathicconversation,Ihazardaglanceovermyshoulder.

Fivehasmanagedtoprophimselfup.Heworksametalballbearingacrosshisknuckles,overandunder,waitingforhisLegaciestoreturn.Helooksrightatme.Wehavetogetoutofhere,hethinks.

17

AshwoodEstatesisquietjustbeforesunrise,alightfoggreetingthegrayday.Icouldhardlysleep,whichisn’texactlyanewdevelopment.Isitnexttotheliving-roomwindowinAdam’soldhouseandtakecell-phonephotographsofthedocumentsAgentWalkerturnedover,sendingthemontoSarah.We’regoingtoleakthemonlineviaTheyWalkAmongUs,becauseatleastthatwaywecanensuretheinformationgetsoutthere.Walkerhasalistofjournalistsandothermediapeoplewhoshebelievestobetrustworthy,butshe’sgotalistthesamelengthofreportersinthepocketofMogPro.There’snosurefirewaytogetthisinteloutthereexceptonourown.It’sgoingtobeanuphillbattle.Intheyearswe’vespentontherun,theMogadorianshavegottentoofarahead,becometooentrenchedinthemilitary,governmentandeventhemedia.Thesmartestthingtheyeverdidwaschaseusintohiding.AccordingtoWalker,it’sgoingtotakesomethingbigtoturnthetide.Shewantsustocuttheheadoff

MogPro,meaningtakeoutthesecretaryofdefense.I’mnotsurehowthat’ssupposedtogetusanysupportfromhumanity.Walkersayswecancarryouttheassassinationcovertly.Ihaven’tdecidedifwe’regoingalongwiththatpartoftheplan,butit’sokaytoletWalkerthinkwe’redownwithdoingherdirtywork.Fornow.MoreimportantthanSanderson,we’resupposedtoexposeSetrákusRa,usingwhateverhuman-Mog

photoophe’sgotplannedfortheUnitedNationsagainsthim.TheplanistomakeabigenoughscenethathumanitywillseetheMogsforwhattheyreallyareandrallyagainsttheinvasion.Apopulationthat’sbeendupedforadecadewillfinallybeoutofthedark.Oncethehumansseealiensfirsthand,we’rehopingpeoplewilltakeanichesitelikeTheyWalkAmongUsseriously.Ijusthopewefigureoutawaytopullallthisoff.Withoutdying.Darkthoughtsstillgnawatme.Evenifwemanagetoformaresistancebiggerandstrongerthanthe

ragtagbunchwe’veassembledatAshwoodEstates,there’snoguaranteewecanturnbacktheMogadorians.ForaslongasI’vebeenonEarth,ourwarwiththeMogadorianshasbeenfoughtintheshadows.Now,we’reabouttoinvolvemillionsofinnocentpeople.Itseemslikeallwe’restrugglingforistogivehumanityandusremainingLorictheopportunitytofightalongandbloodywar.IwonderifthisiswhattheEldershadplannedforus.WerewesupposedtohavealreadydefeatedtheMogswithhumanitynonethewiser?OrwastheirplanwhentheysentustoEarthjustasdesperateasoursisnow?NowonderIcan’tsleep.Throughthewindow,IwatchacoupleofFBIagentsshareacigaretteontheporchacrossthestreet.I

guessI’mnottheonlyonesufferingfromimpendinginvasioninsomnia.WeletWalker’speoplecampoutintheemptyhousesaroundAshwood.Theysecuredtheperimeter,guardspostedatthegateAdamandIwreckedearlierintheday,prettymuchmakingthisplacethehomebaseofthebrand-newHuman-LoricResistance.Istilldon’tentirelytrustAgentWalkerorherpeople,buttheloomingwarhasforcedmetotakeona

lotofstrangeallies.Sofar,they’vepannedout.Ifmyluckwithtrustingoldenemiesdoesn’thold,well,

we’reprettymuchalldoomedanyway.Desperatetimescallfordesperatemeasuresandallthat.ThefloorboardscreakbehindmeandIturnaroundtofindMalcolmstandinginthedoorwayleadingup

fromtheMogadoriantunnels.Hiseyesaredroopywithexhaustionandhe’sintheprocessofstiflingayawn.‘Morning,’Isay,closingupthefolderofWalker’sdocuments.‘Already?’Malcolmreplies,shakinghisheadindisbelief.‘Ilosttrackoftimedownthere.Samand

Adamwerehelpingmeearlier.IthoughtIjustforcedthemtotakeabreakalittlewhileago.’‘Thatwashoursago,’Ireply.‘DidyouspendyourentirenightgoingthroughthoseMogadorian

recordings?’Malcolmnodshisheadmutely,andIrealizethathe’smorethanjustovertired.He’sgotthepunch-drunk

lookofamanwho’sjustwitnessedsomethingshocking.‘Whatdidyoufind?’Iask.‘Me,’heanswersafteramoment’spause.‘Ifoundmyself.’‘Whatdoyoumean?’‘Ithinkyou’dbettergathertheothers’ishisonlyreplybeforehedisappearsbackintothetunnels.Marinaisasleepinoneoftheupstairsbedrooms,soIwakeherupfirst.Assheheadsdownstairs,she

pausesinfrontofthemasterbedroom;onceuponatimeitwasoccupiedbytheGeneralandAdam’smother,butnowit’sthetemporaryrestingplaceforEight.Marinalaysherhandgentlyonthedoorframeasshepasses.InoticedwhenIwokeherthatshe’stakentowearingEight’spendant.Iwishtherewasmoretimeformetogrievewithher.Adamisasleepintheremainingupstairsbedroom,hisswordproppedagainstthesideofthebed

withinarm’sreach.Ihesitateforonlyamomentbeforewakinghim,too.He’soneofusnow.HeprovedthatyesterdaywhenhesavedmylifefromtheGeneral.WhateverMalcolm’sdiscoveredonthoseMogadorianrecordings,Adam’sinsightcouldbeinvaluable.SamandtherestoftheGardesleptelsewhereinAshwoodEstates,soIdispatchsomeChimæraeto

trackthemdown.Nineshowsupafterafewminutes,hislonghairallunkemptandwild,lookingaboutasfatiguedasIfeel.‘Isleptontheroof,’heexplainswhenIshoothimaweirdlook.‘Uh,why?’‘Somebodyhadtokeepaneyeonthosegovernmentdorksyou’vegotcampingout.’Ishakemyheadandfollowhimdownthestepsintothetunnels.MalcolmandtheothersI’dgottenhold

ofarealreadyassembledintheMogadorianarchives,silentanduneasy,MarinasittingaboutasfarfromAdamaspossible.‘SamandSix?’MalcolmasksmewhenIenter.Ishrugmyshoulders.‘TheChimæraearelookingforthem.’‘Isawthemgointooneoftheabandonedhouses,’Ninesays,aslysmileonhisface.Igivehima

questioninglookandhewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.‘Endoftheworld,youknow,Johnny.’I’mnotsureexactlywhatNinemeansuntilSixandSamcomehustlingthroughthedoor.Sixisall

business,herhairpulledback,lookinglikeshe’scleanedupandgottensomegoodrestsinceherordealintheswamp.Sam,ontheotherhand,isflushed,hishairstickingupatoddangles,andhisshirtisbuttonedallwrong.Samcatchesmestudyinghimandturnsadarkershadeofred,givingmeasheepishsmile.I

shakemyheadindisbelief,fightingbackagrininspiteofthedourmood.NinewhistlesbetweenhisteethandasmileevenflitsbrieflyacrossMarina’sface.AllthisonlycausesSamtoblushmore,andforSixtoincreasethedefiantlookshe’sskeweringuswith.Malcolm,ofcourse,isoblivioustoallthis.He’sfocusedinsteadonthecomputer,queuinguponeof

theMogadorianvideos.‘Good.We’reallhere,’Malcolmsays,glancingupfromthekeyboard.Helooksaroundtheroom,

almostnervously.‘Ifeellikeafailure,havingtoshowyouthis.’Sam’spost-hookupblushturnsintoalookofconcern.‘Whatdoyoumean,Dad?’‘I–’Malcolmshakeshishead.‘Theytorethisinformationoutofmeandevennow,havingseenwhat

I’mabouttoshowyou,Idon’tactuallyrememberit.Iletyoualldown.’‘Malcolm,comeon,’Isay.‘We’veallmademistakes,’Marinasays,andInoticehergazedrifttowardsNine.‘Donethingswe

regret.’Malcolmnods.‘Regardless.Lateinthegameasitis,Istillhopethisvideowillshowanotherway

forward.’Sixtiltsherhead.‘Anotherwayinsteadofwhat?’‘Insteadoftotalwar,’Malcolmanswers.‘Watch.’Malcolmpressesabuttononthekeyboardandthevideoscreenonthewallcomestolife.Thefaceofa

gaunt,olderMogadorianappears.Hisnarrowheadfillsmostofthescreen,butinthebackgroundaroomsimilartothisoneisvisible.TheMogadorianbeginsspeakinginhisharshlanguage,histonesoundingformalandacademic,eventhoughIcan’tunderstandhim.‘AmIsupposedtobeabletounderstandthiscreep?’Nineasks.‘He’sDrLockramAnu,’Adamsays,translating.‘Hecreatedthememorymachinethat…well,you

know.Youchuckedapieceofitatahelicopterlastnight,actually.’‘Oh,that,’Ninesays,grinning.‘Thatwasfun.’Adamcontinues.‘Thisisold,tapedduringthemachine’sfirsttrials.He’sintroducingatestsubject,

onehesayswasmentallytougherthantheothershe’sworkedon.He’llbedemonstratinghowhismachinecanbeutilizedforinterrogation…’AdamtrailsoffasDrAnustepsaside,revealingayoungerMalcolmGoodestrappedintoaninsanely

complicatedmetalchair.Malcolmisthinandpale,themusclesinhisneckstandingout,largelythankstotheawkwardanglehisheadisforcedtoreclineat.Hiswristsarebuckledtothetitaniumarmsofthechair;anIVcordrunsintothebackofhishand,nutrientsarrivingviaanearbybag.Anassortmentofelectrodesarestucktohisfaceandchest,theircordsattachedtothecircuitboardsofDrAnu’smachine.Hiseyesstaredirectlyintothecamera,butthey’reunfocusedandunblinking.‘Dad,ohmyGod,’Samsaysquietly.It’sdifficulttolookattheMalcolmon-screen,anditgetsevenworsewhenAnustartsaskinghim

questions.‘Goodmorning,Malcolm,’Anusays,nowinEnglish,histonethekindusuallyreservedforchildren.

‘Areyoureadytoresumeourconversation?’‘Yes,Doctor,’theMalcolmon-screenanswers,hismouthsaggingthroughthewords,aglimmerof

droolappearingatthecornerofhismouth.

‘Verygood,’Anureplies,andglancesdownataclipboardonhislap.‘IwantyoutothinkaboutyourencounterwithPittacusLore.IwanttoknowwhathewasdoingonEarth.’‘Hewaspreparingforwhatistocome,’Malcolmreplies,hisvoicedistantandrobotic.‘Bespecific,Malcolm,’Anuinsists.‘HewaspreparingfortheMogadorianinvasionandtherebirthofLorien.’Onthescreen,Malcolm

lookssuddenlyalarmed.Hejerkshisarmsagainsthisbonds.‘They’realreadyhere.Huntingus.’‘Indeed,butyou’resafenow,’Anusays,andwaitsforMalcolmtocalmdown.‘Howlonghavethe

LoricbeenvisitingEarth?’‘Centuries.Pittacushopedthathumanitywouldbereadywhenthetimecame.’‘Whenthetimecameforwhat?’‘Tofight.TorestartLorien.’Anudrumstheclipboardwithhispen,growingannoyedbyMalcolm’shypnotizedvagueness.‘How

willtheyrestartLorienfromhere,Malcolm?Theplanetislight-yearsaway.Areyoulyingtome?’‘Notlying,’Malcolmmumbles.‘Lorienisnotsimplyaplanet.Itismorethanthat.Itcanexistinany

placewherethepeopleareworthy.PittacusandtheEldershavealreadymadethepreparations.Loraliterunsbeneathourfeetevennow,circulatingthroughtheEarth.Likebloodcoursingthroughveins,itonlyneedsaheartbeattogiveitpurpose.Allitneedsistobeawoken.’Anuleansforward,suddenlyveryinterested.Ifindmyselfdoingthesamething,bendingtowardsthe

screen,myheadtilted.‘Howwilltheyaccomplishthis?’Anuasks,clearlytryingtokeeptheexcitementoutofhisvoice.‘EachoftheGardepossesseswhatPittacuscalledPhoenixStones,’Malcolmreplies.‘WhentheGarde

comeofage,theStonescanbeusedtore-createthefeaturesofLorien–theplantlife,Loralite,theChimærae.’‘ButwhatoftheLegacies?WhatofLorien’struegifts?’‘Those,too,willcomeonceLorienisawoken,’Malcolmanswers.‘ThePhoenixStones,thependants,

everythinghasapurpose.WhentheyarecommittedtotheEarthintheElders’Sanctuary,Lorienwillliveonceagain.’Anuglancesbackatthecamera,hiseyeswide.Hecomposeshimselfandpresseson.‘WhereisthisSanctuary,Malcolm?’‘Calakmul.OnlytheGardemayenter.’Here,Malcolmpausestherecording.Helooksaroundtheroom;hislipsaresqueezedintoasomber

line,butthere’sahopefulglimmerinhiseyes.Everyone’sstunnedfacespeerbackathim,noneofusquitedonedigestingwhatwe’vejustseen.Nineraiseshishand,frowning.‘Idon’tgetit.WhatthehellisCalakmul?’‘It’sanancientMayancitylocatedinsoutheastMexico,’Malcolmreplies,arippleofexcitement

stirringhisvoice.‘Whydidn’tweknowanyofthis?’Sixasks,stillstaringatthepausedscreen.‘Whydidn’ttheElders

tellus?OrourCêpans?Ifthisisallsoimportant,whykeepusinthedark?’Malcolmpinchesthebridgeofhisnose.‘Idon’thaveagoodanswerforthat,Six.TheMogadorian

invasioncaughttheEldersoffguard.YouwererushedtoEarth,yourCêpanscompletelyunpreparedaswell.Yoursurvivalwastoppriority.Icanonlyassumeallthis–thePhoenixStones,yourpendants,the

Sanctuary–wasmeanttoberevealedwhenyoucameofage,onceyouhadLegaciesandwerereadytofight.Totellyoubeforethatwould’vemadeyoursecretstoovulnerable.Although’–Malcolmlooksforlornlyathisimageonthescreen–‘wecanseehowpoorlysecrecyservedus.’‘Maybethat’swhyHenricametoParadiselookingforyou,Dad,’Samsuggests,glancingbetweenhis

fatherandme.‘Maybeitwastime.’Mymindisracing.Withoutevenrealizingit,I’vestartedtopacebackandforth.Ittakesalookfrom

Sixtogetmetostop.‘Ialwaysthoughtwe’dwinthiswarandreturntoLorien,’Isayslowly,tryingtocatchholdofmy

thoughts.‘Ithoughtthat’swhatHenrimeantaboutrestartingit.’‘Maybehemeanthere,’Sixsuggests.‘Maybewe’resupposedtorestartLorienhere.’‘Whatwouldthatevenmean?’Samasks.‘WhatwouldhappentoEarth?’‘Can’tbeworsethanwhat’llhappenwhentheMogsgethere,’Ninereplies.‘Imean,Iremember

Lorienbeingprettysweet.We’dbedoingEarthafavor.’‘Onthetapeyoumadeitsoundlikeanentityofsomekind,’Marinasays,lookingatMalcolm.‘I–’Malcolmshakeshishead.‘IwishIcouldremembermore,Marina.Idon’thavetheanswers.’‘Itcouldbelikeagod,’Marinasays,ahushedreverenceinhervoice.‘ItcouldbelikeaweaponthatcomesbustingoutoftheEarthtokillalltheMogs,’Ninesuggests.Adamclearshisthroatuncomfortably.‘Whateveritis,MalcolmsaidweneedthePhoenixStonestowakeit,’Isay,tryingnottoletthegroup

getsidetracked.‘Andthependants,’Sixsays,thentiltsherheadassomethingoccurstoher.‘Maybethat’swhySetrákus

Rakeepsthem.Theycouldbemorethantrophiestohim.’‘WewentthroughourChestsbackinChicago,’Ninegroans,probablyrememberinghowboredhewas

catalogingourInheritance.‘I’vegotmorerocksandshitthanIknowwhattodowith.’‘Weshouldbringitall,’Marinasays,certaintyinhervoice.‘OurInheritances.Ourpendants.Bringit

totheSanctuaryandcommitittotheEarth,likeMalcolmsaid.’Malcolmnods.‘Iknowit’svague,butit’ssomething.’‘Itcouldbetheadvantagewe’relookingfor,’Isay,thinkingitover.‘Hell,itcouldbewhatwewere

sentheretodointhefirstplace.’Ninecrosseshisarms,lookingskeptical.‘YesterdayIwasstaringatthebiggestgoddamnMogadorian

shipI’veeverseen.Buryingourstuffinsomedusty-asstemplemight’vebeenacoolidealikemonthsago,butwe’rethisclosetofull-onwarandI’mprettysurewe’vegotsomebadguystokill.’BeforeIcanreply,Malcolmstepsforward.‘TheSanctuarymightbeourbesthope,’hesays.‘Butit’s

bestnottoputalloureggsinonebasket.’‘Nine’ssortofright.AsmuchasIhatetheideaofsplittingupagain,’Sixsays,‘someofusshouldstick

withWalker’splantotakethefighttotheMogsandtheirpeople.’Ninepumpsafist.‘Thisguy.’‘AndsomeofusshouldheadtoMexico,’Isay,finishingSix’sthought.‘Iwanttogo,’Marinasaysimmediately.‘IwanttoseethisSanctuary.Ifit’saplaceforLoric,aplace

wherewelived,maybethat’swhereweshouldburyEight’sbody.’InodandlookoveratSix,waitingforherdecision.‘Well?NewYorkorMexico?’

‘Mexico,’shesays,afteramoment.‘You’rebetteratdealingwiththesegovernmenttypesthanIam.AndifweneedaLoricrepresentativeattheUN,you’retheobviouschoice.’‘Thanks.Ithink.’‘She’ssayingthatbecauseyou’resuchaboyscout,’Nineaddsinaloudwhisper.IglanceoveratSam,whoseemslikehe’sabouttospeak,hismouthhalfopen.He’scutoffbySix,who

subtlyshakesherheadathim.‘I’llstayhere,too,Iguess,’Samsaysafteranawkwardmoment,soundingmorethanalittledeflated.

Heforcesasmileforme.‘SomeonehastokeepyouandNineinline.’ThatleavesonlyAdam.OurMogadorianallyhasmaintainedarespectfulsilencethiswholetime,

probablytryingnottosteponanytoesasthesecretsofourracearerevealed.WhenIturntohim,he’sstillgazingatthescreen.Helookslostinmemory,mayberememberingDrAnuandhismachine.Hefrownswhenhenoticestherestofuswatchinghim.‘They’llbewaitingforyouinMexico,’Adamsays.‘Ifthere’sasourceofLoricpowerthere,youknow

mypeoplewillhavespentthelastfewyearstryingtoaccessit.’‘OnlytheGardecangetin,though,right?’Samasks,lookingfromAdamtohisdad.‘It’swhatIsaid,’Malcolmreplies,lipspursedinuncertainty.‘JustlikeonlywecanhaveLegacies?’Ninereplies,eyeballingAdam.‘You’resayingthiscouldbe

anothertrap,Mog?’‘It’snotatrapwhenyouknowit’sthere,’Adamsays,sparingaquickglanceforNinebeforeturninghis

eyestowardsSix.‘Idon’tknowexactlywhatyou’llfinddownthere,butIcanguaranteeaMogadorianpresence.IcanpilottheSkimmerbetterthanyou,maybeoutmanoeuvrethemifthey’vegotshipsintheair.’‘Well,Isureashellwasn’tgoingtowalktoMexico,’Sixreplies,dryly.Shelooksatme.‘Youtrustthis

guy,right?’‘Ido.’Sheshrugs.‘ThenwelcometoTeamCalakmul,Adam.’IhearMarinasuckherteeth,butshedoesn’tmakeanyotherprotest.‘Great.We’resendingaMogadoriantoinvestigateaLoricholyplace,’Ninecomplains,shakinghis

head.‘Doesn’tanyoneelsethinkthat’ssortadisrespectful?’‘Didn’tyoujustrefertoitasdusty-ass?’Samasks.‘Statementoffact,’Ninesays.‘Justlikethiswholegood-Mogthingisstillhellaweird.Nooffense.’IsilencethebanterwhenIreachundermyshirtandpullmyLoricpendantovermyhead.Ifeelanodd

coldnessagainstmyheartwhenit’sgone.Ican’trememberthelasttimethatIwaswithoutit.Withtheroomsuddenlygonequietagain,IholdoutthependanttoSix.‘Takeit,’Isay.‘MakesureitgetstotheSanctuary.’‘Nopressure,’Sixsays,smirking,assheacceptsthependant.‘Now,’Isay,lookingaround.‘Let’swinthiswarandchangetheworld.’

18

Wesaygood-byelaterthatmorning,allofusgatheredaroundtheSkimmerontheAshwoodEstatesbasketballcourt.ItfeelsstrangetobewearingaLoricpendantaroundmyneckagain.AndIdon’tmeanliteralphysical

weight–thependantsthemselvesaren’theavyatall.TheyjustcontainalltheLegaciesofLorien,apparently.Allthepowerofournearlyextinctpeople,imbuedintoafewglisteningLoralitestones.Yeah.Nobigdeal.‘Isthateverything?’Marinaasks.She’sonherkneesinfrontofheropenChest,gentlyrearrangingits

contents.We’vegotEight’sChestaswell.Itscontentsareforeverlockedup,possiblydestroyed,butwefigureditcouldn’thurttobringittotheSanctuarywiththerest.Idon’thaveaChestofmyown,soMarinahastoputallofourcollectedInheritanceintohers.After

ourmeetingearlier,JohnandNinewentthroughtheirChestsandgatheredtogetheranythingthatwasn’taweapon,ahealingstone,orotherwisecombatrelated.BesidesthehandfulofLoricgemstonesyettobetradedforpenthousesorcomputerequipment,Johnhandedoverabundleofdriedleavestiedwithayellowedpieceoftwinethatmakethesoundofthewindwhenmyfingersbrushagainstthem,andNinegivesupapouchofsoft,coffee-darksoil.MarinacarefullyputtheseitemsintoherChest,alongsideavialofcrystalclearwater,astraypieceofLoraliteandatreebranchwiththebarkparedaway.‘So,becausewedon’tknowwhatexactlythesePhoenixStonesare,we’lljustdumpanythingthat’s

close,right?’Isay,thenhastilycorrectmyself.‘Imean,notdump.CommittotheEarth.WhatbrainwashedMalcolmsaid.’Johnlaughsalittle.‘Ifwecomeupwithabetterplan,I’llletyouknow.’‘Dad’sstilldowntherewatchingmoretapes,’Samoffers.‘Maybehe’llfindsomethingelse.’‘Rightnow,wingingitseemsliketheonlyoption.Onprettymucheveryfront,’Johnsays.‘There’s

somethingelseIwantyoutotaketotheSanctuary,Six.’JohncrouchesdowntoreachintohisChest.Iwaswonderingwhyhe’dbroughtitwithhimtothe

basketballcourtafterwealreadywentthroughitinside.IunderstandwhenheholdsoutasmallcanthatIimmediatelyrecognize.Henri’sashes.‘John…,’Isay,notacceptingthecanrightaway.‘Takehim,’Johnreplies,gently.‘HebelongsattheSanctuary.’‘Butdon’tyouwanttobethere?Tosaygood-bye?’‘OfcourseIdo.Butwitheverythingthat’shappening,Idon’tknowifI’llhaveachance.’WhenIstart

toprotestagain,Johncutsmeoff.‘It’sokay,Six.I’llfeelbetterknowinghe’swithyou,headedtotheSanctuary.’‘Ifit’swhatyouwant,’Isay,acceptingtheashes.‘I’lltakecareofhim.Ipromise.’

IcarefullyplacethecanofHenri’sashesinMarina’sChestwiththerestofourstuff.Weallfallsilent,themoodturningsomber.It’shardtohavethiskindofmomentwhenyou’rebeingwatched,though.Thegovernmentagentskeeptheirdistance,althoughIcanseesomeofthem,includingWalkerherself,watchingusfromanearbyporch.‘Yougoingtobeallrightwiththem?’IaskJohn.Helooksaround,notingallthepryingeyes.‘They’reonoursidenow,remember?’‘Ihavetokeepremindingmyself,’Ireply,mygazeinvoluntarilyturningtowardstheSkimmer.‘Seems

likeI’mdoingthatalot.’AdamisalreadyonboardtheSkimmer,alongwithDust,theChimærathat’sbondedwithhim.I’m

takingJohnathiswordthatwecantrustthewiryMogadoriancurrentlyrunningdiagnosticsinthecockpit.I’mnotsureMarinafeelsthesame;shehasn’tsaidanythingoutright,butIcanfeelcoldradiatingfromherwheneverAdam’snear.Aftereverythingthat’shappened,Ican’tblameherforbeingsuspicious.I’veresignedmyselftoaverychillyflighttoMexico.‘Checkinoften,’Johnremindsme,tappingthephonethathe’sclippedtothehipofhisjeanslikeatotal

dork.BothMarinaandIarenowinpossessionofsatellitephones,toobulkytowearasfashionaccessories,sothey’restoredwiththerestofoursupplies.ThegeararrivedcourtesyoftheU.S.Government,oratleasttherebel-factionthatWalkerhastieswith.BothAdamandMalcolmlookedoverthephonesandassuredustheyaren’tbugged.‘Yeah,yeah,’Ireply.‘You,too,John.Stayintouch.Stayalive.’‘Andtakecareofallourstuff,’Ninegrumbles.He’sstandingafewpacesoff,watchingMarinamess

withherChest,hiseyebrowsfurrowed.‘Iwantsomeofthosegemsback,ifpossible.Youknow,forafter.Needtobuyanewplacetolivethankstomyshittyhouse-sitteroverhere.’IshootNinealook.‘Areyouseriousrightnow?’Heshrugs.‘What?Gottaplanforthefuture!’MarinalooksupfromherChestand,withasigh,tossesNineapairofdarkgloves.‘Here.Inever

figuredoutwhattodowiththese.’‘Sweet,’Ninesays,andpullsthemonimmediately.Heflexeshisfingersinsidetheleatherlikematerial,

thenviolentlythrustshispalmsouttowardsJohn.‘Didyoufeelanything,dude?’JohnignoresNine,lookingatMarina.‘Canwebesurethosearen’timportant?Whatifthey’rea

PhoenixStone?’‘They’regloves,Johnny,’Ninesays,nottakingthemoff.‘Youeverheardofanancientritualthat

involvesburyingapairofstylish-assgloves?Comeon.’Johnshakeshishead,givingup.HiseyeslingeronHenri’sashesuntilMarinaclosesherChest,and

thenhisgazedriftstowardstheSkimmer.‘IwishIcouldcomewithyou.I’dliketobetherefor…forbothofthem.’Eight’sbodyisalreadyonboardtheSkimmer,strappedsecurelytooneoftheseats.‘After,’Marinasays,andshereachesouttosqueezeJohn’shand.She’sstillwalkingaroundwithalot

ofsadness–weallare–butI’mslowlyseeingsignsthattheold,gentleMarinaismeltingallthatice.‘Eightwouldunderstand.Oncewe’vewon,therewillbetimeforustopayourrespectsproperly.Allofus,together.’

Ninestopsscrewingwithhisnewglovesandgetsseriousforamoment,lookingatMarina.‘I’dlikethat,’hesays.‘Ready?’IaskMarina.ShenodsanduseshertelekinesistofloatherChestintotheSkimmer’sentrance.‘Besafe,allofyou.’Onebyone,Marinahugstheboys,andIdothesame.Samislastforme,andwhenhewrapsmeupina

bighug,IgetthesamefeelingthatIdidbeforewhenwewereallassembledintheMogadoriantunnels,thateveryoneiswatchingusandtitteringabouthowpreciousweare.Ibristlealittlebit,butbeforeIknowitthehughaslastedwaylongerthantheothers’,andourfriendshavedriftedafewstepsawayasiftoletushaveadiscreetmoment.‘Six–,’Samsaysquietlyagainstmyear,andIpullbackenoughtolookathim,cuttinghimoff.‘Don’tmakethisweird,Sam,’Iwhisper,andtuckaloosestrandofhairbehindmyear,glancing

surreptitiouslytowardstheothers.So,wespentlastnighttogether.Maybethatwasn’tthewisestmoveonmypart.IloveSam,inmyway,

andIdon’twanttostringhimalongorhurthisfeelings.I’mjuststillnotsoldonhavinganykindofrelationshipuntilthisisallover,especiallywithhowstupidandcomplicatedthingsgotwithJohnafterjustsomeflirting.But,aftereverythingthathappenedinFlorida,Ineededsomethinggoodforachange–somethingwarmandsafeandapproachingnormal–andthatwasSam.IthoughtheunderstoodthatIdidn’twanttogetintosomedopeyJohn/Sarah-style,star-crossed-loversthingwithhim.Buthereweare,havingamoment,andbluntasI’mtryingtobe,I’mnotexactlypullingawayeither.‘I’mnotmakingitanything,’Samsays,screwinguphisfaceatme.‘Ijust–Idon’tgetwhyyoudidn’t

wantmecomingwithyou.’‘You’lldomoregoodhere,withyourdad,’Itellhim.‘Andyou’llneedtokeepJohnandNineinline.’‘ThelasttimeIwentonamissionwithJohn,heleftmeinsideamountain,’Samsays,notbuyingit.

‘Comeon,Six.Whatisitreally?’Isigh,simultaneouslywantingtostranglehimandkisshim.Forasecond,I’mnotsurewhichinstinct

willwinout.IwantsomethingmorewithSam,Ithink.Eventually.Ijustdon’twanttothinkaboutitrightnow.Lastnightwasonething,butnowI’mbacktofightingawar.‘Idon’twantthedistraction,Sam.Allright?’‘Oh,’hesays,lookinglikeI’vejustmurderedhispride.‘Youmean,likeyou’dhavetokeepsavingme

fromMogsorstopmefromsteppingonsomeancientMayanspiketraporwhatever.BecauseIthoughtwewerepastthat.Icanhandlemyself,Six.AndIonlyaccidentallyshotyouthatonetimeinpracticeand–’Ikisshim.Mostlyjusttoshuthimupandillustratemypoint,butalsobecauseIjustcan’thelpmyself.I

hearNinemakeanoohingnoiseofftothesideandmakeamentalnotetodestroyhimthenextchanceIget.‘That’sthedistractionI’mtalkingabout,’Isayquietly,myfacestillclosetohis.Samisblushingagain,andhismouthisstillworkinglikehewantstosaysomethingmore.He’s

probablytryingtocomeupwithsomesmoothwaytosaygood-bye,butI’msickofthesedrawn-outmoments,soItakeonelastlookathissweet,dumbstruckfaceandturnaway.Afewsecondslater,I’mstrappedintotheSkimmer’sseatnexttoAdam,ignoringtheraisedeyebrowandsmirkMarina’sfixingmewith.‘Shallwe?’Adamasks.

WenodandAdamthrowssomeswitches,handlingtheSkimmer’scontrolswithmuchmoreconfidencethanIdid.Asweslowlyriseup,IlookoutthewindowtoseeSamandtheothersbelow,wavinggood-byetous.Iwonderifmylifewilleverbewithoutthesemoments–thepainfulgood-byesbeforeweallgoofftoriskourlives.Johnalwaystalksabouthowmuchhecan’twaitforsomeboringnormallife,butwouldIbehappylikethat?Wegainaltitude,treeszippingbybeneathus,andIthinkaboutSam.Ifitwasn’tforthiswar,theconstantchaos,we’dhaveneverevengottentogether.WhatwoulditbelikeforuswithouttheloomingthreatofMogadoriandestruction?I’dliketofindout.

19

NineleansacrossmesothathecangetagoodlookatSam,sayingtohiminastagewhisper,‘Allright,dude.What’sthedealwithyouandSix?’Sampointedlylooksoutthewindowofthevan.‘What?Nothing.’‘Psshh,’Ninesnorts.‘Comeon,man.It’slikeafour-hourdrivetoNewYork.Yougottagiveupsome

details.’Infrontofus,inthepassengerseat,AgentWalkerclearsherthroat.‘FascinatingasIfindthesexlivesofteenageboys,maybewecouldusethistimetogooverour

operationalparameters,’shesaysdryly.‘Agreed,’Isay,shovingNinebackinhisseatsohecan’tleeratSamanymore.‘Weneedtofocusonthe

mission.’Ninefrownsatme.‘Allright,John.I’mgonnafocusmyassofffortherestofthiscarride.’‘Good.’SamflashesmeagratefulsmileandInod.Partofmereallydoesthinkweshouldbethinkingaboutthe

impossibleoddswe’refacing,butanotherpartofmejustdoesn’twanttohearanydetailsaboutSamandSix.I’mhappyforthem,Iguess.Gladtheycouldfindsomecomforttogether.ButIcan’tgetoverthefeelingthatSamisgoingtoendupwithhisheartbroken.Iremembermyvisionofthefuture,thewaySamscreamedrightbeforetheMogadoriansexecutedSix.Maybethat’swhyIgetthesinkingfeelingthisisgoingtoendbadly.OrmaybeI’mjustjealous.NotbecauseSamhookedupwithSix,butmorebecausetheloveofmylife

ismilesaway.Ofcourse,there’snowayI’mexpressinganyofthatinfrontofNine,orWalkerandthesilentFBI-guydrivingthecar.Yeah,let’sfocusonthemission.We’redrivingupI-95,fromWashingtontoNewYork.MalcolmstayedbehindatAshwoodEstatesto

finishgoingthroughtheMogadorianarchives,hopingtoturnupsomethingelsethatmightbeuseful.ThevastmajorityofWalker’srenegadeagentsstayedback,too.They’reholdingdownthefort,usingitasabaseofoperationstocoordinatetheireffortstoundermineMogPro.Istilldon’tentirelytrustWalker’speople,andIprobablywon’teverreachthatlevelaftereverythingthegovernmentputusthrough,soIleftbehindourfiveremainingChimæraewithorderstoprotectMalcolmatallcosts.BesidesWalkerandourdriver,there’sanotherSUVfilledwithagentsfollowingalongbehindus.That

makesagrandtotalofsixagents,plusme,NineandSam.Notmuchofanarmy.Butthen,thewarhasn’tstartedyet.Maybe,ifeverythinggoesaccordingtomyplan,itwon’tstartatall.‘SecretaryofDefenseSandersonisstayingatahotelinmidtownManhattan,closetotheUN,’Walker

says.Sheglancesdownatherphone,whichshe’sbeentypingawayonallmorning.‘Ihadamoleonhissecurityteam,but…’‘Butwhat?’

‘Theywerepulledthismorning,’Walkerreplies.‘Allhisbodyguards,replacedbyanewteam.Paleguysindarktrenchcoats.Soundfamiliar?’‘Mogadorians,’Ninesays,grindinghisfistintohispalm.‘Keepingtheirpetpoliticiansafebeforehis

bigselloutspeech.’‘Ithinkitactuallyworkstoouradvantage,’Walkersays,lookingatme.‘Mypeopleweren’tlooking

forwardtofightingthroughtheirownonthewaytoSanderson.Imean,someoftheseguysarejustdoingtheirjobs.’‘Yeah,wearen’tinthehabitoffightinghumanseither,’Isay,givingWalkerapointedlook.‘Unless

theymakeus.’‘So,that’sthewholeplan?’Samasks,skeptical.‘Wegotohishotel,fightourwaythroughabunchof

MogsandthenkillthisSandersonguy?’‘Yes,’Walkeranswers.‘No,’Isay.Everyonelooksatme.Evenourstoicdriverisstaringatmeintherearviewmirror.‘Whatdoyoumean,no?’Walkerasks,hereyebrowsraised.‘Ithoughtwewereclearonthis.’‘We’renotkillingSanderson,’Isay.‘Wedon’tfighthumans.Wesureashelldon’tkillthem.’‘Kid,I’llpullthetriggerifyougetmeinfrontofhim,’Walkerreplies.‘Youcanarresthim,ifyouwant,’Isay.‘Chargehimwithtreason.’‘Thepenaltyfortreasonisdeath,’Walkerexclaims,soundingexasperated.‘Anyway,hisMogPro

cronieswon’tletanarrestgothrough.AndyouthinkanythinginthecourtsisgoingtomatteronceSetrákusRaishere?’‘Yousaidit,’Ireply.‘SetrákusRaiswho’simportant.’‘Right.InsteadofSanderson,it’llbeyouguystheretogreethimattheUN.We’llshowtheworldthe

differencebetweengoodaliensandbadaliens.Meanwhile,behindthescenes,mypeoplewilldismantleMogPro.’Walkerrubshertemples.‘I’vegototheragentsalreadyinposition.AroundthetimewetakeoutSanderson,adozenotherMogProtraitorswill–’Icutheroff.‘Ifyou’reabouttotellmeaboutmoreassassinations,Idon’twanttoknow.’Nineraiseshishand.‘Iwanttoknow.’‘That’snotwhatwedo,Walker,’Icontinue.‘It’snotwhatwe’reabout.’‘Kid,youwanttogetthewordoutabouttheMogs,soonerorlateryou’regonnahavetogetyourhands

dirty.’‘AndwhatifSandersongetsthewordoutforus?’Walkersquintsatme.‘What’reyoutalkingabout?’‘He’sgivingaspeechattheUN,right?GoingtotalkupSetrákusRa,tellhumanityhowit’ssafeto

welcometheMogadorianfleet.’Ishrug,tryingtoseemnonchalantaboutthis,confidentinmyplan.‘Maybehegivesadifferentspeech.Maybehedeliversawarning.’‘You’retalkingaboutturninghim?’Walkerexclaims.‘Thislateinthegame?You’reoutofyourmind.’‘Idon’tthinkso,’Ireply,glancingleftandrightatNineandSam.‘MyfriendsandIarepretty

persuasive.’‘Yeah,’Ninejumpsin,grinningfiercelyatWalker.‘I’mconvincingasallhell.’

Walkerstaresatmeforalongmoment,thenturnsaroundandgoesbacktotypingcodedmessagesintoherphone.‘Ididn’trealizeIwasteamingupwithsomehippy-dippypeacenikaliens,’shesighs.‘Fine.IfyoucantalkSandersonintoflippingsidesinfrontoftheUN,goforit.ButifI’mnotconvinced,I’mshootinghim.’‘Sure,’IreplytoWalker.‘You’reincharge.’

WestopatagasstationinNewJerseytofilluptheSUVs.SinceI’vegotafewminutesalone,Idecideit’sagoodtimetocheckinwithSarah.Itakeoutmyphoneandwanderacrosstheparkinglot.AsIdo,IcanfeelWalker’seyesboringintomyback.‘Whereareyougoing?’shecallsafterme.‘Tocallmygirlfriend,’Isay,raisingthephone.‘Remember?Youillegallydetainedherthatonetime.’‘Oh,great,’Walkerreplies.Icanhearhermuttertothedriver.‘We’redependingonabunchofhorny

teenagerstosavetheworld.’BetterusthanpeoplelikeWalker,Ithink,butpretendnottohaveheardhersnideremark.Thephoneringsfivetimes,eachonecausingmyhearttobeatalittlefaster,beforeSarahanswers,

narrowlyevadingthedumptovoicemail.‘Beforeyousayanything,’shebegins,notevensayinghello,hervoiceshaky,‘Ijustwantyoutoknow

thatI’mokay.’‘Whathappened?’Iask,tryingtokeepthatfirstrushofpanicoutofmyvoice.Icanhearthesoundof

trafficinthebackground.Sarah’sinamovingcar.‘Wewentintotownforsuppliesandhadarun-inwithsomeMogs,’Sarahsays,stillcatchingher

breath.‘Iguesstheytrackedusdownsomehow,nottoohappyabouttheTheyWalkAmongUsthing.Don’tworry,we’reallfine.BernieKosarhandledthem.’‘Areyousomewheresafe?’‘Wewillbesoon,’shereplies.‘Mark’shackerbuddyGUARDgaveusdirectionstohishomebasein

Atlanta.’MarkhadsomedetailsaboutGUARDinoneofhisemailstoSarah.He’sanotherconspiracyjunkie,

likeoneofthoseguysfromtheoldversionofTheyWalkAmongUs.Buthe’salsoanexcellenthackerand,accordingtoMark,hasaccesstoasurprisingamountofinformation.ItmakesmealittlenervousthatSarahandMarkareheadedtomeethimwithoutusknowinghisidentity.‘WhatdoesMarkknowaboutthisguy?’Iask.SarahrepeatsmyquestiontoMark.Ican’tquitemakeouthisreplyoverallthenoisefromtheroad.‘Marksayshe’sprobablysomenerdhidingoutinhismom’sbasement,’Sarahrepeatsdryly.‘Butthat

he’sa“soliddude”andthatwecantrusthim.’IrollmyeyesatMark’sscoutingreport.‘That’sheartening.Justincase,I’mgoingtotextyouthe

locationofsomewheresafe.It’sabaseinWashingtonthatwetookover,loadedwithgovernmentguyswhoareonourside.Ifyouneedsomewheretorunto,youcouldheadthere.’Iheartwoenginesrumbletolifebehindme.IturnaroundtoseeallofWalker’sagentspiledintothe

cars.NineandSamstillstandoutsideourSUV,waitingforme.Ninemakesanimpatientwrap-it-upmotion.‘What’sgoingonthere?’Sarahasksme.‘Onyourwaytodosomethingstupidbutpossiblyworld

saving?’

‘Prettymuch,’Ireply,allowingmyselfafaintsmile.‘DidyougetthosedocumentsIsentyou?’‘Yeah,’Sarahreplies.‘We’llhaveachancetouploadthemoncewe’reinAtlanta.’‘Perfect.I’vegotafeelingTheyWalkAmongUsisabouttogetalotmorehits.’Ipause,reluctanttoget

offthephone.‘Theothersarewaitingforme.I’vegottago.’‘Marksaystogokicksomeass.AndIloveyou.’Sarahcatchesherself,laughing.‘Markdidn’tsaythat

lastpart.Thatwasfromme.’Wesayourgood-byesandI’mleftwiththatsamefeelingoflongingmixedwithdreadthatIgetafter

everyoneofthesephoneconversations.ItrudgebacktotheSUV.EveryoneelseisalreadyinsideexceptforSam.‘Soyou’reputtingallofWalker’sdocumentsonTheyWalkAmongUs?’Samasks.‘It’sagoodidea.

Likeanti-Mogadorianpropaganda.’‘It’sadesperateidea,iswhatitis,’Isayglumly.‘Noone’sgoingtobediggingthroughsearchresults

whiletheircitiesaregettingbombarded.’‘There’sacomfortingthought,’Samreplies,frowning.‘Butseriously,that’salotofheavyreading.If

you’retryingtogetpeopleonourside,itshouldn’tjustbeabouttheMogadorians.Youshouldn’tjustbetryingtoscarepeople.They’llbescaredenoughasitis.You’vegottagivethemsomehope.’‘Whatdoyousuggest?’Samthinksaboutitforasecond,thenshrugs.‘Idon’tknowyet.I’llcomeupwithsomething.’InodandpatSamontheshoulder,thetwoofusclimbingbackintothecar.Iknowhe’sjusttryingto

help,andthat’swhyIdon’ttellhimthatwhateverhecomesupwith…itmightbetoolate.

WemakeittoNewYorkaboutanhourlater.I’veneverbeenherebeforeandneitherhaveNineorSam.Iwishourvisitcouldbeunderdifferentcircumstances.Asweinchalonginheavytrafficthroughacanyonofskyscrapers,Ifindmyselfcraningmynecktolookoutthewindow.Chicagoisahugecity,butthefreneticjostleofpedestriansonthesidewalkshereissomethingelseentirely.ThereareflashingsignsadvertisingBroadwayshows,yellowcabsdartinginandoutoftraffic,ahumofactivityallaroundus.Andthesepeoplehavenoideawhat’sheadingtheirway.AswedrivefartheruptowntowardsSanderson’shotel,wepassadudewearingacowboyhatand

underwear,strumminganacousticguitarforacrowdoftourists.Ninesnorts.‘Lookatthis,’hesays,shakinghishead.‘Thatshitwouldn’tflyinChicago.’IleanforwardtogetWalker’sattention.‘Areweclose?’‘Afewmoreblocks,’shereplies.IreachdowntomakesuremyLoricdaggerisstillfastenedsecurelytomyleg.Ialsotouchmywrist,

reflextellingmetocheckformyshieldbracelet,exceptthatit’sgone,destroyedbytheGeneral.‘DidyourguyonthescenetellyouhowmanyMogsweshouldbeexpecting?’IaskWalker.‘Adozen.Maybemore.’‘That’snothing,’Ninesays,pullingontheglovesthatMarinagavehim.HeclencheshisfistsandIinch

awayfromhim,warythathe’sgoingtoaccidentallytriggersomekindofweapon.Thankfully,nothinghappens.‘You’rewearingthoseintoafight?’Samasks,eyeingNineincredulously.‘Youdon’tevenknowwhat

theydo.’

‘Whatbetterwaytofindout?’Ninereplies.‘TheseLoricthings,man,theyhaveawayofnothelpingyouuntilyou’vegivenuponthem.’‘Ormaybethey’rejustforkeepingyourhandswarm,’Samsuggests.‘Justdon’tdoanythingstupid,’ItellNine,andhestaresatme,hisexpressiongettingdeathlyserious.‘John,Iwon’t,’hesays.‘Forreal.Youcantrustmeoutthere.’IcantellNineisstillcarryingaroundwhathappeneddowninFloridaandiseagertoprovehimself.I

justnodathim,knowinghewouldn’twantmetomakeabigdealoutofit.I’mgladhe’sgotmyback.WalkerturnsaroundtolookatSam.‘Theseguysshootfireballsandhavemagicgloves,apparently.But

whatdoyoudo?’Samlooksmomentarilytakenaback,andInoticehimreachdowntotouchthescarsburnedintohis

wrists.Afteramoment’sconsideration,helooksWalkerintheeye.‘I’veprobablykilledmoreMogsthanyouhave,lady,’Samreplies.Nineelbowsme,andIcan’thelpbutgrin.Tohercredit,thatactuallylooksliketheanswerWalkerwas

hopingfor.Sheopenstheglovecompartment,pullsoutaholsteredhandgunandholdsitouttoSam.‘Well,I’mofficiallyarmingaminor,’shesays.‘Doyourcountryproud,Samuel.’Aminutelater,ourdriverpullsovertothesideofoneofManhattan’squieterblocks,double-parking.

TheotherSUVrollsupbehindus.Acrossthestreetanddowntheblockabitistheentrancetoaposhhotel.There’sawideawningoutfrontandaredcarpet,aplaceforgueststoturnovertheircarkeystoavaletanddroptheirbagsontooneofthewaitingluggagecarts.Exceptthere’snoactivityoutsidethehotel.Notouristsstrollingthesidewalk,novaletswaitingfor

tips.Nothing.Everything’sbeenclearedawayorscaredoffbythetrioofMogadoriansstandingguardatthedoor,theircoatsbrazenlyopentorevealtheblastershangingfromtheirbelts.It’slikethey’renotevenbotheringtohideanymore.‘Wewanttodothisquickandclean,’Walkersaystous,hunchinglowinherseatsoshecanlookatthe

Mogsinherside-viewmirror.‘TakedowntheMogsandgettoSandersonbeforetheycansendupanalarm,radioforbackup,orwhatevertheydo.’‘Yeah,gotit,’Ireplyquickly.Ipullupthehoodonmysweatshirtsothatithidesmyface.‘We’vedone

thisbefore.’‘Letmypeoplelead,’Walkersays.‘We’llflashsomebadges,maybeconfusethem.Thenyouhitthem

hard.’‘Sure,youdistract’em,’Ninesays.‘Butthengetthehelloutofourway.’Walkerpicksupawalkie-talkieandradiostotheagentsinthesecondcar.‘Youguysready?’‘Affirmative,’amalevoiceanswers.‘Let’sdothis.’‘Herewego,’saysanexcitedNine,andclapshisglovedhandstogether.TheconcussionofsoundthatdetonatesfromNine’shandswhenheclapsisn’tquitesonic-boomloud,

butit’sdefinitelyclose.It’slikeathunderclapintheback-seat;alloftheSUV’swindowsexplodeoutward,andthecarevenbouncesafewinchesintotheair.TheSUVbehindusdoesn’tfaremuchbetter–itswindowsalsoshatter,butinward,sprayingtheagentshuddledinside.Thewindowsofnearbystorefrontsbreak,too,andapedestrianwalkingbyisknockedclearoffherfeet.Nexttome,Samissqueezingthesidesofhishead,lookingdazed.Forthefirstfewseconds,Ican’thearmuchexceptalowchirpingthatIsoonrealizeiscaralarmsgoingoffupanddowntheblock.

IturntoNine,wide-eyed,andcatchhimstaringathisglovedhands,alsowide-eyed.Ican’thearwhathesays,andI’mnotmuchofalipreader.ButI’mprettysureit’s‘Oops.’Attheentranceofthehotel,oneMogadorianisdownonhisknees,clutchinghishead.Theothertwo

arepointingrightatourSUVandraisingtheirblasters.Somuchfortheelementofsurprise.

20

Withthewaymyearsareringing,Idon’treallyhearthefirstvolleyofMogadorianblasterfire.ButIfeelit.TheSUVisrockedtothesideasthejaggedenergyboltsshearacrossthecar’sbulletproofpaneling.Walkerhuddlesforcoverbehindherdoor,keepingherheaddown.Ourdriverisn’tsolucky;ablastcomessizzlingthroughthewindowandhitshiminthesideoftheneck.Hisfleshisburnedbadlyandheimmediatelystartsconvulsing.‘Go!’Ishout,unabletohearmyselfandnotsureifanyoneelsecaneither.‘Go!’NineripsopenthebackdooroftheSUV,literally.Ashegetsoutofthecar,heholdsthedoorinfrontof

him,usingitasashieldtoabsorbtheMogs’fire.IlungeintothefrontseatandpressmyhandsontotheFBIagent’sblasterwound,lettingmywarm

healingenergyflowintohim.Slowly,theinjurybeginstoknititselfclosed,andhisconvulsionsstop.Theagentlooksupatmewithwide,gratefuleyes.Isensemovementtomyleftandturnmyhead.Outsidethedriver-sidewindowisthepedestrianwho

gotknockeddownwhenNine’sthunderclapwentoff.She’sapretty,college-agedgirlwithbigbrowneyes.Shelooksshell-shockedandseemstoberootedinplace–exceptshe’snotsostunnedthatshefailedtogetherphoneoutofherpurse.She’sjustfinishedrecordingmehealingourdriverandisfilmingmyfaceasIshoutathertorun.AnothervolleyofMogblasterfirebouncesoverthehoodofourSUV,nearlyhittingthegirl.Sam

springsoutofthebackseatandgrabsher.Hedragsherfartherdownthesidewalkandputsherincoverbehindsomeparkedcars.Monthsago,myfaceonvideoafterusingmyLegacieswould’vebeenadisaster.Butnow,Idon’teven

care.However,wecan’tletanymoreinnocentpeoplewanderintoourwarzone.‘Turnthecar!’Ishoutinourdriver’sear.I’mnotsurehecanhearme,soImakeasteeringwheel

motionwithmyhands.‘Blockthestreetoff!’Hegetsitandpeelsout–Icansmelltheburnedrubberbutdon’tquitehearit.Hegetsthecarparked

perpendicularacrossthemiddleoftheroad,blockinganytraffic.IhopoutoftheSUVandturntowardsthehoteljustintimetoseeaMogadorianwarriorshearedinhalf

andturnedtodustbyourcardoor,whichNineflungthroughtheairdiscusstyle.Meanwhile,theagentsinthesecondcarhavemanagedtocollectthemselves.Seeingourmaneuver,theirdriverthrowshisSUVintoreverseandtheyquicklyblockaccesstotheroadfromtheotherdirection.Then,theyjumpout,usingtheirSUVascover,andreturnfireontheremainingMogadorians.Theirgunfireisbarelyaudiblepoppinginmydamagedears.OneoftheMogskeelsoverfromawell-placedbullettotheforehead.Outnumbered,theremaining

Mogducksintothehoteldoorwayforcover.Ireachoutwithmytelekinesis,grabaluggagecartparkedbehindtheMogandjerkitforwardsothatittakesoutthebackofhislegs.Ashestumblesoutofthedoorway,Walker’sagentslighthimup.

NineglancesbacktomeandInod.Together,werushtowardstheentrance.IlookovermyshouldertocheckonSamandseehimstilltalkingtothatbystander,gesturingemphaticallyathercellphone.Notimetoworryaboutthatnow.Inside,theposhhotellobbyiscompletelydesertedexceptforafrightenedclerkcoweringbehindthe

frontdesk.Beyondthemarblecolumnsandleathercouchesofthewaitingareaistheelevatorbank.Oddly,twoofthethreeelevatorsareoutofservice,andthethirdisstuckupatthepenthouselevel.TheMogsmightnothaveexpectedanassault,buttheydefinitelytookprecautions.Withamomenttocatchmybreath,Ipressmyhandstothesidesofmyheadandletsomeofthathealing

energyflowintomyears.Theypopandcrackle,butsoundslowlyreturns,likeavolumedialinmyheadbeinggraduallyturnedup.Fromoutside,Icanhearsirens,screechingtires,andWalker’speopleyellingatlocalcopstostayback.Ourplantodothiscovertlyisalreadyshot;nowwejusthavetobequick.IgrabNinebeforehecanmakeittotheelevatorsandclapmyhandstothesideofhishead,healinghim

aswell.WhenI’mdone,heshakeshisheadbackandforth,likehe’stryingtodislodgewaterfromhisinnerear.‘You’reanidiot,’Itellhim.Nineshakesthesonicglovesatmebeforestuffingtheminhisbackpocket.‘Atleastnowweknow

whattheydo.’Seeingthatwearen’tgun-totingMogadorians,theguyatthefrontdeskslowlycomesoutofhiding.

He’sskinnyandmiddle-aged,andfromthebagsunderhiseyes,helooksasifhe’shavingoneterribleday.‘What–whatisgoingon?’theclerkasksus.Beforewecananswer,Walkerstridesthroughthedoor.Sheflashestheclerkherbadgeandthenshouts,

‘WhatfloorisSandersonon?’Thewide-eyedclerkglancesfromWalkertousandthenback.‘Pent-penthouse,’hestammers.‘Those-

thosethingsyoukilledarewithhim.Theyclearedouttheentirehotelthismorningexceptformeandsomeofthestaff.AndI’mnotevenamanager.’Ninestaresattheclerk,tryingtomakesenseofhim.‘Whywouldtheykeepyouaround?’‘They’vebeenorderingroomservice,’herespondsincredulously,hisvoicesqueaky.‘Actinglikethey

owntheplaceandwe’retheirservants.’‘That’ssomeballsyshit,’Ninesays,shakinghishead.‘Likethey’vealreadytakenoverorsomething.’Walkersquintsattheclerklikeshecouldstranglehim,thenturnstome,hervoicestillincrediblyloud.

‘Goddamnit.Ican’thearthisguy.’Iwaveheroverandpressmyhandstoherears.WhileI’mhealingWalker,Ilookoverattheclerk.

‘Youshouldgetoutofhere.Gooutsideveryslowly,withyourhandsup.We’llsendoutanyoneelsewecomeacross.’Theclerknodsmutely,thenbeginstakingbabystepstowardstheexit,hishandsraisedabovehishead.Walkershakesoffmyhandsassoonasherhearingisback.‘Whatdidhesay?’‘Hesaidwe’regoingup,’Ireply,pointingtotheelevator.‘Actually,’Ninesays,‘they’recomingdown.’Thehotel’soneworkingelevatorhasbeguntodescend,thelittlelightsabovetickingoffthefloors.I

lightmyLumen,thewhooshofflamesfeelinggood.Walkeradjustshergriponherpistol.

‘Easy,guys,’Ninesays.‘I’vegotthis.’Ninepicksuponeoftheleathersofasandholdsitlikeabatteringram.WalkerandIbothstepaside,

givinghimroom.Whentheelevatordingsandthedoorsslideapart,thefourMogadorianssentdownstairstoreinforcetheoneswe’vealreadydispatchedaregreetedbyNinescreamingandshovingasofaintothem.Oneofthemmanagestogetaburstofblasterfireoff,butitsizzlesharmlesslyagainstthefloor.Theentireunitispinnedinsidetheelevator,thecentermostMogcrushedoutrightbehindNine’sweight.WalkereasilydartsaroundNineandpickstheMogsoffwithherhandgun.‘Thatstilldoesn’tmakeupforthewholeglovething,’ItellNineasheeffortlesslytossesthesofaback

intothelobby.‘Comeon,’Ninecomplains,grinning.‘Itwasanaccident.’‘ArethereanyotheraliengadgetsIneedtobeawareof?’Walkerasksaswepileintotheelevatorand

hitthebuttonforthetopfloor.‘Well,there’sthis,’Ninereplies,andpullsastringofthreeemerald-greenstonesoutofhispocket.I

rememberthatthingfrombefore–whenNinethrowsit,thestringcreatesaminiaturevacuum,sucksupwhatever’scloseandthenspitsitviolentlybackout.HemusthavetakenitoutofhisChestbeforeturningovertherestofhisInheritancetoMarinaandSix.‘Whatdoesthatdo?’Walkerasks.‘You’llsee,’Ireply,lookingatNine.‘Youknowtherewillbemorewaitingforusoutsidetheelevator,

right?’‘Mythoughtsexactly,’hereplies,grinning.IpullWalkerclosesothatwe’repressedagainstthesideoftheelevator,rightupagainstthebuttons.

Ninetakescoveragainsttheoppositewall,lazilyswinginghisstringofstoneslikeabolo.‘Youmightneedtoholdontome,’ItellWalker.‘You’veseenhowNinedoeswithgadgets.’‘Hey,’Ninesays,wounded.‘ThisoneIactuallyknowhowtowork.’Secondslater,theelevatordoorsopenandabarrageofblasterfirehammerstheelevator’sbackwall,

theMogsuphereadoptingastrategyofshootfirstandaskquestionslater.Withoutpokinghisheadoutofcover,Ninetossesthestrandofstonesoutsidetheelevator.IimagineNine’sweaponworkinglikeitdidbackatthecabin–thebeadshoveringinaperfectcircle,

spinningslowlyforward,suckingupanythingintheirpath.Icanhearthewhooshofair,followedbyMogadorianscreams,andalotoffutileshooting.Glassbreaksasframedpicturesaretornfromthehallwaywalls,thepiecessuckedintotheminiaturevacuum.Ninesnapshisfingersandeverythingthevacuumcollectedexplodesoutward.Violentlyexpelledfrom

thesuction,oneMogadoriancomesflyingintotheelevator.Hisheadsmasheshardagainstthebackwall,hisneckbroken.Outside,everythingisquiet.Whenit’sover,Istickmyheadoutsidethedoors.Theairisfilledwithswirlingdustparticlesthat

mightbeMogadorianremains.Ablasterthatsomehowbecamewedgedagainsttheceilingclatterstothefloor.Asidefromthat,theonlythinginthehallwayisaroom-servicecartthatlookslikeit’sgonethroughagrinder,itslegsbentandtwisted.There’sonlyonedoorattheendoftheshorthallway,theoneforthepenthouse,andit’snowhalfbrokenoffitshinges.‘Whatthehellwasthatthing?’Walkerasks,incredulous.

‘TheMogsaren’ttheonlyoneswithkick-assweaponry,’Ninesays,pickinguptheharmless-lookingstonestrandfromwhereitlandedonthefloor.‘Don’tgetanyideas,’IsaytoWalkerwhenIcatchhercraninghernecktogetalookatthestones.‘Our

technologyisn’tforsale.’Walkerfrownsatme.‘Yeah,well,judgingbythatbullshitwiththegloves,youdon’tknowhowtowork

itanyway.’Fromthebrokendoorwayupahead,Ihearthedroningofatelevision.It’sturnedtocablenews,Ithink,

sometalkingheadramblingonaboutstockprices.Otherthanthat,thehallwayistotallyquiet.Thereisn’tanysignofmoreMogadorians.Evenso,weadvancecautiouslytowardsthepenthousedoor.Waryofanambush,Inudgethedoorwithmytelekinesisbeforewegettooclose.Itcomesoffthe

hingeseasilyandfallsintothepenthousewithathud.Thelivingroominsideisdark,allthecurtainsdrawn,andlitonlybytheblueglowofthetelevision.‘Comeonin,’agravellyvoicecallsfrominside.‘There’snooneinherewhocanhurtyou.’‘That’sSanderson,’Walkerwhispers.IexchangeaquicklookwithNine.Heshrugsandwavestowardsthedoor.Igofirst,Ninerightbehind

meandWalkerbringinguptherear.ThefirstthingInoticeisadamp,moldysmellinthehotelroom.Itsmellslikerotwithanundercurrent

ofminty,old-manjointcream.AmapofNewYorkCityisspreadacrossthetableinthesuite’sdiningarea,notesinMogadorianscribbledatvariouslocations.Nexttothetableisaknocked-overchair,asifsomeonegotupinahurry.TherearealsoMogadoriancannonsproppedupagainstonewallalongwithsomedarkcanvasbackpacksofgear–Inoticealaptop,afewcellphonesandathickleather-boundbook.Noneofthatinterestsmeasmuchastheoldmanseatedattheedgeofthesuite’sslept-inking-sizebed.

HewatchestheTVthroughtheopenbedroomdoorway,maybetooweaktowalkhimselfintothepenthouse’slivingroom.‘Goddamn,dude,’Nineexclaims,uponseeingSanderson.‘Whatiswrongwithyou?’I’veseenalotofpicturesofBudSandersonoverthelastfewdays.ThefirstwasonTheyWalkAmong

Us,Sandersonasanoldmanwiththinningwhitehair,jowlsandapaunch.Onthewebsite,inatabloid-stylestoryIdidn’tthinktoomuchabout,MarkJamesaccusedSandersonofusingsomekindofMogadoriananti-agingtreatment.ThenexttimeIsawSandersonwasinAgentWalker’sfile,havinglunchwithadisguisedSetrákusRa,haleandhearty,silverhairfullandslickedback,lookinglikehemightjogafewmilesafterhisCobbsalad.TheSandersoninfrontofmedoesn’tlooklikeeitherofthosepictures.NineandIwalkintothe

bedroomtogetacloserlook,Walkerlingeringbehind.Thesecretaryofdefenseisafrailoldman,hishunchedbodywrappedupinapuffyhotelrobe.Therightsideofhisfacelookssaggyandcollapsed–hiseyesocketdroops,andhisjawlinedisappearsbeneathfoldsoflooseskin.Hiswhitehairisbadlythinned,acomb-overbarelymanagingtohideasmatteringofagespots.Hesmilesatus–ormaybeit’sagrimace–histeethyellow,gumsreceding.Intheopenneckofhisrobeandalonghisforearms,Inoticesomeprominentveinsthatarediscoloredblack.‘NumberFourandNumberNine,’Sandersonsays,pointingashakyfingeratmeandthenNine.He

doesn’tseemoffendedatallbyNine’sgrossed-outreaction,doesn’tevenseemtohavenoticed.‘Your

pictureshavebeencrossingmydeskforyears.Furtiveshotsfromsecuritycamerasandthelike.Ipracticallywatchedyouboysgrowup.’Sandersonsoundslikeareminiscent,dodderinggrandfather.I’mcompletelytakenaback.I’dbeen

expectingaselloutpoliticiantotryhittingmewithtalkingpointsonMogadorianProgress.Thisguybarelylookscapableofgettingupfromhisbed,muchlessgivingaspeechinfrontoftheUN.‘Andyou…’SandersontiltshisheadtogetalookatWalker.‘You’reoneofmine,aren’tyou?’‘SpecialAgentKarenWalker,’shereplies,steppingintothedoorway.‘Notoneofyours.Iserve

humanitynow,sir.’‘Well,that’snice,’Sandersonsaysdismissively.Hedoesn’tseematallinterestedinher.Thewayhis

beady,blackeyessettleonNineandme,likewe’rehislong-lostrelativesgatheredaroundhisdeathbed,makesmeseriouslyuncomfortable.EvenNinehasslippedintoanawkwardsilence.InoticeasmallkitonthebednexttoSanderson.Itcontainsafewsleeksyringesfilledwithadark

liquidthatremindsmevaguelyofPikenblood.Itakeasteptowardshim,myvoicelow.‘Whatdidtheydotoyou?’‘NothingIdidn’taskfor,’Sandersonreplies,sadly.‘Iwishyouboyswouldhavefoundmesooner.

Nowit’stoolate.’‘Likehell,’Ninesays.‘Evenifyoukillme,itwon’tmakeanydifference,’Sandersonrasps,resignedly.‘We’renotheretokillyou,’Ireply.‘Idon’tknowwhatthey’vetoldyou,whatthey’vefilledyourmind

andbodywith,butwe’renotdonefighting.’‘Oh,butIam,’Sandersonreplies,andpullsasmallhandgunoutofhisrobe’sfrontpocket.BeforeIcan

stophim,heholdsthepistolnexttohistempleandpullsthetrigger.

21

IfI’dhadtimetothinkaboutit,Iprobablywouldn’thavebeenabletodoit.There’saboutamillimeterofspacebetweenBudSanderson’stempleandthebarrelofhisgun.It’sin

thatspacethatImanagetostopthebullet,holdingittherewithmytelekinesis.Theprecisionrequiredmakesmegruntfromexertion.Everymuscleinmybodyistensed,myfistsclenchedandtoescurled.It’slikeIflungmyentirebodyintostoppingthatbullet.Ican’tbelieveIjustdidthat.I’veneverdoneanythingsoprecisebefore.Aring-shapedburnfromthepistol’sbarrelformsonSanderson’stemple,butotherwisehisheadis

totallyintact.Ittakesuntilthepistol’sreportstopsechoingforthesecretaryofdefensetorealizehissuicideattempt

didn’twork.Heblinkshiswateryeyesatme¸notquiteunderstandingwhyhe’sstillalive.‘How–?’BeforeSandersoncanpullthetriggeragain,Ninelungesforwardandslapsthegunoutofhishand.I

exhaleveryslowlyandallowmybodytouncoil.‘That’snotright,’Sandersonsaystomeaccusingly,hislowerlipshakingasherubshiswristwhere

Ninestruckhim.‘Justletmedie.’‘Seriously,’Walkerinterjects,herhandstighteningaroundherowngun.‘Why’dyoustophim?

Could’vesolvedallourproblemsrightthere.’‘Itwouldn’thavesolvedanything,’Isay,shootingheralookasIletthebulletdropharmlesslyonto

Sanderson’sunmadebed.‘He’sright,’SandersonsaystoWalker,hisshouldersslumping.‘Killingmewon’tchangeanything.But

keepingmealiveissimplycruel.’‘Youdon’tgettodecidewhenyoucheckout,oldman,’ItellSanderson.‘Whenwewinthiswar,we’ll

letthepeopleofEarthdecidehowtheydealwithtraitors.’Sandersonchucklesdryly.‘Theoptimismofyouth.’Icrouchdowntolookhimintheface.‘There’sstilltimetoredeemyourself,’Isay.‘Todosomething

ofvalue.’Sandersonraisesaneyebrow,andhiseyesseemtofocusupabit.Butthentherightsideofhismouth

droopsandhehastowipeawayablobofdroolwiththecuffofhisrobe.Lookingutterlydefeated,Sandersonavertshiseyes.‘No,’hesaysquietly.‘Ithinknot.’NinesighsfromboredomandpicksupthekitofsyringeslaidoutnexttoSanderson.Hestudiesthetar-

coloredsludgeinsidetheinjectorforamoment,thenwavesitinSanderson’sface.‘Whatisthisshitthey’regivingyou,huh?’Nineasks.‘Thiswhatyoutradedtheplanetfor?’Sandersonpeerslonginglyatthevialsbutthenweaklyshovesthemaway.‘Theyhealedme,’Sandersonexplains.‘Morethanthat.Theymademeyoungagain.’

‘Andlookatyounow,’Ninegrunts.‘Freshasadaisy,right?’‘Youknowtheirleaderhaslivedforcenturies,’Sandersoncounters,hiseyesswingingwildlybetween

meandNine.‘Ofcourseyoudo.Hepromisedusthat.Hepromisedimmortalityandpower.’‘Helied,’Isay.Sandersonlooksdownatthefloor.‘Yes.’‘Pathetic,’Walkersays,butthevenom’sgoneoutofher.Likeme,Idon’tthinkSandersonhasturnedout

tobethevillainWalkerexpected.MaybehewasoncethepuppetmasterofaninternationalconspiracyinsupportofMogs,butatthispointhe’sbeenentirelychewedupandspitoutbyMogadorianProgress.Thisisn’tthegamechangerWalkerwashopingfor.I’mworriedthatwe’vewastedwhatpreciouslittletimewehaveleft.SandersonignoresNineandWalker.Forsomereason,maybebecauseIforcedhimtokeeponliving,

heappealsdirectlytome.‘Thewonderstheyhadtooffer…can’tyouunderstand?IthoughtIwasusheringinagoldenageforhumanity.HowcouldIsaynotothem?Tohim?’‘Andnowyouhavetokeeptakingthisstuff,isthatit?’Iask,glancingtothesyringesthatIbetcontain

somethingliketheunnaturalgeneticbrewtheMogsusetogrowtheirdisposablesoldiers.‘Ifyoustop,you’llbreakdownlikeoneofthem.’‘Oldenoughtoturntodust,anyway,’Ninegrumbles.‘It’sbeentwodays,andlookatme…’Sandersonwavesahandathimself,athisbodythatlookslikea

slugwithsaltpouredonit.‘Theyusedme.Keptgivingmetreatmentsinexchangeforfavors.Butyoufreedme.NowIcanfinallydie.’Ninethrowsuphishandsandlooksatme.‘Dude,screwthis.Thisguy’salostcause.Weneedtofigure

somethingelseout.’AsenseofdesperationbeginstosinkinnowthatWalker’sleadonthesecretaryofdefensehasturned

uponlyabrokenoldmanandgottenusnoclosertothwartingtheimminentMogadorianinvasion.ButI’mnotwillingtogiveupjustyet.Thislumpsittinginfrontofmeusedtobeapowerfulman–hell,theMogshadaprotectiondetailonhim,sohestillis.Therehastobeawaytofixhim,tomakehimwillingtofight.Ineedhimtoseethelight.SomecombinationofdesperationandintuitioncausesmetoturnonmyLumen.Idon’tcrankitupto

firelevel;instead,Iproducejustenoughjuicesothatabeamofpurelightshootsfrommyhand.Sanderson’seyeswidenandheinchesbackonthebedawayfromme.‘Ialreadytoldyou,I’mnotgoingtohurtyou,’Isay,asIleanintowardshim.IshinemyLumenonthepalsied,saggypartofhisface,wantingtogetagoodlookatwhatI’mdealing

with.Theskinisgrayedandalmostdeadlooking,fine,ash-coloredveinsrunningthroughit.ThedarkparticlesunderSanderson’sskinactuallyseemtofloatawayfrommyLumen,almostlikethey’retryingtoburrowdeeper.‘Icanhealthis,’Isay,resolutely.I’mnotsureifit’sactuallytrue,butIhavetotry.‘You–youcanfixwhattheydid?’Sandersonasks,anoteofhopeinhisgravellyvoice.‘Icanmakeyoulikeyouwere,’Ireply.‘Notbetter,inthewaytheypromised.Notyounger.Just…as

youshouldbe.’‘Oldpeoplegetold,’Nineputsin.‘Yougottadealwithit.’

Sandersonlooksatmeskeptically.ImustsoundjustliketheMogadoriansdidyearsago,whentheyfirstconvincedhimtojointheirside.‘Whatdoyouwantinexchange?’heasks,likeahighpriceisaforegoneconclusion.‘Nothing,’Ireply.‘YoucantrykillingyourselfagainforallIcare.Ormaybeyoucanfindwhat’sleftof

yourconscienceanddowhat’sright.It’llbeuptoyou.’Andwiththat,IpressmypalmagainstthesideofSanderson’sface.SandersonshuddersasthewarmhealingenergyofmyLegacypassesintohim.Normally,whenusing

myhealingpowers,Igetasensationthattheinjuryisknittingitselfbacktogether,ofcellsrearrangingthemselvesbeneathmyfingertips.WithSanderson,itfeelsasifaforceispushingbackagainstmyLegacy,asiftherearedark,cellularpitsintowhichmyhealinglightplungesdownandguttersout.IstillfeelSandersonhealing,butit’sslowgoing,andIhavetoconcentratemuchharderthanusual.Atonepoint,somethingactuallysizzlesandpopsbeneathhisskin,oneofhisdiscoloredveinsburningup.Sandersonflinchesawayfromme.‘Areyouhurt?’Iask,shortofbreath,myhandstillpoisednexttohisface.Hehesitates.‘No–no,itactuallyfeelsbetter.Somehow…cleaner.Keepgoing.’Ikeepgoing.IcanfeeltheMogadoriansludgeburrowingdeeperintoSanderson,retreatingfrommy

Legacy.Iintensifymyhealing,chasingitthroughhisveins.IfindthatI’msquintingfromtheexertionandacoldsweatdampensmyback.I’msofocusedonbeatingbackthedarknessIdetectinsideSandersonthatImustlosetrackoftimeorentersomekindoftrancestate.WhenI’mfinishedatlast,Istumblebackwards,mylegswobbly,andrunrightintoSam.Iwasn’teven

awarehe’dcomeupstairs.He’sholdingoutaphone–didhestealitfromthatbystanderweknockedover?–andrecordingmyhealingofSanderson.HestopswhenIbumpintohimand,foramoment,Samistheonlythingholdingmeup.‘Thatwasawesome,’Samsays.‘Youwere,like,glowing.Areyouokay?’Idrawmyselfupwithsomeeffort,notwantingtoshowanysignofweaknessinfrontofWalkeror

Sanderson,eventhoughIfeeldrained.‘Yeah.I’mgood.’IcatchWalkerstaringatmewiththatsamelookofaweherdriverhadafterIhealedhisneck.

Sanderson,stillsittinginfrontofme,looksclosetotears.Theblackspiderwebsthatcrisscrossedbeneathhisskinhavedisappeared;hisfacenolongerdroops,hismusclesaren’tatrophied.He’sstillanoldman,deep-setwrinkleslininghisface,buthelookslikearealoldman,notonewho’sslowlyhadthelifedrainedoutofhim.Helookshuman.‘Thankyou,’Sandersonsaystome,hiswordsbarelyaboveawhisper.Ninelooksatme,checkingtoseehowI’mholdingup,thenturnstoSandersonandsnortsderisively.

‘It’sallfornothing,Grandpa,ifyouletthosepasty-facedasshatslandonEarth.’‘I’mashamedofwhatI’vedone,whatIbecame…’Sandersonsays,hisgazepleadingandconfused.

‘ButIdon’tunderstandwhatyouexpectmetodo.Letthem?HowcanIstopthem?’‘Wedon’texpectyoutostopthem,’Isay,‘justslowthemdown.Youneedtorallypeopleagainstthem.

WhenyougiveyourspeechtomorrowattheUN,youneedtomakeitclearthattheMogadorianfleetcan’tbeallowedtolandonEarth.’

Sandersonstaresatme,confused,thenslowlyswivelshisgazetowardsWalker.‘Isthatwhatyourmoletoldyou?Isthatwhatyouthinkwillbehappeningtomorrow?’‘Iknowwhat’shappening,’Walkerreplies,nolesscausticnowthatSandersonseemstobecoming

aroundtoourside.‘YouandtheotherleaderswhotheMogshaveboughtoffwillgetuponstageandconvincetheworldweshouldcoexistpeacefully.’‘Whichisreallyjustcodeforsurrender,’Nineadds.‘Yes,that’splannedfortomorrow,’Sandersonsays,withadark,hopelesslaugh.‘Butyou’vegotthe

orderconfused.YouthinkIgivesomespeechandthentheirBelovedLeaderlandshisships?Youthinkhecaresabouttheslow-turningwheelsofhumanpolitics?He’snotwaitingforpermission.TheUNwillconvenetosavelives,tocalmafrightenedpopulation,becauseamilitaryresistanceisdoomedagainstthat–’Sandersongestureswildlythroughthedoor,atthetelevisionstillbuzzingintheotherroom.Slowly,we

eachturn,leavingSanderson’sbedroomforthepenthouselivingroom,drawninbytheashenfaceofacablenewsanchor.Shestumblesoverherwordsasshetriestoexplaintheunidentifiedflyingobjectsmanifestingintheairoverdozensofmajorcities.Thereceptiongoesinandout,theburstsofstaticgettingmoreandmorefrequent,assomethinginterfereswiththesignal.‘…reportscominginthattheshipshavebeensightedoverseasaswell,inplaceslikeLondon,Paris

andShanghai,’thenewscastersays,eyeswideasshereadsfromherteleprompter.‘Ifyou’rejustjoiningus,somethingliterallyoutofthisworldishappening,asshipsofalienoriginhaveappearedoverLosAngeles,Washington…’‘It’shappening,’Samsays,stunned,lookingatmeforsomekindofguidance.‘Thewarshipsarecoming

down.They’remakingtheirmove.’Idon’tknowwhattotellhim.GrainyfootageofamassiveMogadorianwarshipslidingoutofthe

cloudsintheskyoverLosAngelesappearson-screen.It’severythingIdreaded,comingtopass.TheMogadorianfleetisglidingslowlytowardsawoefullyunpreparedEarth.It’sLorien,alloveragain.‘Itriedtotellyou,’Sandersoncallstous.‘It’salreadytoolate.They’vealreadywon.Allthat’sleftis

surrender.’

22

‘I’mdonedoingwhattheytellme.Whatanyofthemtellme.’Myeyessnapopen.I’dbeeninadeepsleep,onethatIdidn’tthinkwouldbepossibleinmygiant

Mogadorianbedwithitsstrange,slipperysheets.I’mbecominguncomfortablyadjustedtolifeaboardtheAnubis.IthoughtIheardavoiceinmysleep,butmaybeitwasjustmyimagination,ortheremnantofsomedream.Nottakinganychances,Istayverystillandkeepmybreathingeven,likeI’mstillasleep.Ifthereisanintruder,Idon’twantthemtoknowI’mawake.Afterafewsecondsofsilencefilledonlybytheever-presenthumofthewarship’sengines,avoice

resumesspeaking.‘Onesidedropsusonthisstrangeplanetandbasicallyforcesustofightforourlives.Theotherside,

theytalkaboutpeacethroughprogress,butthat’salljustfancytalkforkillinganyonewhostandsintheirway.’It’sFive.He’sinmyroomsomewhere.Ican’tlocatehimintheneardarkness.Icanonlyhearhis

mumbledunder-the-breathrambling.I’mnotevensureifhe’stalkingtome.‘Theyalljustwantedtouseus,’Fivehisses.‘ButI’mnotgoingtoletthem.I’mnotgoingtofightin

theirstupidwar.’Heshiftsthen,andIcanfinallymakeoutFive’soutline.He’ssittingontheedgeofmybed,hisskinthe

dark,slicktextureofmysheets.Heblendsrightintomycovers,anditmustbebecausehe’stouchingthem,usinghisExterna.ThatmeanshisLegaciesareback.Italsomeansthathe’sseriouslycreepingmeout,likeamonstercamecrawlingoutfromundermybed.‘Iknowyou’reawake,’Fivesaystomewithoutturninghishead.‘Theshipisdescending,wearen’tin

orbitanymore.Ifyouwanttogo,nowisthetime.’Iscootupinbed,keepingthecoversclose.Forasecond,IconsidermakingFivepowerlessagainby

chargingthesheetswithmyDreynen.Butwhatgoodwouldthatdo?Idecidenottoattackhim.Fornow.‘Ithoughtyouwereontheirside,’Isay.‘Whywouldyouhelpme?’‘I’mnotonanybody’sside.I’mdonewiththiswholething.’‘Whatdoyoumean,done?’‘Forawhile,aftermyCêpandied,Iwasalone.Itwasn’tsobad.I’dliketogobacktothat,’Fivesays.

‘Youknowhowmanylittleislandsthereareintheoceans?I’mgoingtopickoneoutandstaythereuntilthisisover.Idon’tgiveashitwhowins,solongastheystayfarawayfromme.’‘That’scowardly,’Ireply,shakingmyhead.‘I’mnotgoingtosomedesertedislandwithyou.’Fivesnorts.‘Ididn’tinviteyou,Ella.I’mgettingoffthisshipandIthoughtyoumightwanttocome

along.That’sasfaraswego.’IconsiderthepossibilitythatthiscouldbesomekindoftestorchestratedbySetrákusRa.But

rememberingthewayFiveactedearlier,Idecidetotakemychancesthathe’sforreal.Ihopoutofbedandpullonmythin-soledMogadorianslippers.

‘Okay,what’syourplan?’Fivestandsupandhisskinrevertstonormal.Astheautomaticlightscomeoninmyroom,Icanfinally

seehisface.He’schangedthebandageoverhiseyesothatitisn’tcrustywithbloodanymore,buthestillhasn’tgottenithealed.Hisremainingeyetwinkleslikehe’sexcitedtogetintosometrouble.Seeinghimmakesmesecond-guessmydecisiontojoinforces.‘I’mgoingtoopenuponeoftheairlocksandjumpout,’Fivesays,illustratinghisbrilliantplan.‘That’sniceforyou.Youcanfly.WhatamIsupposedtodo?’Fivereachesintohisbackpocketandcasuallytossesmearoundobject.Icatchthestoneinmyhands

andcradleit.IrecognizeitasoneoftheobjectsfromJohn’sChest.‘Xitharisstone,’Fiveexplains.‘I,uh,borroweditfromourfriends.’‘Youstoleit.’Heshrugs.‘IchargeditwithmyflightLegacy.Useittoflyoffandsavetheplanet.’Ihidethestoneinsidemydress,thenlookupatFive.‘Sothat’sit?Youthinkwe’rejustgoingtowalk

offthisship?’Fiveraisesaneyebrowatme.Inoticethathe’snotwearinganyshoesorsocks,probablysohisbare

feetareinconstantcontactwiththemetalpanelingoftheAnubis.Also,attachedtohisforearmissomekindofcontraptionthatlookslikeitmightbeaweapon.‘Theywon’tbeabletostopme,’Fivesays,adarkconfidenceinhisvoice.Itisn’texactlyinspiring,but

it’sthebesthopeI’vegot.‘Okay,leadtheway.’ThedoortomyroomslidesopenforFive.Hepokeshisheadout,checkingtoseethatthecoastis

clear.Whenhe’ssatisfied,Fivehustlesintothehallway,motioningformetofollow.WenavigatethelabyrinthinehallsoftheAnubisatabriskwalk.‘Justactnormal,’Fivetellsme,keepinghisvoicelow.‘He’sgotscoutswatchingus,always.But

they’realsoafraidofus.You,inparticular,aresupposedtobetreatedlikeroyalty.Theywon’tinterfereifwedon’tlooksuspicious.And,eveniftheydothinksomething’swrong,bythetimeoneofthemactuallyworksupthegutstotellBelovedLeader,we’llbegone…’He’stalkingalot.Thattellsmethathe’snervous.Withoutthinkingaboutit–becauseifIactually

thoughtaboutit,Imightgettoorepulsed–IreachoutandtakeFive’shand.‘We’rejustanewlybetrothedcouple,gettingtoknoweachother,’Isay.‘Enjoyinganicewalkthrough

thecozyhallsofamassivewarship.’Five’shandissweatyandcold.Hetriestojerkawayfromme,hisinitialinstinctnottobetouched,but

afteramomenthecalmsdownandletshisdead-fishhandbeheld.‘Betrothed?’hegrunts.‘Hewantsustogetmarried?’‘That’swhatSetrákusRasaid.’‘Hesaysalotofthings.’Five’sfaceisred,theblushtravelingallthewayupintohisscalp.I’mnot

sureifhe’sembarrassedorangryorsomecombinationofthetwo.‘Ididn’tagreetothat.You’reachild.’‘Um,obviouslyIdidn’tagreeeither.You’reagross,murdering,weirdo–’‘Shutup,’Fivehisses,andforasecondIthinkthatI’veactuallyoffendedhim.ButthenIrealizewe’re

passingbytheopenentrancewayoftheobservationdeck.

Ican’thelpbutslowmystepsaswesneakby.TheemptydarknessofspaceI’dgottenusedtohasbeenreplacedbythefamiliar,bright-blueatmosphereofEarth.TheAnubisisstillmakingitsdescent,butalreadytheoutlineofcivilizationisvisible,roadsboxingupgreenfields,tinyhousesarrangedintoperfectsuburbs.DozensofMogadorianshavegatheredtowatchEarthapproach,anexcitedenergyintheairastheywhispertooneanother,probablytalkingaboutwhichswathoflandthey’llpillagefirst.FiveleadsmearoundthenextcornerandcrashesrightintotwoMogwarriorswhowerejogging

towardstheobservationdeck.Thenearestoneliftsacornerofhismouthinadisdainfulsneer,eyeingus.‘Whatareyoutwodoing?’theMogasks.Inresponse,Idrawmyselfup,tryingtolookasregalaspossible.IfixtheovercuriousMogwithacold

stare.TheMog’ssneerquicklyfadesasheremembershimself–or,morelikely,remembersthatI’mnotjustsomeLorienbutthebloodofhisBelovedLeader–andhelooksdownatthefloor.Hebeginstomuttersomethingapologeticwhenametallicshinkcutshimoff.AneedlelikebladeextendsfromtheleathercontraptiononFive’sforearm.Inablur,Fivedrivesthe

bladerightthroughthefirstMog’sforehead,instantlyturninghimtoash.TheotherMog’seyeswideninpanicandhetriestorun.AdelightedgrinspreadsacrossFive’sface.BeforetheMogcangetevenafewstepsdownthehall,Five’snon-bladearmtakesonarubberyconsistencyandstretchesafterhim.Five’sarmsnakesaroundtheMog’sneckandthenyankshimbackwardssoFivecanfinishhimoffwithhisblade.Thewholethingisoverinabouttenseconds.‘Weweresupposedtobeactingnormal,’IsaytoFiveinaloudwhisper,mindfulthatwe’renotallthat

farfromthecrowdedobservationroom.Fiveblinksatme,almostlikehe’snotsurewhatjustcameoverhim.Carefully,hepressestheblade

backintoitsholster.‘Ilostmycool,okay?’Fiveanxiouslyrubshishandacrossthestubbleontopofhishead.‘Itdoesn’t

matternow.We’realmostthere.’Istareatthisunhingedmonsterstandinginfrontofme.Hegulpsdownafewdeepbreaths,his

shouldersshaking,fistsballedfromtheexcitement.Minutesago,hesoundedalmostfragile,ramblinginthedarknessofmyroom.He’sbroken,atotalmess–IhavetoremindmyselfthathemurderedEightinordertosquelchtheswellingofsympathyIfeelforhim.Sympathy,yes,butalsofear.Heflewoffthehandlewithzeroprovocation,andalmostseemedhappykillingthoseMogs.Thisscrewed-up,violent,cowardlytraitorismyonlyrealhopeofgettingofftheAnubis.Ishakemyhead.‘Let’sgo,’Isigh.Fivenodsandwejogon,tossingoutthewholehand-holdingthing,andjustcareeningtowardsour

destination.Aswerun,InoticeFiveclenchingandunclenchinghishands.They’rebothempty.‘How’dyoudothatwithyourarm?’Iaskhim,thinkingaboutthoserubberandsteelballsheusedto

changehisskinintheLectureHall.‘Ithoughtyouneededtobetouchingsomething…’Fiveturnshisheadsohisgoodeyeisonme.Hetouchesthefreshbandageoverhisface.‘Losinganeyegavemesomenew,uh…storagepossibilities,’hesays.‘Ugh,’Ireply,grossedoutasIpicturetherubberballshovedintoFive’seyesocket.‘How’dyoulose

it,anyway?’‘Marina,’heanswers,simply,nomaliceinhisvoice.‘Ihaditcoming.’

‘I’msure.’Weroundthenextcorner,andthehallwayopensup,theceilingrisingasweenterthehugedockingbay.

Icanseecrisp,blueskythroughtheportholes,sunlightpouringacrossthedozensofdockedMogadorianscoutvessels.Otherthantheships,thedockingbayisempty.Themechanicsandcrewmustbeontheobservatorydeck,gazingoutupontheworldtheyplantoconquer.We’resoclose.‘Holdon,’Isay.‘Ifweopentheairlock,arewegoingtobesuckedoutrightaway?’‘We’reintheatmospherenow,notspace,’Fivesaysimpatiently.Heleansoveranearbyconsole,

studyingtheinterface.‘It’llbewindy.You’renotgoingtochickenout,areyou?’‘No,’Isay,lookingaroundthedockingbay.‘Doyouthinkwecouldblowsomeofthisstuffup?Maybe

bringdowntheAnubisbeforeithasachancetodoanything?’Fiveturnstome,lookingslightlyimpressed.‘YouhaveanyexplosiveLegacies?’‘No.’‘Meneither.Knowhowtomakeabomb?’‘Uh,no.’‘Thenwe’regoingtohavetosettleforescaping,’Fivesays.Fivehitsabuttonontheconsoleanda

thickmetaldoorthudsintoplacebehindus.It’stheairlock–sturdyenoughtokeeptheshipsafefromthevacuumofspace.Iteffectivelysealsusofffromtherestoftheship.‘That’llslowthemdown,’Fivesays,referringtopursuerswedon’tyethave.‘Goodthinking,’IadmitasIpeerthroughthesmallwindowontheairlock,expectingtoseeMogs

chasingusdownatanymoment.Fivetapsoutafewmorekeystrokesand,withahydraulicwhineandagustofchilledair,thedocking-

baydoorsatthefarendoftheroomopenup.ThewindpullsatmeandIletoutadeep,relievedsigh.IreachintomydressandremovetheXitharisstone,clutchingit.Slowly,Iwalktowardstheopendock,wonderingwhatit’llbeliketopitchmyselfintothatopenbluesky.WaybetterthanlifeontheAnubis,that’sforsure.‘So,Ijustholdthisstoneandfly?’Iask,lookingovermyshoulderatFive.‘Supposedtobehowitworks,’heanswers.‘Justimagineyourbodylightasafeather,floatingonair.

That’showIlearnedtousemyLegacy,anyway.’Iglancetowardstheopenair,thecloudlessskywaitingforme.‘Whatifitdoesn’twork?’Fivestartstowardsme,sighing.‘Comeon.We’llgotogether.’‘Youwon’tbegoinganywhere.’SetrákusRastepsoutfrombetweentwooftheships.I’mnotsureifhe’sbeentherethewholetime,

waitingforus,orifhejustteleportedintotheroomsomehow.Eitherway–itdoesn’tmatter.We’recaught.Stillinhishumanform,SetrákusRastandsbetweenusandtheopendockingbay,thewindgentlyblowingthroughhisperfectbrownhair,pluckingatthelapelsofhissuit.Heholdshisgoldenstaff–theEyeofThaloc–inonehand.Fiveputsahandonmyshoulderandtriestopushmebehindhim.Ishakehimoff.WefaceSetrákusRa

sidebyside.

‘Getoutofourway,oldman,’Fivegrowls.He’stryingtosoundtough,buthecanbarelymanagetomeetSetrákusRa’seyes.‘Iwillnot,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoicefullofscornanddisappointment.‘Iexpectedthiskindof

behaviorfromyou,Ella.YouhaveonlyrecentlyjoinedusanditwilltaketimetoundothebrainwashingyouenduredatthehandsoftheGarde.But,Five,myboy,aftereverythingIhavedoneforyou–’‘Shutup,’Fivesaysquietly,almostpleading.‘Youtalkandtalkandtalk,butnoneofit’strue!’‘Mineistheonlytruth,’SetrákusRacounterssternly.‘Youwillbepunishedforyourinsolence.’Fivestillcan’tbringhimselftolookdirectlyatSetrákusRa,buthisshouldersriseupanddown

rapidly,justlikeinthehallwaywiththeMogwarriors.Insidehischest,alowrumblestartstobuild.Itremindsmeofateakettlecomingtoaboil.Itakeasubtlesteptotheside,worriedthatFivemightliterallyexplode.‘Enoughofthisinanity,children,’SetrákusRasays,buthislatestrebukeispartlydrownedoutbythe

rabidscreamthattearsloosefromFive’slungs.Andthenhecharges.Atfirst,Five’sbarefeetmakeslappingsoundsacrossthemetaldeck.ButashenearsSetrákusRa,his

footfallsbecomemetalclangingagainstmetal,hisExternachanginghisskintomatchthefloor.SetrákusRamerelyraisesaneyebrowatFive,notimpressedorintimidatedintheleast.Idon’tjuststandaroundandwatch.WhileFivechargesin,Imakeabreakforoneofthenearbytool

carts.IfIcangrabawrenchoranyotherobjecttochargewithmyDreynen,maybeIcanre-createyesterday’slesson.Onlythistime,mytargetwillbeSetrákusRa.Thatplan,alongwithwhateverFiveintendedtodo,getsscrappedwhenSetrákusRasweepshisarm

fromsidetoside.Awaveoftelekineticforceblastsacrossus,knockingmecompletelyoffmyfeetandscatteringthenearbytoolstothefarwall.Histelekinesisissopowerfulthatsomeoftheshipsevenrocktotheside,theirshocksgrindingandcreaking.Ilandhardonmystomachandimmediatelyrollovertoreorientmyself.Fivewasknockedintotheair,

too,butcaughthimselfwithhisflightLegacy.HefloatsjustafewyardsfromSetrákusRa.Five’sskinisnolongerthedullgrayofthedocking-bayfloor.Ithaschangedtoaglisteningchrome,liketheballbearingIknowhecarriesaround.Sothatmustbejammedintohiseyesocketaswell.‘Stopatonce,’SetrákusRawarns,butFiveiswaypastthepointoflistening.FivesoarsintowardsSetrákusRa,throwingbig,loopingpuncheswiththeintentionofsmashinghis

prettyhumanface.SetrákusRadeflectstheblowseasilywithhiscane,althoughFive’ssheeranimalisticfuryisenoughtodriveSetrákusRabacktowardstheopendocking-baydoors.Theirscuffleopensupapathforme.Letthesetwocraziesdukeitout.AllIhavetodoismakeabreak

forit,diveintotheopenbluesky,andhopetheXitharisstonedoeswhatFivesaid.JustwhenIstarttomakemymove,InoticeSetrákusRa’seyesflash.Ifeelaninvisiblefieldofenergy

passoverme,almostlikethepressureintheroomhaschanged.Ashe’sinthemiddleofthrowingapunch,Five’sskinturnsbacktonormal.HisfistcrunchesagainstSetrákusRa’supraisedcane.Atthesamemoment,Fivefallsoutoftheairwithashout.It’sjustlikeatDulceBase.SetrákusRahascreatedsomekindoffieldthatcancelsLegacies.He’san

Aeturnuslikeme,andnowIknowthatSetrákusRaandIalsoshareDreynen.Histechniqueisdifferent

fromanythingI’vebeenabletolearn.It’slikehe’schargedthemoleculesintheairaroundhim,creatingaradiuswhereLegaciesareuseless.Exceptitdoesn’tworkonme.IcanstillfeelmyDreynenlurkingwithinme,andIknowthatIcoulduse

myAeturnusifIwanted.Somehow,I’mimmunetoSetrákusRa’sversionofDreynen.Isitbecausewe’rerelated?OrisoneofmyLegaciesanimmunitytoSetrákusRa?HesaidallthatcrapaboutourLegaciescomingrandomlyandLorienbeingnothingbutchaos.Butwhatifhe’swrongandmyLegacieshavebeenspecificallychosentodestroyhim?Moreimportant–doesSetrákusRaknowthathispowerdoesn’taffectme?Inthatmoment,SetrákusRaisn’tpayingmeanyattentionatall.He’scompletelyfocusedonFive.I

knowIshouldmakeabreakforit,butIfindmyselfrootedinplace.Evenaftereverythinghe’sdone,canIreallyleaveFivebehind?FiveisonhiskneesinfrontofSetrákusRa,clutchinghisinjuredhandtohisbelly.SetrákusRa’s

unimposinghumanformhasgrownbyafewfeet–he’stallerandbroadernow,inflatedinawaythatisvaguelygrotesque.HereachesdownandpalmsFive’sheadinoneunnaturallylargehand.‘Allyouneededtodowasfolloworders,’SetrákusRaseethesatFive.HejerksFive’sheadbackso

hecanlookhimintheface.‘WecouldhavewalkedintotheSanctuarytogether,ifyou’donlybroughtmethatdamnedpendant.Andnow,this–youdareraiseahandagainstyourBelovedLeader.Youdisgustme,boy.’Idon’tknowwhatSetrákusRameansbySanctuary,butImakeamentalnoteofit.Ialsotakeastep

towardshimandFive,stilltornbetweenfleeingandhelping,anduncertainofwhatIcouldevendoinafightagainsttheMogadorianruler.Five’sheadiscockedatanawkwardangle,sohecanonlygurgleinresponsetoSetrákusRa’sranting.‘IshouldhaveknownthatnomemberoftheGardecouldtrulybesalvaged,’SetrákusRacontinues.

‘Youaremygreatestfailure,Five.Butyouwillbemylast.’FivecriesoutasRa’shandtightensonhisskull.MystomachturnsoverasIrealizehe’sliterallygoing

tocrushFive’shead.Ican’tletthathappen.WithallthetelekineticforceIcanmuster,IshoveSetrákusRatowardstheopendocking-baydoors.Hiseyeswideninsurpriseashestumblesbackwards,theopenairtuggingathisfancysuit,whichis

nowbulgingattheseamsfromhisinhumangrowthspurt.SetrákusRaloseshisgriponFive’shead,hisnailsscratchingdivotsintohisscalp.HemanagestostophimselfbeforeIpushhimofftheAnubis,andIcanfeelhistelekinesisbattlebackagainstmine.‘Ella,how–’hestartstoask,surprisemixingwithfrustration.ButthenFiveischargingathim,hisforearmbladeextended.‘Die!’Fivebellows.SetrákusRatriestostepasidebutcan’tentirelyavoidFive.Thebladeplunges

intohisshoulder.Iscreamasapiercingjoltofpaincoursesthroughme.Aholeinmyshoulderopensup,warmbloodpouringdownmyfront.Istaggeragainstoneofthenearby

ships,clutchingthewound,tryingtostopthebleedingwithmyfingers.FiverecoilsfromSetrákusRa,hiseyeswide.TheMogadorianlooksunharmed.SetrákusRasmilesas

Fiveturnstogapeatme.I’mrunthroughrightwhereheshould’vestabbedSetrákusRa.‘Nowlookwhatyoudid,’SetrákusRachides.

TheMogadoriancharm,Irealize,evenasIstarttofeelfaint.AnydamagedonetoSetrákusRaisinsteaddonetome.Fivelookshorrifiedbywhathe’sdone.Beforehecanreact,SetrákusRapickshimupbythethroatand

slamsthebackofhisheadviolentlyagainstthehullofthenearestship.Hedoesthisagainandagain,untilFive’sbodyislimp.Then,callously,SetrákusRatosseshisunconsciousbodyouttheopendoorsoftheAnubis.Itryto

reachFivewithmytelekinesis,butI’mtooweak.Hisbodyplummetsoutofsight,towardstheEarthbelow.Icollapsetothefloor,bloodseepingthroughmyfingers.Allthestrengthhasgoneoutofme.Iwon’tbe

escapingfromtheAnubistoday.Mygrandfatherhaswon.SetrákusRastandsoverme,hishumanformreturnedtonormal,althoughhissuitisruined.Heshakes

hishead,hissmilelikeadisappointedteacher.‘Comenow,Ella,’hesays.‘Wemustputthisepisodebehindus.’Iholdupmyblood-coveredhandforhimtosee.‘Why?Whydidyoudothistome?’‘ItwastheonlywayforyoutolearnthatMogadorianProgressismoreimportantthanevenyourown

life,’hereplies.SetrákusRagathersmeupinhisarms.AsIstarttoloseconsciousness,hewhispersgently,‘Youwon’tdisobeyBelovedLeaderagain,willyou?’

23

Adam’sflightplanistotakeusdowntheAtlanticcoastuntilwehitFlorida,thendipbackwestoverthegulfandfinallyarriveatthesoutheasterntipofMexico.WiththeSkimmerflyingatmaximumspeedandstayinglowenoughtoavoidanyotheraircraft,thetripshouldtakeaboutfourhours.It’saquietride.Ileanbackinmyseatandwatchthecoastebbandflowbeneathus.Adamdoesn’tsay

muchofanything;hekeepshiseyesstraightahead,occasionallyadjustingourcoursewhenhissystemspickupanotheraircraft.Dustnapsonthefloorathisfeet.AsforMarina,sheremainstypicallyrigid,herwholefear-of-flyingthingnotgettinganybetterwithaMogadorianatthecontrols.‘Youknow,youcanrestforafewhours,’Adamsuggestseventually,histonecautious.I’dalreadybeen

closetodozingoff,sohemustbetalkingtoMarina.She’ssittingstraightbacked,aslightchillcomingoffher.ShemustbeloomingrightinthecornerofAdam’seye.Marinaseemstoconsiderthisforamoment,thenleansforwardsothatherheadisnearlyonAdam’s

shoulder.Heraisesaneyebrow,butotherwisekeepshishandsonthecontrols.‘ThelasttripSixandImadesouthwaslessthanaweekago,’Marinasays,hervoicemeasured.‘We

foundouttoolatethatwehadatraitortravelingwithus.Iendedupstabbinghimintheeye.Thatwasmebeingmerciful.’‘IknowwhathappenedinFlorida,’Adamsays.‘Whyareyoutellingmethis?’‘BecauseIwantyoutoknowwhatwillhappenifyoubetrayus,’Marinareplies,leaningback.‘And

don’ttellmetorest.’Adamlooksoveratmeforhelp,butIshrugmyshouldersandturnaway.Marina’sstillfiguringoutjust

howangryshewantstobe,andI’mnotgoingtogetinherway.Besides,Idon’tthinkputtingalittlefearinourMogadoriancompanionissuchabadthing.Iassumehe’sjustgoingtolettheconversationdie,butafterafewminutesAdamspeaksup.

‘Yesterday,forthefirsttimeIpickedupaswordthat’sbeeninmyfamilyforgenerations.I’dneverbeenallowedtotouchitbefore,onlyadmireitfromafar.Itbelongedtomyfather,GeneralAndrakkusSutekh.HewasfightingNumberFour–John.Idrovethatswordthroughmyfather’sbackandkilledhim.’Adamdeliversthisspeechmatter-of-factly,likehe’sreadingthenews.Iblinkathim,thenglanceover

myshoulderatMarina.She’slookingdownatthefloor,deepinthought.Asthechillrisingoffherbeginstodiedown,Dustpickshimselfupandgoesovertoher.ThewolfrestshisheadinMarina’slap.‘Coolstory,’IsaytoAdamwhenitbecomespainfullyclearthatsomeoneneedstobreakthesilence.

‘I’veneverknownanyonewhocarriedaroundaswordbefore.’‘Cool,’Adamrepeats,frowning.‘Mypointis,youdon’tneedtodoubtmyloyalty.’‘I’msorryyouhadtodothattoyourfather,’Marinasaysafteramoment.‘Ididn’tknow.’‘I’mnot,’Adamrepliesbrusquely.‘Butthanksforthesympathy.’Tobreakthetension,IstartmessingwithsomeofthedialsontheSkimmer’sconsole.‘Doesthisthing

haveafreakingradio,orwhat?Arewejustgoingtotelldeathstoriesthewholeway?’

Adamisquicktoreadjustthedialsrightafterme.IthinkIcatchhimsmilingalittle,probablyrelievedthatthedeath-threatportionofthetripisover.‘There’snoradio,’hesays.‘IcanhumsomeMogadorianstandards,ifyou’dlike.’‘Oh,barf,’Ireply,andMarinasnickersinthebackseat.IrealizeAdamisgivingmeafunnylook,hisangularfacemoreopenthanI’veseen,thatdefensive

stoicismhewearsstrippedaway.Foramoment,healmostlookscomfortablebeingupherewithtwoofhismortalenemies.‘What?’Iask,andhehurriedlylooksaway.Irealizehismindwaselsewhere.‘Nothing,’hesays,almostwistful.‘Forasecondthere,youjustremindedmeofsomeoneIusedto

know.’Therestoftheflightsouthisuneventful.Imanagetodozeoffonceortwice,althoughneverforlong.

WithDustsnuggledupagainsther,itseemslikeMarinaisfinallyabletorelax.AdamrefrainsfromhumminganyMogadoriananthems.We’reflyingoverthetropicalforestofCampeche,Mexico,justanotherhourawayfromtheLoric

SanctuarysupposedlyhiddenamidtheruinsofanancientMayancity,whenaredwarninglightbeginstoflashontheSkimmer’stranslucentwindshield.IonlynoticeitwhenAdamtensesup.‘Damnit,’hesays,andimmediatelystartsflickingswitchesontheSkimmer’scontrolpanel.‘Whatisit?’‘Someone’slockedontous.’ThecamerasmountedontheSkimmersendimagestoourscreen,viewsfromtheundersideoftheship

andbehindusbecomingvisible.Idon’tseeanythingbutcloudlessblueskyandthedensecanopyoftheforestbeneathus.‘Wherearetheycomingfrom?’Marinaasks,squintingasshepeersthroughthewindow.‘There,’Adamsays,jabbinghisfingeratthescreen.Onit,aMogadorianscoutshipjustlikeoursdrifts

slowlytowardsusfrombelow.Itsroofispaintedinoverlappingshadesofgreens,camouflagedtomatchtheforestitdetachedfrom.‘Canweoutrunit?’Marinaasks.‘Icantry,’Adamreplies,pullingdownthelevertogiveourSkimmersomemorejuice.‘Orwecanjustshootitdown,’Isuggest.Aswepickupalittlespeed,theblinkingredlightontheconsolemultipliesintofourblinkingred

lights.Therearemoreofthem.TwoidenticalSkimmersriseupfromthejunglerightinfrontofus,anotheralongourside.Thefirststillsitsrightonourtail.Hemmedin,Adamhasnochoicebuttostop.TheotherSkimmerssurroundus.‘Theyallhaveguns,too,right?’Marinaasks.‘Yes,’Adamreplies.‘We’reatadistinctdisadvantage.’‘Notquite,’Isay,andfocusontheskyoutside.Whatwascloudlessamomentagoslowlybeginsto

darken,cloudsrollinginatmybeckoning.‘Holdon,’Adamwarns.‘Wedon’twanttogiveawayyou’reallonboard.’‘You’resuretheywon’tshootusdown?’‘Ninetypercent,’Adamsays.

IletgoofthestormIwaswhippingup,allowingthecloudstodriftthroughtheskyalongtheirnaturalcourse.Asecondlater,ashrillbeepemanatesfromourdashboard.‘They’rehailingus,’Adamsays.‘Theywanttotalk.’Anotherplanhasoccurredtome,onethatdoesn’tinvolvefightingamidairbattleagainstbadodds.‘Yousaidyou’resomegeneral’skid,right?’IsaytoAdam.‘Socan’tyou,like,throwyourweight

aroundorsomething?’AsAdamconsidersthis,thedashboardcommunicatorbleatsagain.‘Ishouldtellyou,I’mnotexactlywelllikedamongmypeople,’hesays.‘Theymightnotlistentome.’‘Yeah,well,that’sarisk,’Iadmit.‘Worst-casescenario,theytakeyouprisoner,right?’Adamgrimaces.‘Yeah.’‘So,weletthemtakeuswherewe’regoing.Don’tworry.We’llrescueyou.’‘Uh,youneedtodosomething,’Marinasays,wavingtowardsthewindshield.Theshipdirectlyin

frontofus,gettingimpatientorsuspicious,hasbroughtitsblasterturretaroundtoaimatus.‘Allright,goinvisible,’Adamsays.IreacharoundmyseatandgraspMarina’shand,disappearingthe

bothofus.Sensingthesituation,DustshrinksdownintoatinygraymouseandskittersunderAdam’sseat.Adamhitsabuttonontheconsole,andavideofeedcracklestolifeonourscreen.Anasty-looking

Mogadorianscout,hisemptyeyestooclosetogether,histeethshortandsharp,staresatAdamwithalookoffierceannoyance.HebarkssomethinginharshMogadorian.‘ImmersionprotocoldictateswespeakEnglishwhileonEarth,youvatborncretin,’Adamreplies

coldly.Hedrawshimselfupinhischair,suddenlysoregalthatIkindawanttoslaphim.‘YouareaddressingAdamusSutekh,truebornsonofGeneralAndrakkusSutekh.Iamonurgentbusinessfrommyfather.LeadmetotheLoricsiteimmediately.’IhavetogiveittoAdam,he’sanexcellentbullshitter.Thescout’sexpressiongoesfromannoyanceto

confusionandfinallytooutrightfear.‘Yes,sir,rightaway,’thescoutreplies,andinresponseAdamimmediatelycutsofftheconversation.

Onebyone,theSkimmersbreakuptheringtheyhadustrappedinsideandletusgetbackoncourse.‘Thatworked,’Marinasays,soundingalittlestunnedassheletsgoofmyhand.‘Fornow,’Adamreplies,frowninguncertainly.‘Hewaslowranking.Whoever’sincommandwillbe

adifferentstory.’‘Can’tyoujusttellthemyourdadsentyoudownheretochecktheirprogress?’Iask.‘Assumingtheydon’tknowIbetrayedourpeopleandthatmyfatheressentiallysentencedmetodie?

Yeah,thatmightwork.’‘Youonlyneedtodistractthemforalittlebit,’Isay.‘LongenoughforMarinaandmetofigureaway

intotheSanctuary.’‘Thereitis,’Marinasays,watchingthroughthewindowastheSkimmersbegintodescendtowards

Calakmul.Thereareabunchofancientlittlebuildingsbelow,allofthemconstructedfromlimestonethat’sbeen

erodingforcenturies,thejunglecreepingintoreclaimthem.Myeyesaredrawntothehugepyramid-shapedtemplethattowersoverthemall;builtonalowhill,thetempleisblocky,coveredinsteepandcrumblingstaircasesthatarechiseledrightintothestone.Ican’tquitemakeitoutfromthisdistance,butthereappearstobesomekindofdooratthetopofthepyramid.

‘Howmuchyouwanttobetweneedtoclimbuptothatthing?’Isay.‘It’stheSanctuary,’Marinareplies.‘I’mcertainofit.’‘Soaremypeople,obviously,’Adamsays.TheMogadorianshaveclearedthejunglearoundtheSanctuaryinaperfectring,thetreesallchopped

down,anentirefleetofMogadorianscoutshipsparkedonthenakedsoil.BesidesthedozensofSkimmers,IcanmakeoutanarrayoftentswheretheMogsmustbecamping.There’salsowhatlookstobeacoupleofheavy-dutymissilelaunchersandblasterturrets,alloftheseweaponsaimedatthetemple,andyetthestructurelookscompletelyuntouched.Oddly,atthebaseofthetempleandcreepingupthesides,therearestillovergrowntreesandvines,untendedforyears.It’sastarkcontrasttothesevereneatnessoftheMogadorianperimeter,whereeverythingnaturalhasbeenclearedaway.‘It’slikesomethingkeptthemfromgettingtooclose,’Marinasays,noticingthesamethingasme.‘MalcolmdidsaythatonlytheGardecouldenter,’Ireply.OurescortofMogshipsfloatdowntothemakeshiftairfieldandAdamlandsafewyardsawayfrom

them.TheSanctuaryloomsinthedistance.TheonlythingstandingbetweenusandtheLorictempleisastripofwide-openlandandasmallarmyofMogadorians,manyofwhomhavebegungatheringintheairfield,allofthemarmedwithblasters.‘Somewelcomingcommittee,’Isay,glancingatAdam.Hewatcheshispeoplemassonthemonitor,

swallowshardandunbuckleshimselffromthepilot’sseat.‘Allright,I’llgofirst.Leadthemawaysomehow.YouguysgetintotheSanctuary.’‘Idon’tlikethis,’Marinasays.‘There’salotofthem.’‘It’llbefine,’Adamsays.‘Justgetinsideanddowhatyouhavetodo.’Withthat,AdamopensthecockpitandhopsontotheSkimmer’shull.Thereareaboutthirty

Mogadoriansdownbelow,waitingonhim,withmorewalkingoverfromthetents.MarinaandIhunkerdowninsidetheSkimmer,myhandclosetohersincaseweneedtogoinvisible.‘Who’sinchargehere?’Adamyells,standingtallandrigid,againputtingonhistruebornairs.Atallfemalewarriordressedinasleevelessblackovercoatstepsforward.Shehastwothickbraids

thatstartonthesidesofherheadandwraparoundit,encirclingthetraditionalMogadoriantattoosonherscalp.Herhandsarewrappedindustywhitebandages,likethey’verecentlybeeninjuredorburned.‘IamPhiriDun-Ra,trueborndaughterofthehonorableMagothDun-Ra,’thewarriorshoutstoAdam.

Herpostureisnearlyasimposingandrigidashis.‘Whyhaveyoucomehere,Sutekh?’Adamhopsdownfromourship,tossinghisheadtofliphishairoutofhiseyes.‘OrdersfromBelovedLeaderhimself.Iamtoinspectthissitetoprepareforhisarrival.’AtremorpassesthroughthecrowdwhenAdammentionsSetrákusRa.ManyoftheMogsexchange

nervousglances.PhiriDun-Ra,however,appearsnonplussed.Shestridesforward,lettingherblasterdangleidlynexttoherhip.Somethingtightensupinmystomachatthesightofher.Thepredatorywayshemoves,theglintinhereyeliketroublecouldsparkatanymoment.She’swaysharperthantheotherMogwarriorsI’veencountered.‘Ah,BelovedLeader.Ofcourse,’Phirisays.Shewavestothetempleinthedistance.‘Whatwouldyou

liketoseefirst,sir?’AdamtakesasteptowardstheMogcampandopenshismouthtospeak.Smoothly,withoutwarning,

PhiriliftsherblasterandcracksAdamacrossthemouthwiththehandle.Ashefallstotheground,therest

oftheMogadoriansleveltheirblastersathiminunison.‘Howabouttheinsideofacell,traitor?’Phirisnarls,standingoverAdam,herblasterpointedathis

face.

24

IextendmyhandtoMarinaandshegraspsitimmediately.Invisible,wecarefullyclimboutoftheship,synchronizingourmovements.Behindus,Ihearasuddenflappingofwings.Dusttakesflightintheshapeofatropicalbird,hiswingsfleckedwithgray.NoneoftheMogsnoticehimsoaroutofthecockpit,andtheydon’thearMarinaandmeleapdowntotheground.They’retoodistractedbytheshowPhiriDun-RaisputtingonwithAdam.‘Iknowyourfather,Sutekh,’Phiriissaying,projectinghervoicesothattheMogsgatheredina

semicirclearoundherandAdamcanallhear.‘He’sabastard,butatleasthe’snoble.HebelievesinMogadorianProgress.’IfAdammanagesareply,Ican’thearitoverthemurmurofagreementthatcomesfromtheotherMogs.

Icatchaglimpseofhimthroughthecrowd–he’scrumpledatPhiri’sfeet,scrabblinginthedirt,tryingtoregainhisfeetbutprobablystillseeingstars.‘Infact,yourfathergavemethisassignment,’Phiricontinues.‘Iwasresponsibleforateamthat

allowedaGardetoescapefromtheWestVirginiastronghold.Thepunishmentwaseitherdeathorajourneyhere.Notmuchofachoice,really.Yousee,ifwefail,we’llallbeexecutedanyway.TheonlywaytoliveisforustodelivertheSanctuary.’Attheword‘Sanctuary,’Phirimakesasarcasticallydramaticgesturewithhertwobandagedhandsthat

encompassesthewholeofthetemple.Ihesitateforamomenttolistentowhatelseshehastosay.‘There’snotadaygoesbythatIdon’twonderifImadethewrongdecision.Maybeaquickdeath

wouldhavebeenbetter.Yousee,Sutekh,allofusweresenthereaspunishment,’Phiriexplains.Itoccurstomethatshe’snotjusttalkingtoAdam–she’salsotryingtofireuphertroops.Maybemoralegetslowinthejungle.‘WeweresenttothisforsakenplacetobringdowntheimpenetrableshieldthatsurroundswhateverspoilstheLorichavehiddenwithin.Forallofus,itisourlastchancetoimpressBelovedLeader.It’stheperfectplaceforatraitorlikeyou.’PhiricrouchesdowninfrontofAdam.‘SodoyouknowthesecrettotheSanctuary?Haveyoucomeheretoredeemyourselfatlast?’‘Yeah,’comesAdam’sgroggyreply.‘Ifit’saforcefield,trythrowingyourselfatit.’PhiriactuallylaughsatAdam’squip.It’sthatlaughthatgetsmemovingagain–ithasanairofmenace

toit,likeherlittlesideshowisabouttowrapup.Thatmeanswehavetohurry.ItugMarinaandweslipbehindthegatheredMogadorians.Adam’screatedonehellofadiversion–if

wewerestickingtotheplan,wecouldmakeitinsidetheperimeteroftheSanctuaryeasily.ButI’mnotwillingtoleaveAdamtohisfate,andIdon’tthinkMarinaiseither.Insteadofheadingforthetemple,wemoveswiftlytowardsoneofthemountedblasterturretsthattheMogshavebeenusingtofruitlesslyfireatwhateverforceprotectstheSanctuary.‘Throwmyselfatit,’Phiriisrepeating,herlaughterdyingdown.‘Thatisn’tsuchabadidea,Sutekh.

Whydon’tyougofirst?’

Outofthecornerofmyeye,InoticePhirisignaltoacoupleofthewarriorsinhercommand.TheyhustleforwardandwrestleAdamtohisfeet.WithPhirileadingtheway,theMogsdragAdamtowardstheinvisiblelinethatdividestheclearedMogadoriansectionofjunglewiththeuntouchedportionsurroundingthetemple.‘We’vetriedeverythingshortofatomicbombardmenttocrossintotheSanctuary,’Phirisays,

conversationally.‘It’ssaidBelovedLeaderknowsawayin.ItinvolvestheGardeandtheirlittlependants.Asyouknow,they’veproventobe…elusive.ButifyoubelievetheGreatBook–andIdo–thenyouknownothingcanstandinthewayofMogadorianProgress.Whichmeansthisdamnedforcefieldwillcomedown.IintendtotramplewhateverLoricmagiciskeepingusout,inthenameofBelovedLeader.’‘Thenwhyhaven’tyoudoneitalready?’Adamreplies.‘IfnothingcanstandinthewayofMogadorian

Progress,whyaren’tyoumakingany?’‘MaybebecauseIneverhadaprettytruebornboy’sfacetouseasabatteringram.’MarinaandIreachthenearestturret.Together,weclimbupthestepsonthebackoftheblaster.The

thinglookslikeamountedjackhammer.Thereisawindshieldwithacrosshairsplacedoverthebarrel.Therearetwohandlesforturningthegun,withtriggersthatlooklikethebrakesofabicyclesetnexttothem.‘Willyoubeabletofirethisthing?’IwhispertoMarina.‘Aim,squeeze,shoot,’Marinawhispersback.‘It’sprettyintuitive,Six.’‘Allright,’Ireply.‘Holdon.’Thegunturretrequirestwohandstooperate.EventhoughalltheMogsarefacingawayfromus,Idon’t

wanttogovisibleandchanceoneofthemglancingbackandruiningourambush.IcarefullyplacemyhandonthebackofMarina’sneckbeforelettinggoofherhand.Thisway,she’sabletooperatetheturretwhilethetwoofusstillremaininvisible.Slowly,Marinastartsmovingtheturretsothatit’spointedattheMogs.Thegunneedsoiling–itmakesametallicwhinewhenshemovesit.Iwavemyfreehandintheairandquicklysummonastronggustofwindtocoverthesound.‘Letmegiveyouapreviewofwhatyou’reinfor,’Phiriissaying.She’sgotAdamrightinfrontofthe

invisiblebarriernow,hergoonsforcinghimontohisknees.Sheunwrapsthebandagesaroundoneofherhands,revealinghorriblycharredflesh.‘ThisiswhattheLoricshielddoeswhenwemistakenlyrunupagainstit.’‘Youshouldbemorecareful,’Adamreplies.AtanodfromPhiri,thetwowarriorsgrappleAdamintoahalf-bentposition,securinghisarmsothat

theycanpressitagainsttheforcefield.PhirileersdownatAdam.‘Therearerumorsaboutyou,Sutekh.Theysayyou’repartGardenow.

Maybeyou’rejustwhatweneedtogetintotheSanctuary.Maybeafreaklikeyouwillshort-circuittheforcefieldandtodaywillbethedayweentertheSanctuaryinthenameofBelovedLeader.’‘Onewayoranother,today’syourlastdayattheSanctuary,’Adamrepliesthroughgrittedteeth.‘I

promiseyouthat.’Adam’swordsmakePhirihesitate.Sheglancesbacktowardsourship,suddenlyrealizingthatmaybe

Adamdidn’tcomealone.She’stoolate.MarinahastheturretlineduponthecrowdofMogs.

‘Ready?’shewhisperstome.‘Light’emup.’Marina’sinvisiblehandssqueezedowntheturret’striggers.Thegunroarstolifewithsuchforcethat

I’mnearlyknockedofftheback.ImanagetoclingtoMarinasothatshedoesn’tturnvisible.TheclosestgroupofMogsdon’tevenhaveachancetoturnaroundasglowingcolumnsofsizzlingblasterfirepummeltheirbacks,turningthemimmediatelytoash.AssoonasMarinaopensfire,Dustcomesscreechingdownfromthesky.Nowintheshapeofagray-

wingedfalcon,theChimærarakesitstalonsacrossthefaceofoneofthewarriorsholdingAdam.TheMogsshoutandscatter.They’retotallyconfused–itmustlookliketheirturrethasbeenpossessed

byaghost.PhiriDun-Rahasthepresenceofmindtosqueezeoffsomeblasterfirethatdeflectsofftheturret’swindshield,butthensheducksforcover.Marinacontinuestostrafethem,althoughshe’scarefultoavoidtheareaaroundAdam.WithDusttakingdownoneofthewarriors,Adamelbowshissecondcaptorinthestomach.Whenhe

doublesover,Adamshoveshimbackwards,rightintotheinvisibleborderaroundtheSanctuary.Withaflareofcold,blueenergy,theshieldsurroundingthetemplerevealsitself–it’slikeagiantelectricalwebstretchedintotheshapeofadome.TheMogflaresuplikethetipofamatchstickwhenhehitstheforcefield.Hisbodyleavesacoatingofashthatseemstofloatintheaironcetheshielddisappearsagain,untilagentlegustofwindblowsitaway.Freedfromhiscaptors,Adamthrowshimselfontohisstomach.Rightaway,Marinaswingstheturret

aroundtotakeouttheMogsclutteredaroundhim.Afewofthem,includingPhiriDun-Ra,havemadeittothecoverofoneoftheparkedships.Eventhoughtheycan’tseeus,theyreturnfireontheturret.Ourgunsoonbeginstobelchsmokeandrattledangerously.‘It’soverheating!’Iyell.‘Jump!’MarinaandIdiveinoppositedirectionsastheturretexplodesinacloudofacridblacksmoke.We’re

visibleandwithoutanycovertospeakof.BeforethesurvivingMogscantakeaim,Adampoundshisfistagainsttheground.Atremorripplesin

theirdirectionandknockstheMogsofftheirfeet.Iusethedistractiontorollbeneathoneoftheotherships,alreadychannelingmyLegacytocalldownastorm.Theskydarkensanditbeginstorain.Outhereinthejungle,it’sacinchtocallupthiskindofweather,

butI’mstillafewsecondsawayfromchannelinglightningandI’mnotsureI’llbequickenough.Phiriandhertroopsarealreadydrawingabeadonme,theirblasterfirescoringthewetdirtinfrontofmyposition.That’swhenafist-sizedhailstonestrikesPhirirightinherbaldhead.Shefallsback,shieldingherself.InoticeMarinahidingbehindastackofcrates.She’sfocusingintentlyontheraindrops,turningthemto

icearoundtheMogsandknockingthemsenselesswithhail.Ifeelthestormabovereachaboilingpointandletloosewithajaggedstripeoflightning.Phirimanagestodiveasideatthelastsecond,butherlasttwowarriorsareelectrocutedintodust.Andthen,tomysurprise,PhiriDun-Raruns.Withoutevenalookoverhershoulder,theMogtrueborn

boltsintothenearbyjungle.Adamleapstohisfeet.BothhislipsaresplitopenwherePhiriclubbedhim,bloodtricklingdownhis

chin.Otherwise,helooksunharmedandalert.HestartstorunafterPhiri,hisfeetslidingthroughthe

reddish-brownmudmystormhascreated.PhiriisoutofsightbeforeAdamcangetveryfar.Hepullsupshortafewyardsawayfromme.‘Lethergo,’Itellhim,willingthestormIwhippeduptotaperoff.‘Shouldn’twegoafterher?’Adamasks,spittingbloodintothedirt.Hiseyesscanthenearbyruinsand

treeline,andIcantellhe’dlikeafairfightagainsttheothertrueborn.Dust,backinwolfform,lopesoverandsitsdownnexttoAdam,lappinggentlyathishand.Heglancesbacktome.‘Thanksforthesave,bytheway.’‘Yeah,Ifiguredsincethewholedistractionthingwasmycall,Ikindaowedittoyoutonotletyouget

slaughtered.’‘Gladyousawitthatway,’Adamreplies,thenlooksbacktowardstheruinsaroundtheSanctuary.‘We

shouldcatchher.She’sdangerous.’‘ForgetaboutPhiriwhat’s-her-face,’Isay,turningawayfromthejungleandgazingupatthewaiting

temple.‘We’vegotmoreimportantthingstodothanchasedownoneMog,’Marinaputsinasshewalksoverto

joinus.‘Nomatterhownastyshemightbe.’Inodinagreement.‘She’saloneoutthere.Maybesomethingwilleather.We’llleaveDustbackhereto

keepwatchovertheships,incaseshetriestodoubleback.’Adamcontinuestostareintothejungle.Afteramoment,hefinallynodshishead.‘Fine.I’llkeepaneye

onthingswhileyouguysgoinside.’IexchangeaninquiringlookwithMarinatomakesureshedoesn’thaveanymisgivingswithwhatI’m

abouttosay.Sheshrugshershouldersinresponse,thenstartstowardsourshiptobegintheunloading.IcockmyheadatAdam.‘Youdon’tevenwanttotrycominginwithus?’Iask.Adamstaresatme.‘Areyoujoking?DidyouseewhatcontactwiththatfielddidtoPhiriDun-Ra?’‘I’llhealyouifthathappens,’Marinaoffersoverhershoulder.‘Idon’tunderstand,’Adamsays.Heturnstolookupatthetemple,hishandsonhiships.Helooks

nervous.‘Whywouldyouevenwantmetogointhere?It’saLoricplace.’‘LikethatPhiribitchsaid,you’repartGardenow,’Iexplain.‘You’renotLoric,butyou’vegot

Legacies.’‘I’vegotoneLegacy,’Adamclarifies.‘Anditwasn’tevenminetostartwith.I–I’mnotevensureif

I’msupposedtohaveit.’‘Doesn’tmatter.IfIunderstoodwhatMalcolmtoldus–andIguessthat’smaybeabigif–there’sa

livingpieceofLorieninthattemple.That’swhereourLegaciescomefrom.Whichmeansyou’reconnectedtoit,justlikeus.’‘Everythinghashappenedforareason,’Marinasaysassheclimbsupontoourship’shull.Shelooks

backatus,athoughtfulfrownstraininghersoftfeatures.‘JustlookatEight’sprophecies.’Adamlooksunconvinced.Heswallowshard.‘Wedon’tknowwhat’swaitingforusinthereorwhattoexpect.Wemightneedyouinthere.Soman

up.’I’mnotsurehowAdamwillrespondtobeingcalledout.Asmileflickersacrosshisface,likethatone

inthecockpitwhenhewasspacingout.

‘I’min,’hesays.‘Assumingthatinvisiblewalldoesn’tburnmyfaceoff.’WewalkovertotheshiptohelpMarina.ShepullstheChestwithourgatheredInheritanceoutofthe

cockpitandfloatsitdowntomewithtelekinesis.Then,shecarefullyfloatsEight’sbodyoutoftheship.Shehashimhoverrightinfrontofher,almostlikeshewascarryinghiminherarms.Tomysurprise,sheunzipsthetophalfofthebodybag.There’sEight,lookingjustashedidwhenhewasalive,thoseMogadorianelectrodespreservinghim.‘Marina?Whatareyoudoing?’‘IwanthimtoseetheSanctuary,’shesays,thengentlysmoothssomeofEight’scurlyhairbackfromhis

forehead.‘You’regoinghome,’shewhisperstohim.Marinaclimbsdownfromtheship,focusinghertelekinesissothatEight’sbodystayswithherthe

entireway.There’salookofdeeppurposeonherface,andshedoesn’tevenlookatmeorAdambeforewalkingtowardsthetemple.Irealizethatshe’sbeenwaitingdaysforthismoment,thetimewhenshecanproperlylayEighttorest.Wordlessly,AdamandIjoinhersomberprocession.AsweapproachtheedgeofthelandtheMogscleared,thewildandovergrowntempleloomingbefore

us,Ifeelastrangetickleagainstmychest.IlookdowntofindJohn’spendantglowingbrightlyandrisingupagainstthefrontofmytanktop.Iadjustmyshirtandthependantfloatsoutinfrontofme,strainingagainstitschain.It’slikeit’smagneticallydrawntotheSanctuary.ThetwopendantsMarinawearsaredoingthesamething.Adamgivesmealookandarchesaneyebrowatmygravity-defyingjewelry.Ishruginresponse.This

isallnewtome,too.Marinaisthefirsttopassoverthethreshold.Theforcefieldappearsagain,cobaltandelectric,and

there’sastaticpoppingasshepassesthroughit.Loosetanglesofherhairchargedbytheenergyfloatuparoundherhead,butotherwisenothinghappens.I’monlyafewstepsbehindher.Theforcefieldgivesmyskinafizzyfeeling.Itonlylastsasecondand

thenI’mstandingontheotherside,thecrackedandvine-riddledstepsoftheSanctuaryrisingupbeforeme.IturnbacktocheckonAdam.He’sstoppedrightinfrontoftheforcefield.Cautiously,heextendshis

indexfingerandmakescontactwiththeenergy.Itpopsloudlyandhejumpsback,butheisn’tscorchedliketheotherMogadorianwas.‘You’resurethisisagoodidea?’‘Don’tbeawimp,’Ireply.Adamsighs,steelshimself,andreachesforwardagain,thistimewithhiswholehand.Theenergy

cracklesandsparksagainsthispaleskinwaymorethanitdidwithMarinaandme,butitletshimthroughwithoutincineratinghim.Igrinathimandhegivesmearelievedlook,wipingsomesweatoffhisforehead.‘Nowwhat?’heasks.Marinahaspausedafewyardsinfrontofus,stillfloatingEight’sbody.Shereachesbehindherhead

andtakesoffoneofherpendants.Loosedfromherneck,thependantbobsslowlytowardsthestonestepsofthetemple,andthenbeginstoriseupthem.‘Weclimb,’Marinasays.

HerpendantglintsblueinthesunlightanditoccurstomethattheLoraliteisglowingalittlebrighter.Likeit’schargeduporsomething.Ifeelit,too.TheSanctuaryisgivingoffsomekindofenergybeyondjusttheforcefield.There’sasensethateverycellinmybodyhasbeensuddenlyinvigorated.IglanceuptotheskyandknowthatIcouldcallupalargerstormthaneverbefore.IfeelmoreintouchwithmyLegacies.Andsomehow,itallseemssonatural–likeI’veknownthisfeelingbefore.Marinawasright,Irealize.We’rehome.

25

IttakesusaboutthirtyminutestoclimbtothetopoftheMayanpyramid.Itrypassingthetimebycountingthesteps,butIlosetracksomewherearoundtwohundred.Therearesectionswherethestonestepshavecrumbledintoankle-twistingcrevices,andotherspotswhererainhaserodedtheancientstoneworkdowntosmoothslopes.Weusetheovergrownvinesthatspillforthfromthejungletoassistusoverthedifficultparts,ascendinghandoverhand.Wedon’ttalkmuch,excepttotelleachotherwhenaparticularlytrickysectionofstepsiscoming.Somehow,itseemsrudetodisturbthesilenceoftheSanctuary.Wetakeabreakoncewereachthetopofthetemple.Marinaissweatingfromtheheat,theclimband

theexertionofusinghertelekinesistocarryEight’sbodyforsolong.IsetdowntheChestI’vebeencarryingandflexmyfingers.Adamstandswithhishandsonhishipsandgazesoutoverthetemple’sedge.‘Someview,’hesays.‘It’sbeautiful,’Iagree.Atthetemple’spinnacle,weareabovethetreetops.It’spossibletoseebeyondtheovergrowntrees

thatcrowdthepyramid,beyondthestrippedringoflandtheMogsclearedandouttotherestoftheMayanruinsandthethrivingjunglebeyond.IimaginesomeoldMayanrulerstandinguphereandgazingoutathisdomain.Andthen,IimaginethatsamerulerturninghiseyestotheheavensasaLoricshipdescendsfromtheclouds.Theimageseemssorealandvivid;Igetthestrangefeelingthatmyimaginationdidn’tjustconjureitup.Centuriesago,somethinglikethatreallyhappenedhere–theLoricvisited,andtheSanctuaryremembers.‘Youguys,lookatthis,’Marinacallstous.AdamandIturnawayfromtheviewandwalkacrosstheflatroofofthetemple.Atthecentermost

pointisastonedoor.Atfirst,Ithinkthedooriscarvedfromthesamepalestoneastherestofthepyramid,butasIdrawcloseritbecomesobviousthatthedoorissmoothandunblemished,theivory-coloredmaterialnotshowingthesameeffectsofageastherestofthetemple.Thedoormayhavebeenhereforsometime,yetit’sapparentthatitwasplunkeddownontopofthealreadybuiltpyramid.Thedoordoesn’tleadanywhere,afactMarinademonstratesbywalkinginacirclearoundit.Her

floatingpendanthoversinfrontofthedoor,waitingforustocatchup.Istopinfrontofthedoorandexamineitssurface.Itiscompletelysmooth–nohandles,knobs,or

anythinglikethat–withtheexceptionofninerounddivotsarrangedinacircleatthedoor’scenter.‘Thependants,’Isay,brushingmyfingersovercoolstone.Marinaplucksherpendantoutoftheairandguidesthestoneintooneofthenotches.Itfitsperfectly

andemitsacrispclickingsound.Thedoordoesn’tmove,though.‘Weonlyhavethree,’Isay,grimacing.‘Itisn’tenough.’‘Wehavetotry,’Marinasays,alreadypullingoffherremainingpendant.

She’sright.We’vecometoofartoturnbacknow.IpulloffJohn’spendantandfititintothenotchesonthestonedoor.‘Heregoesnothing,’Isay,asIpushthefinalpendanthome.Immediately,theLoralitestonesbegintoglowwiththesameenergyastheforcefield.Theglow

spreadsbetweenthestones,connectingthem,theenergyfillingthegapswherewe’remissingpendants.ThecircularsymbolthattakesshapeonthedoorremindsmeofthescarswegetonourlegswhenoneoftheGardedies.Andthen,withanancientgrindingnoise,thestonedoorslidesdownintothetemple,leavingbehind

onlyathinframe.Insteadofjunglethroughthedoorframe,IseeadustyroomlitbythedimblueglowofLoralite.‘Ithoughtwe’dneedmore,’Isay.‘Wedon’tevenhaveamajority.’‘OrmaybetheSanctuaryknowshowbadlyweneedtoenter,’Marinasuggests.‘It’ssomekindofportal,’Adamsays,squintingintotheroombeyondthedoorframe.‘Isthatinsidethe

temple?’‘Let’sfindout,’Isay.IpickupMarina’sChestandstepoverthethreshold.Immediately,Igetthatdisorienting,end-over-end,roller-coasterfeelingthatIusedtohavewhenever

EightwouldusehisteleportationLegacy.Itonlylastsasecond,andthenI’mblinkingmyeyestoadjusttothedimmerlightingofthisinnersanctum.Myearspopfromthepressurechange,andIgetthesensethatIjuststeppedthroughaportalintothemiddleoftheMayantemple.Ormaybe,consideringthewaythejunglesoundshavebeencompletelysealedout,we’reevendeeperthanthat.MaybethisSanctuaryiscompletelybeneaththepyramid.Marina–withEight’sbodyintow–andAdamfollowmethrough,thebothofthemsquintingtoadjust

tothelowerlight.Whenthey’reontheotherside,thedoorwayblinksoutofexistence.There’snoexitinitsplace,onlyasolidlimestonewall,althoughacircleofnotchesjustliketheonefromthedoorarecarvedintoit.OurpendantsclattertothefloorandIhurriedlypickthemup.‘TheSanctuary,’Marinabreathes.‘Howlongagodidyourpeopleputthishere?’Adamasks.‘HellifIknow.Weheardthey’dbeencomingtoEarthforcenturies,’Ireplyabsently,peeringaround.

‘Iguessthisiswhattheyweredoing.’‘Theywerepreparingforthisday,’Marinaadds,thateeriecertaintybackinhervoice.‘What’dtheyleaveus,though?’Iask,alittledisappointedasIlookaround.‘Anemptyroom?’TheSanctuaryisonelong,rectangularroomwithhighceilingsandabsolutelynodoorsorwindows.

It’sasifourancestorsteleportedintoasolidchunkofrock,somehowmanagedtocarveoutaroom,andthenforgottofurnishit.There’snothinghere.VeinsofglowingLoralitearethreadedthroughthestonewallsandceilinginchaoticpatternsthatcasttheentireroominacobalthue.MyeyesglideovertheswoopsandswirlsofLoralite–there’ssomethingvaguelyfamiliarthere,somethingthatI’mjustnotseeing.‘It’stheuniverse,’Adamsays.‘It’s…morethanweevenknowabout.TheMogadorianstarmaps

don’tcoverthismuch.’Ittakesmeamomenttorealizewhathe’ssaying.ButthenInoticethewaytheLoraliteveinspoolinto

circlesatsomespotsandIrecognizetheotherveinsastheswirlingstarsofthecosmosandbeyond.It’s

justliketheMacrocosms,onlywaybiggerandcoveringwaymoreuniverse.IfindLorienononewall,theglowingpuddleofLoraliteatitsheartshiningmuchdimmerthansomeotherspots.‘Ourhome,’Isay,andtouchLoriengentlywithmyfinger.AchillgoesthroughmeastheLoraliteseems

topulseinanswer,almostasifitrecognizesme.‘Myhome,’Adamsaysdryly.Hepointstoanareathat’snotableonlyforitscompleteabsenceof

Loralite,likeavoidexistingintheglowinguniverse.Hefrowns.‘Atleastyourancestorsgotthewholeforbidding-darknessthingright.’‘Thosearen’tourhomes,notanymore,’Marinasays,tracingherfingersacrossthewall,followingthe

exacttrajectoryourshiptookfromLorientoEarth.‘Thisisourhomenow.’TheLoraliteoutlineofEarthglowsmuchstrongerthananyothersectionofthewall.Marinapresses

herfingersagainstitandtheLoralitecracklesandvibrates.Somethingbelowusismoving.Dustanddirtshakeloosefromtheceiling,themotessparklinginthesuddenlyhyperchargedlightofthe

Loralite.IknowIshouldn’tbescared–thisisaLoricplace,itwon’thurtus–butIcan’thelpbackinguptothenearestwall,theSanctuarysuddenlyfeelingveryclaustrophobicnowthatit’sshakingaroundme.Adamstumblesinnexttome,hiseyeswide.Withanancientgroanandagrindingofstone,acircularsectionofthefloorattheroom’scenterrises

up.It’slikeanaltarorapedestalextendingupfromthefloor.Theroomstopsshakingwhenthethinghasrisentoaboutwaisthigh.ThisnewextensionismadefrompureLoralite.TheslabofplainlimestonefloorsitsatoptheLoralitecylinder,almostlikeasealholdinginwhatevermightbedownbelow.Cautiously,thethreeofusapproach.‘Itlookslikethispiececomesoff,’Isay,touchingthelimestoneseal,butnotyetremovingit.‘Italmostlookslikeawell,’Adamsays,musing.‘Whatdoyouthinkisdownthere?’‘Noclue,’Ireply.‘Look,’Marinasays.‘Thedrawings.’Iseethem.They’resimilartothecavepaintingsthatEightshowedusbackinIndia,excepttheseare

carveddirectlyintothewell’sLoralitesides.Ihavetowalkacirclearoundthewelltotakealltheimagesin.NinesilhouettesloomingoveraplanetthatlookslikeEarth,withninesmallersilhouettesstandingon

theplanetbelowthem.Aperson–Ican’ttellifit’samaleorfemale–standinginfrontofaholeinthegroundanddumping

thecontentsofaboxintotheopening.Ninesilhouettesagain,thistimearrangedinfrontofacastle,fendingoffsomethingthatlookslikea

tidalwaveormaybeathree-headeddragon.‘Moreprophecies?’Iask.‘Maybe,’Marinareplies.Sheispausedinfrontofthecarvingofthepersonwiththebox.‘Ormaybe

they’reinstructions.’Istandnexttoher.‘Doyouthinkthisistheplace?Wherewe,uh,commitourInheritancestotheEarth?’Marinanods.ShesetsEight’sbodygentlydowntotheground,thenuseshertelekinesistopushtheslab

oflimestonethatsealsthewellaside.Itcrumblesontothegroundwithahugethud,theoldstoneinstantlybreakingapart.

Acolumnofpurebluelightflowsupfromthewell,sobrightthatIhavetoshieldmyeyes.It’slikeaspotlight.Icanfeelthewarmthfromthelightdeepinmybones.‘Thisis…’Adamtrailsoff,unabletocompletehisthought.There’sprofoundamazementinhisdark

Mogadorianeyes.MarinakneelsdowninfrontofherChestandopensitup.Shecupsherhandsandremovesahandfulof

Loricgemstones,thendropsthemintotheSanctuary’swell.Theyglitterandflashastheyslipthroughherfingers,fallingintothelight.Inresponse,thewholeroomseemstogetalittlebrighter.TheLoraliteveinsinthewallspulsestronger.‘Helpme,Six,’Marinasaysexcitedly.IgrabthepouchofsoilfromtheChest,openitupanddumpthecontentsdownthewell.Afragrant,

greenhouse-likearomafillsthedustychamber,andthelightgrowsstrongerstill.Marinafollowsthesoilwiththebundleofdriedbranchesandleaves.Inthatmomentbeforetheyleaveherhand,whilethey’rebathedinthelight,Icouldswearthebrancheslookgreenandaliveagain.Astheydropoutofsight,aswirlingbreezefillsthechamber,coolingusdown.‘It’sworking,’Isay,eventhoughI’mnotsurewhatexactlywe’redoing.I’monlysurethatitfeelsright.Whenwe’veemptiedouttheChestofeverythingelse,IpickupthecanofHenri’sashes.Carefully,I

removethelidandemptyitintothelight.Eachoftheashesbrieflysparksastheyswirldownwardintothewell.IwishJohncould’vebeenheretoseethis.IturnbacktoMarina,incliningmyheadgentlytowardswhereEight’sbodyrestsontheground.

‘Shouldwe…?’Marinashakesherhead,lookingdownatEight.‘I’mnotreadyyet,Six.’Itakeamomenttosweepmygazeovertheroom,checkingtoseeifanything’schanged.Thelightfrom

thewellisnearlyasbrightasthesun,butitdoesn’treallyhurtmyeyesanymore.TheLoraliteveinsinthewallspulsewithenergy.OurChestisemptyandHenri’sasheshavebeenspread.‘There’snothingelsetodo,’IsaytoMarina.‘It’stime.’‘Thependants,Six,’Marinasays.‘Wehavetogiveitthependants.’‘Holdon,’Adamsays,steppingforwardforthefirsttime.He’sbeenwatchingallthistakeplacewith

awe,butMarina’swordssnaphimback.‘Ifyoudropthosependantsdownthere,we’llhavenowayoutofhere.’I’mstillholdingallofourpendants.IclutchthemtightlyasIthinkitover.‘Wehavetohavefaith,right?’Isay,shruggingmyshoulders.‘Wehavetotrustthatwhatever’sdown

there,whatevertheEldersleftforus,thatit’llshowusawayout.’Marinanods.‘Yes.’Adamlooksatmeforamoment,thentothelight.Everythinghe’sseentodaymustgoagainsthis

Mogadorianinstincts.ButhehasGardeinhim,too.‘Allright,’Adamsays.‘Itrustyou.’Iholdontothependantsforamomentlonger.I’vewornanamuletaroundmyneckformostofmylife.

ThereweremanytimesthatitremindedmewhoIwas,whereIwasfrom,andwhatIwasfightingfor.ItwasheartbreakingtolosetwopendantsandI’veneverfeltrightwithoutone.It’sasmuchapartofwhoIam–whoweallare–asthescarsonourankles.Butit’stimetoletthatgo.Idropthethreependantsintothewell.

Theresponseisimmediateandblinding.Thelightfromwithinthewellgoessupernova.Ishoutandshieldmyeyes,andI’mprettysureMarinaandAdamdothesame.Thereisawhooshingsoundfromdownbelow,likethousandsofwingstakingflight,oraminiaturetornadotouchingdownbeneaththeEarth.Thereisaloud,baritonethumpthatsendsvibrationsthroughmyteeth.Afewsecondslater,thesoundrepeats.Thump,thump.Thump,thump.Therhythmgetsfasterandstronger.Steadier.It’saheartbeat.I’mnotsurehowlongI’mbathedinthatpurebluelight,howlongIlistentothesonorousheartbeatof

Lorien.Itcouldbetwominutesoritcouldbetwohours.Theexperienceishypnoticandcomforting.Whenthelightbeginstodiedownandthevolumeoftheheartbeatlowerstoasteadythruminthebackground,Ialmostmissit.It’slikewakingupfromawarmdreamthatyoudon’twanttoleave.Iopenmyeyesandimmediatelygasp.Eight’sbodyhoversuprightovertheSanctuary’swell,thecolumnofbluelightsurroundinghim.I

snatchatMarina’shand.‘Areyoudoingthis?’Iask,unintentionallyshouting.Marinashakesherheadandsqueezesmyhand.Therearetearsinhereyes.Afewstepsbehindus,Adamisonhisknees.Hemust’vecollapsedduringthelightshow.Helooksup

atEight,completelymystified.‘What’shappening?Whatisthis?’‘Lookathim,’Marinasays.‘Look.’I’mabouttotellAdamIhavenoideawhat’sgoingonwhenIseeEight’sfingersmove.Wasitjusta

trickofthelight?No–Marinamusthaveseenittoobecauseshemakesalittlesqueakingsoundandcovershermouthwithherfreehand,herothersqueezingdownhardonmine.Eightwiggleshisfingers.Floating,heshakesouthisarmsandlegs.Herollshisheadasifworkingout

acrickinhisneck.Then,heopenshiseyes.TheyarepureLoralite.Eight’seyesglowthesamecobaltshadeasthedeepest

veinsinthewall.Whenheopenshismouth,bluelightcomesfloodingout.‘Hello,’Eightsays,inanechoingvoicethatdoesn’tbelongtoourfriend.It’samelodic,beautiful

voice,likenothingI’veeverheardbefore.ItisthevoiceofLorien.

26

Mostpeoplehavethesensetorun.TheseNewYorkershaveseenenoughmoviestoknowwhathappenswhenanalienspaceshipparksitselfoveryourcity.Theystreamdownthesidewalkindroves.Someevenabandontheircarsinthemiddleoftheavenues,whichmakesitslowgoingforourconvoyofblackSUVs.Luckily,outsideSanderson’shotel,AgentWalkerwasabletoconvincethelocalcopswhoshowedupinresponsetotheshootingtohelpus.Whenitcomestoalieninvasions,Iguessthere’ssomethingaboutafederalagentinablacksuitandsunglasses.EvenwiththeaddedsirensandflashersoftheNYPD,it’shardcuttingthroughthecity.Throughthe

chaos.Andyet,somepeoplearen’trunningawayfromtheEastRiver,wheretheMogadorianwarshiphovers

ominouslyovertheUnitedNations.They’rerunningtowardsit.Peoplewiththeirphonesout,recording,eagertocatchaglimpseofalienlife.Ican’tmakeupmymindifthey’rebrave,crazyorjuststupid.Probablyacombinationofthethree.Iwanttoshoutoutthewindowforthemtoturnandrun,butthere’snotime.Iwon’tbeabletosaveallofthem.‘MichaelWorthington,asenatorrepresentingFlorida.’AgentWalkerbarksthenameintohercell

phone,readingitoffayellowlegalpad.She’sinthepassengerseat,lookingharriedandwild.Sheknowsthere’snotenoughtimeforherorderstomakeadifference,butshe’sgivingthemanyway.‘MelissaCroft,she’sonthejointchiefsofstaff.LucPhillipe,theFrenchambassador.’Walkerpauses,

reachingtheendofherlist.Sheglancesintothebackseat,whereBudSandersonissandwichedinbetweenmeandSam.‘Isthateveryone?’Sandersonnods.‘EveryonethatIknowof.’Walkernodsandspeaksintothephone.‘Arrestthem.Yes,allofthem.Iftheyresist,killthem.’Shehangsupthephone.ThelistofpoliticiansassociatedwithMogPro–dozensofnamesrelayedone

byonebyWalkertohercontacts–camecourtesyofSanderson.EveniftherogueagentsWalkerhasinhercommandcanpullitoff,thearrestsmightnotdomuchgoodnow,atthezerohour.Attheveryleast,wehavetohopeWalkerandherpeoplewillknocktheMog-friendlytraitorsoutofpower,leavingbehindagovernmentthat’sreadytoresist.Althoughhowmuchresistancethey’llbeabletomountremainstobeseen.HowlongdidHenritellmeittooktheMogstoconquerLorien?Lessthanaday?Throughthewindshield,theMogadorianwarshipisvisible.Itmakesthecity’sskyscraperslooklike

toysandcastsblocks-longshadowsineverydirection.ThethinglookslikeagiantroachpoisedoverNewYork.Therearehundredsofblasterturretsalongitssidesandonitsbelly,andIthinkIcanmakeoutopeningswheresmallerMogshipsareprobablydocked.EvenwiththefullGarde,Legaciesblazing,I’mnotsurewecouldtakedownthathulk.

AgentWalkerisstaringattheship,too.Iguessit’sprobablyimpossibletoignorethemassive,alienobjectthatcrowdsthehorizon.Sheturnstolookatme.‘Youcandestroythatthing,right?’‘Sure,’Ireply,tryingtomimicNine’scasualbluster.He’sintheSUVbehindours,probablyexplaining

tohisescortofagentshowhe’llripapartthatwarshipwithhisbarehands.‘Wegotthis.Noproblem.’Nexttome,Sandersonchucklesdarkly,butshutsupwhenWalkerfixeshimwithamenacinglook.On

theothersideofthedisgracedsecretaryofdefense,Samfinallylooksupfromthecellphonehe‘borrowed’fromthatinnocentbystanderoutsidethehotel.‘Theuploadisdone,’hesaystome.‘Sarah’sgotthefootage.’‘Thanks,Sam,’Ireply,andpullmyownphoneoutfrommypocket,immediatelydialingSarah’s

number.IwonderwhatHenriwouldthinkofmeandSamuploadingfootageofmeusingmyLegaciestothe

websiteofTheyWalkAmongUs.Inmywildestdreams,Idon’tthinkIcould’veconcoctedascenariowhereI’dwillinglytakemypowerspublic.Buthereweare.Sarahanswersonthefirstring.Icanhearactivityinthebackground–peopletalking,atelevision

blaring.‘John,thankGod!TheMogsarealloverthenews!Areyouokay?’‘I’mfine,’Itellher.‘JustmakingmywaytowardsthebiggestMogadorianshipI’veeverseen.’‘John,Ihopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing,’Sarahreplies,worryinhervoice.‘It’snothingwecan’thandle–’Istarttoreassureher,untilablastofstaticcutsmeoff.‘Sarah?Areyou

stillthere?’‘I’mhere,’shereplies,soundingalittlemoredistantthanbefore.‘Ithinksomething’sinterferingwith

theconnection,though.’Itmustbethewarships.I’msurethosehugethingscomingdownfromorbitaren’tdoinganyfavorsfor

thecellularnetworks.Nottomentionallthepanickedphonecallslikethisonethatmustbegoingonaroundthecountry.IhavetotalkquickerincaseIloseservice.‘SamjustsentsomevideofilestoMark’swebsite.Didyouguysgetthem?Ithinktheycouldbeuseful.’

IrememberwhatSamsaidtomeoutsidethegasstation.‘Wedon’twanttojustscarepeople.Wealsowanttogivethemhope.’Nexttome,BudSandersonsnorts.Iguesstheoldmandoesn’thavetoomuchfaithinanythingwe’re

doingonTheyWalkAmongUs.Idon’tknowifit’sgoingtoworkeither–likeWalker’sarrests,likeanythingwedotoday,itmightbetoolateforittomatter.Butwe’vegottocovereverypossibleangleoffightingbackagainsttheMogs.‘I’mlookingatitnow,’Sarahsays,andherbreathcatches.‘John,it’s–you’reamazing.ButI’ma

suckerforhandsomealiensperformingmiracles.’I’vebeentryingtolookstone-facedinfrontofmyuneasyallies,soIhavetoturnawayfromSanderson

tohidemysmile.‘Uh,thanks.’‘Wecandefinitelyusethis,’Sarahsays,andIcanhearheralreadytappingoutkeystrokes.‘Whatare

yougoingtodonow,though?Thatshiplookshuge.’Iglanceatthechaosoutsidethewindow.‘We’regoingtotrytoendthiswarbeforeitgetsstarted.’

Sarah’svoicesoundsconcerned.SheknowsI’mabouttotellhersomethingcrazy.‘Whatdoyoumean,John?What’stheplan?’‘We’regoingtotheMogadorianwarship,’Itellher,tryingtosoundconfidentaboutaplanthatseems

moredesperatethecloserwegettothatloomingwarship.‘We’regoingtolureSetrákusRaout.Andwe’regoingtokillhim.’

OurconvoyhastostoptenblocksshortoftheUnitedNationswhenthetrafficbecomesimpassable.Thestreetsarecloggedwithpeopletryingtogetacloserlookatthewarship.Someofthemareevenstandingontopofcarsor,inonecase,astalledcitybus.Therearecopseverywheretryingtheirbesttorestoresomeorder,butIdoubtthey’retrainedforfirst-contactscenarios;mostofthemarebusystaringupattheship,too.Thecrowdisbuzzingandthere’salotofexcitedshouting.JustabunchofeasytargetsfortheMogadorians.Idreadthemomentthosecannonsalongthesidesof

thewarshipopenfireonthiscrowd.Iwanttotelleveryonetorun,butthatmightjuststartapanic.Ifanyonewouldevenlistentome.‘Move!Getoutoftheway!’WalkerscreamsasshegetsoutoftheSUV.She’sgotherbadgeintheair,

althoughnoone’sreallypayingattentiontoher.TheagentsfromthetwoSUVsalongwiththecopsWalkerrecruitedbackatthehotelformatight

perimeteraroundme,SandersonandSam.Nineshoveshiswayinnexttous,glaringatagroupofteenagerscheeringencouragementatthespaceship.‘Idiots,’hegrumbles,thenlooksatme.‘Thisisnuts,Johnny.’‘Weneedtoprotectasmanyaswecan,’Ireply.‘Theyneedtoprotectthemselves,’Ninesays,thenshoutsovertheshoulderofoneofouragents.‘Go

home,youmorons!Orgetsomegunsandcomeback!’Walkerglaresathim.‘Pleasedon’tencouragethecivilianstogetarmed.’Ninegivesherawildlookandkeepsshouting.‘It’swar,lady!Thesepeopleneedtogetprepared!’Someofthepeoplearoundushaveoverheard,ormaybethey’rejustunnervedbythegrowingpolice

presence.Inoticeafewexchangenervouslooksandpeoplebegintricklingbackthewaywecame.WalkergrimacesatNine,thenslapsoneoftheagentsontheshoulder.‘Forward!’sheshouts.‘Weneedtomoveforward!’There’sstillamobseparatingusfromtheUN,anditshowsnosignsofreallythinningout.Walker’s

agentsandthecopsstartmusclingthroughandwe’recarriedalongwiththem.‘Watchit,dude!Nocuttinginthelinetogetbeamedup!’shoutsonebystander.‘Holyshit!It’stheMeninBlack!’screamsanother.‘Aretheygoingtohurtus?’awomanwepassyellsatSanderson,mayberecognizinghimassomeone

importantlooking.‘Areweindanger?’Sandersonavertshiseyesandsoonthewomanislostinthecrowd.It’sslowgoing,evenwithadozen

copsandagentsbull-rushingaheadofus.Thesepeopleneedtogetoutofourway.Awild-eyedguywithascragglybeardwholookslikethetypetobewavinghandmadesignsaboutthe

endoftheworldbarrelsrightintoAgentWalker.She’sthrownoffbalance,andIreachouttosteadyher.Walkerdoesn’tthankme–there’sfuryandfrustrationinhereyes.Fedupwiththecrowd,shereachesforthegunholsteredonherhip,maybethinkingshe’llfireafewshotsintheairtoclearthearea.Istopherarmandshakemyheadwhensheglaresatme.

‘Don’t.You’llstartapanic.’‘Thisisalreadyapanic,’shereplies.‘Personally,I’dbepanickingmoreifsomeonewasshooting,’Samchimesin.Walkermakesanannoyednoiseandgoesbacktopushingherwaythroughthecrowd.IelbowNinein

theribs.‘Let’shelpthem,’Itellhim,adding,‘Butdon’thurtanyone.’Ninenodsandwebeginusingtelekinesistomovepeopleoutofourway.Nine’sgentlerthanIwould

haveexpected.Wecreateasortoftelekineticbubblearoundus,thenearbybystandersslidingoffit.Noonegetstrampled,andslowlythepathstartstoclearforWalkerandtherestofourescort.AswemoveclosertotheUN,wecomedirectlyundertheshadowoftheMogadorianwarship.Achill

goesthroughme,butItrynotletitshow.Thereareflagsofeverynationplantedinthegroundonbothsidesoftheroadwe’repressingdown,allthesesymbolsflappinginagentlespringbreeze,caughtbeneaththeloomingMogadorianvessel.Upahead,IseethatastagehasbeenhastilyerectedatthefrontentranceoftheUN.Thereisamore

organizedpoliceforcethere–bothlocalcopsandtheUN’sprivatesecurity.Theykeeppeopleawayfromthestageandfromstormingtheentrancetothemainbuilding.There’saconcentrationofpressupahead,too,allofthemwithcameraseagerlyswingingbetweenthestageandthehoveringspacecraft.IgrabSandersonaroundtheshouldersandyankhimclose,pointingtothestage.‘What’sthedealwiththat?What’ssupposedtohappenhere?’Sandersongrimacesatmebutdoesn’ttrytowriggleaway.‘TheBelovedLeaderhasatastefor

theatrics.Didyouknowhewroteabook?’‘Readingisstupid,’gruntsNine,morefocusedonthecrowd.‘Idon’tcareabouthispropaganda.Explainthestage,Sanderson.’‘Propaganda,likeyousaid,’Sandersonreplies.‘MyselfandsomeoftheothersfromMogPro–the

onesourdearfriendWalkerprobablyhadarrested–weweresupposedtogreetSetrákusRa.HewasgoingtodemonstratethegiftstheMogadorianscouldofferhumanity.’IrememberthestatewefoundSandersonin,allblackveinedandnearlykeeledover,allstrungouton

theMogadorian’sso-calledmedicaladvancements.‘Hewasgoingtohealyou,’Isay,puttingittogether.‘Hallelujah!’Sandersonsays,bitterly.‘Oursavior!Then,we’dinvitehiminsidetheUNfor

discussionsand,cometomorrow,apeacefulresolutionwouldbeadoptedtoallowtheMogsintotheairspaceofeverymembernation.’‘Andthat’sit,’Samsays.‘Earthwouldbesurrendered.’‘Atleastitwouldbepeaceful,’Sandersonsays.‘Don’tyouthinkpeoplewouldfreakout?’IaskSanderson.‘Imean,lookaround.Imaginewhatwill

happenwhentheMogsactuallyshowthemselves?Startwalkingaround?Takingthingsover?There’dbepanic,riots–evenwithyourbullshitdiplomacy.Howwasyourplanevergoingtowork?’‘Ofcoursehethoughtofthat,’Sandersonsays.‘That’showSetrákusRaplanstoidentifythedissidents.

Theproblemelements.’‘Sohe’llknowwhotokill,’Ninegrunts.‘That’ssick,’Samsays.‘Asmallpricetopayforhumanity’ssurvival,’Sandersonargues.

‘I’veseenthefutureunderMogadorianrule,’ItellSanderson.‘Believeme.It’sabiggerpricethanyou’rewillingtopay.’SamgivesmeaworriedlookandIrealizehowcoldImustsound,likewarwiththeMogadorianson

Earthisinevitable,likethere’snothingwecandoatthispointtokeeppeoplefromgettinghurt.Intruth,I’mnotsurethatthereisawaytoresolvethiswithoutbloodshed.Thewarishereandit’sgoingtobefought.ButIneedtheotherstokeepuphope.‘Itdoesn’thavetobethatway,’Iadd.‘We’regoingtostopSetrákusRabeforethisgoesanyfurther.

Butyouhavetohelpus.’Sandersonnods,hiseyesfixedonthestage.‘Youwantmetogothroughwithit.’‘Drawhimout,justlikehewants,’Isay,pullingupthehoodonmysweatshirt.‘Andwe’lltakehim

down.’‘You’repowerfulenoughforthat?’AsIlookoveratSandersontorespond,IcanseethesamequestioninSam’seyes.Hewasn’tatour

lastfightwithSetrákusRa,butheknowsitdidn’tgowell.ThatwaswiththewholeGarde–nowit’sjustmeandNine.Well,andallthegunsAgentWalkercanbringtobear.‘Ihavetobe,’ItellSanderson.AswegetclosertothefrontoftheUNandthestage,wepassbyaguydressedlikeabikemessenger

surroundedbyafewnewscameras.It’snoticeablebecausehe’stheonlythingcommandinganypressattentionaroundherebesidesthegiantMogadorianwarship.Ifocusmysensestohearwhathe’ssaying.‘Iswear,theguyfelloutofthesky!’thebikemessengerexclaimstoaskepticalpresscorps.‘Ormaybe

hefloateddown,Idon’tknow.Hehitthegroundhard,buthisskinwas,like,coveredinarmororsomething.Helookedallsortsofmessedup.’Nine’shandclampsdownonmyshoulder.Heheardit,too,andhe’ssodistractedthathestops

telekineticallypushingpeopleaside.Theagentsescortingusshuffleandgroanasthecrowdsurgesin,buttheymanagetokeepthemback.‘Youheardthat,right?’Nineasks,hiseyespracticallyglowingwithbloodlust.‘Hecouldjustbesomenutjob,’Isay,referringtothebikemessenger,althoughIdon’treallybelieveit.

‘Thiskindofthingdefinitelybringsthemout.’‘Noway,’Ninesays,excitementinhisvoice.Hiseyesdartaroundthecrowdwitharenewedinterest.

‘Fiveishere,man.Fiveishere,andI’mgoingtosmashhisfatfacein.’

27

Ifeelnumb.Inthedockingbay,Icatchaglimpseofmyselfinthepearl-coloredarmorpanelingofthesmallship

we’llbetakingtoManhattan.Ilookghostly.Therearehugebagsundermyeyes.Theydressedmeupinanewformalgown,blackwithredsashesthroughout,andpulledmyhairbackinaponytailsoseverethatmyscalpfeelslikeit’speelingawayfrommyskull.PrincessoftheMogadorians.Idon’treallycare.I’vegotacloudyfeeling,likeI’mjustfloatingalong.ApartofmeknowsthatI

shouldbefocusingup,gettingmyheadstraight.Ijustcan’t.Theentrancetothetransportshipopensandasmallstaircaseunfoldsformetoclimbup.SetrákusRa

gentlyplaceshishandonmyshoulderandurgesmeforward.‘Herewego,dear,’hesays.Hisvoicesoundsfaraway.‘Bigday.’Idon’tmoveatfirst.ButthenapainstartsupinmyshoulderwhereIwasstabbed.Itfeelslikelittle

wormswigglingaroundundermyskin.TheacheonlysubsideswhenIputonefootinfrontoftheother,climbupthestepsandflopintooneofthevessel’sbucketseats.‘Good,’SetrákusRasays,andfollowsmeaboard.Hesitsdowninthepilot’sseatandtheshipsealsup

behindus.HishumanformhasbeenrestoredafterhisscufflewithFive,andhe’sdressedhimselfinasleekblacksuitwithcrimsonflourishes.Thecolorschemedoesn’tcomplementthefatherlyhumanfacehe’swearing–itmakeshimlooksternandauthoritative.Idon’ttellhimthat,bothbecauseIdon’twanttohelphimandbecauseitseemsliketoomuchefforttotalk.IwishIcouldjustsleepthroughthis.Theydidsomethingtomeafterthegashopeneduponmyshoulder.Iwasinandoutofconsciousness

frombloodloss,somymemoryisfoggy.IcanrememberSetrákusRacarryingmedowntothemedicalbay,aplaceontheshipIhadn’thadthebadlucktoexploreuntilthen.Iremembertheminjectingmywoundwithsomethingblackandoozing.I’mprettysurethatIscreamedfromthepain.Butthenmywoundstartedtoclose.Itwasn’tlikethetimesI’dbeenhealedbyMarinaorJohn.Inthosecases,itfeltlikemyinjurieswereknittingbacktogether,likemyfleshwasregrowing.UndertheMogs’‘care,’itfeltlikemyfleshwasbeingreplacedbysomethingelse,somethingcoldandforeign.Somethingaliveandhungry.Icanstillfeelit,crawlingaroundbeneaththeperfect,paleskinofmynowuninjuredshoulder.SetrákusRaflipsafewswitchesontheconsole,andourlittlesphericalshippowersup.Thewalls

becometranslucent.It’stheMogadorianversionoftintedglass,though–wecanseeout,butnoonecanseein.Iturnmyheadtostudythedockingbaythat’scrowdedwithcombat-readyMogadorians.Theyallstand

perfectlystill,hundredsofthemarrangedinorderlylines,allofthemwiththeirfistsclenchedovertheirhearts.They’resalutingtheirBelovedLeaderashesetsouttoconquerEarth.Ilookattheirpasty,expressionlessfacesandtheirdark,emptyeyes.Arethesemypeople?AmIbecomingoneofthem?

Itseemseasiesttogivein.SetrákusRaisabouttogetusmovingwhenaredlightflashesononeofhisvideoscreensandashrill

buzzingsounds.Thenoisewakesmeupalittle.SomeunluckyunderlingistryingtocallSetrákusRarightinthemiddleofhisbigday.SetrákusRa’sjawsetsinannoyanceattheincomingmessageand,foramoment,Ithinkhemightignoreit.Finally,hejabsabuttonandafrazzledMogadoriancommunicationsofficerappearson-screen.‘Whatisit?’snarlsSetrákusRa.‘Deepestapologiesfortheinterruption,BelovedLeader,’theofficersays,keepinghiseyesdowncast.

‘YouhaveanurgentmessagefromPhiriDun-Ra.’‘Ithadbetterbe,’SetrákusRagrumbles.Hewavesahandimpatientlyatthescreen.‘Verywell.Puther

through.’Thescreenflashes,crackles,andthenaMogadorianwomanappears.Shehastwolongbraidspinned

uparoundherbaldheadandasizablecutabovehereyebrow.She’ssurroundedonallsidesbyjungle.Apparently,amessagefromthistruebornisimportantenoughtodelayourflightdowntoNewYork.Itrytositupalittlebitinmyseat,fightingthroughthefogtopayattention.‘Whatisit,Phiri?’SetrákusRasays,coldly.‘Whyhaveyoucontactedmedirectly?’TheMogwoman,Phiri,hesitatesbeforeshespeaks.Maybeshe’stakenabackbythehumanface

addressingherwithsuchauthority.Ormaybeshe’sjustscaredofherBelovedLeader.‘They’rehere,’Phirisaysatlast,anoteoftriumphinhervoice.‘TheGardehaveactivatedthe

Sanctuary.’SetrákusRaleansbackinhisseat,hiseyebrowsarchedinsurprise.Helaceshishandsinfrontofhim

inconsideration.‘Verygood,’hereplies.‘Excellent.Yourordersaretokeepthemthere,PhiriDun-Ra.Onyourlife.I

willjoinyoushortly.’‘Asyouwish,Belo–’SetrákusRaseverstheconnectionbeforePhiriDun-Racanfinish.ThementionsoftheGardeandthe

Sanctuaryhavemealittlemoreaware.ItrytothinkofSixandMarina,ofJohnandNine–Iknowtheywouldwantmetofightthroughthis.It’sjustsodifficulttokeepmymindfromgoingblank,tokeepmybodyfromslouching.‘ForyearsI’vepursuedthem,’SetrákusRasaysquietly,almosttohimself.‘Towipeoutthelastbitof

resistancetoMogadorianProgress.TotakecontrolofwhatthoseElderfoolsburiedonthisplanet.Now,thedayhascomewheneverythingI’vefoughtforwillbemine,allatonce.Tellme,granddaughter,howcantherebeanydoubtofMogadoriansuperiority?’Hedoesn’treallywantaresponse.SetrákusRajustlikestohearhimselftalk.Iletaslow,medicated

smileformonmyface.Thatseemstopleasehim.Mygrandfatherreachesoutandpatsmeontheknee.‘You’refeelingbetter,aren’tyou?’hesays.Heflipsafewleversontheconsoleandourship’sengines

vibratetolife.‘Come.Letusgotakewhatisours.’Withthat,SetrákusRanavigatestheshipforward.Wezipthroughthedockingbay,pasttherowsof

Mogadorianwarriors.Theythumptheirfistsagainsttheirchestsaswego,shoutingoutgravellyMogadorianencouragement.WeexitthroughthesamepassageasFive’sbody.Thatpart–seeinghimbrutalizedandthentossedasidelikesomuchgarbage–I’mgladtolosetothefog.

WedescendonManhattan.Icanseeallthehumansgatheredbelow.Therearethousandsofthemcrowdedinfrontofafancy-lookingsetofbuildingsanditssurroundingcampus.Icanmakeoutastagedownthere,too.It’sallbuiltonthebankofagray,choppyriver.IremembertheWashingtonfrommyvision,thesmokysmellsthatchokedtheair.ThatwillbeNewYorksoon.Iwonderifthesepeoplewillthrowthemselvesintotheriverwhentheircitybeginstoburn.Thepeoplebelowpointupatourship.Icanhearthemshoutingandscreamingoutgreetings.These

humans–theoneswhocameclosesttotheAnubis–theydon’tthinkthey’reinanydanger.Itoccurstomethatwe’retravelingintothisthrongofpeoplewithoutanyMogadorianguards.Ilollmy

headtowardsmygrandfather,wetmylipsandmanagetofindwords.‘We’refacingthemalone?’Iaskhim.Hesmiles.‘Ofcourse.Imeantoelevatethesepeople,notharmthem.Wehavenothingtofearfromthe

humans.MyservantsonEarthhavearrangedforagreetingthatIfindmorethansuitable.’He’suptosomething,obviously.Probablyalreadyhasthiswholeeventplannedout.Iknowit’s

unlikelyevenacrowdofhumansthissizewouldstandachanceagainstSetrákusRaandallhispowers,butpartofmehopesmaybeoneofthemwillseethroughwhateversideshowhe’sgotplannedandtakesomeshotsatthescaryalien.Ofcourse,thatwouldmeanmydeathbeforetheycouldstopSetrákusRa.Atthispoint,itseemsalmost

worthit.IfeelwhatevertheMogadoriansinjectedintomecrawlingaroundbeneathmyskin.Ican’tendureanymoreofthat.Thedescentisover.Wehoveraboutfifteenfeetabovethestage.Anervous-lookingoldermaninasuit,

somekindofpolitician,waitsforusthere.Thereareflashbulbsgoingofflikecrazy.Iblinkmyeyesandtrytokeepfromsleepwalkingthroughthis.‘Come,Ella.Letusgreetoursubjects,’SetrákusRasays.Hepicksuphisgoldencane,theobsidian

EyeofThaloccatchingthelight.I’mnotsurewhyhebroughtthatwithhim.Iguesshedoesn’twanttofaceourso-calledsubjectscompletelyunarmed.Ormaybehethinksitmakeshimlooknoble–likeakingwithascepter.Istandup,slightlyunsteady.SetrákusRaoffersmehisarm.Ihookmyhandthroughit.Thedoorofourtransportshipopensandaglowingstaircaseextendsoutward,creatingapathforusto

thestage.Thecrowdgaspsasweemerge.Throughmyblearyeyes,IcanseedozensofTVcamerastrainedonus.Thecrowdishushedinamazement.Whatdowelookliketothem?Aliens…aliensthatlookexactlylikehumans.Ahandsomeoldermanandhispalegranddaughter.SetrákusRaraiseshishandandwavestothepeople.It’saroyalthing,courtlyandshowy.Whenhe

speaks,hisvoiceboomslikehe’shookeduptoamicrophone.‘Greetings,peopleofEarth!’hebellowsinperfectEnglish,hisvoicefirmandreassuring.‘Mynameis

SetrákusRaandthisismygranddaughter,Ella.Wehavetraveledagreatdistancetocomehumblybeforeyouwithwishesofpeace!’Thecrowdactuallycheers.Theydon’tknowanybetter.SetrákusRagazesbeatificallyacrossalltheir

upturnedfaces.Butwhenhiseyessettleontheoldmanstandingonthestage,Ifeelatensiongothroughhisarm.‘Hmm,’SetrákusRasaysunderhisbreath.Somethingisn’tright.Thegreeterisn’twhatheexpected.Or

maybethereweresupposedtobemorehumanswaitingonstagewithoutstretchedarms.Maybetherewere

supposedtobebouquetsofflowers.Undeterred,SetrákusRadrawshimselfupalittletallerandproceedsdowntherestofthesteps.‘Wehavemuchtoofferyourpeople!’hecontinuesinhisbooming,charitablevoice.‘Advancementsin

medicinetohealyoursick,farmingtechniquestofeedyourhungryandtechnologythatwillmakeyourliveseasierandmoreproductive.Allweaskinreturn,afterourlongjourney,isshelterfromthecoldofspace.’Iglanceoverthecrowdtoseeifanyofthemarebuyingit.Ienduplockingeyeswithayoungguyinthe

frontrow,pusheduprightnexttosomeTVcameras,hisdarkeyesseekingmine.Hewearsahoodedsweatshirt,longblackhairspillingoutfrominside,andhe’stallandathletic,and–Inmycondition,itactuallytakesmeamomenttorecognizehim.Notsolongago,Ibalancedonhis

shouldersandhetaughtmehowtofight.Nine.Seeinghim,knowingthatI’mnotalone,thatallisn’tlostjustyet–itmakesmesnapbacktomysenses.

Thepaininmyshoulderincreasesexponentially,likesomethingistryingtocrawlitswayoutofme.Whatever’sinsidemedoesn’twantmetousemyLegacies.Iignoreitandreachoutwithmytelepathy.Nine!Hiscane!It’showhechangesforms!Gethiscaneandsmashit!AferalgrinspreadsonNine’sfaceandhenodstome.Myheartbeatquickens.Nexttome,SetrákusRa’sposturehasstiffened.Myhandistrappedinthecrookofhiselbow.He

knowsthatsomethingisup,yetheproceedswiththeshowallthesame.‘Iexpectedmoreofthemtobehereonthismomentousoccasion,yetIseeoneofyourleadershascome

outtogreetme!’SetrákusRaextendshishandtotheoldman.‘Icometoyouinpeace,sir!Letthiscementthefriendshipbetweenourtwogreatraces.’InsteadofclaspingSetrákusRa’shand,theoldmantakesastepaway.There’sdeepfearinhiseyes,

butit’snotrun-and-screamfear.It’scorneredanimalfear.Theoldmanhasamicrophoneofhisownand,astheTVcamerasswinginhisdirection,hebeginstoyell.‘Thisman–thisthing–isaliar!’‘What–’SetrákusRatakesanaggressivesteptowardstheoldman,andI’mloosedfromhiselbow.

ForthefirsttimesinceI’vebeeninhiscompany,theMogadorianleaderactuallylookssurprised.Surprisedandfurious.Amurmurofuncertaintypassesthroughthecrowd.Theoldmanshoutssomethingelse–Ihearthe

words‘enslavement’and‘death,’butotherwiseIcan’treallyhearhim.Noonecan.SetrákusRahasusedhistelekinesistocrushtheoldman’smicrophone.‘Youmustbeconfused,myfriend,’SetrákusRasaysthroughgrittedteeth,stilltryingtosalvagethis

farce.‘Myintentionsarepu–’SetrákusRaissuddenlyknockedoffbalance.Iknowwhy.Atelekineticattack.Iwatchashisgolden

caneisrippedoutofhishand.Nineplucksitoutoftheairashehopsontothestage,grinningatSetrákusRa.Isensemovementtomyleft.IturnmyheadtoseeJohnalsohopontothestage.They’reflankinghim,

justlikewepractisedintheLectureHall.Pepperedthroughoutthecrowd,Iseemenandwomenindarksuits,allofthemslylypullingfirearmsintoview.Thecrowdisbeginningtobuzzassomecivilians–thesmarterones–begintobackawayfromthestage.

It’satrap,Irealizegleefully.TheGardearehere!Now,SetrákusRareallylookssurprised.And,dareIsay,alittlefrightened.‘Youhavebeenledastray!’SetrákusRascreams,pointinghisnowemptyhandsatNineandJohn.

‘Theseboysarefugitives!Terroristsfrommyhomeworld!Idon’tknowwhatthey’vetoldyou–’‘Wehaven’ttoldthemanything,’Johnsays,interrupting.Hisvoicedoesn’tcarrylikeSetrákusRa’s,but

peopleinthecrowdcranetheirneckstolisten.‘We’llletthemmakeuptheirownminds.Agenocidalmaniaciseasytospot.’‘Lies!’Doitnow!IurgeNinetelepathically.‘IwonderwhatwillhappenifIdothis?’Nineasks,fiddlingwithSetrákusRa’scane.BeforeSetrákus

Racanlungeinhisdirection,Nineraisesthecaneoverhisheadandsmashesitdownonthestage.Theobsidianeyeinitscenterexplodesinacloudofash.Thingshappenquicklyafterthat.SetrákusRa’sbodybeginstothrashandspasm.Thehandsomehumanformhe’sbeensoattachedto

beginstosloughoffhim,likeasnakesheddingitsskin.TherealSetrákusRa–palevergingonbloodless,ancientandhideous,tattooedacrosshisbaldskull,athickscararoundhisneck,cladinspikyMogadorianarmor–standsrevealedonthestage.Manyinthecrowdscream.Evenmorerecoilinhorrorandturntorun.Agunshotgoesoff–Ihearthe

bulletwhistlepastmyearbeforeitricochetsharmlesslyofftheMogadorianshipbehindme.Thegunshotsonlyfrightenpeoplemoreandnowit’safull-blownstampedeinfrontofthestage.Moreshotsarefired,thistimeintotheair.OneoftheagentstakingaimonSetrákusRagoesdown,bull-rushedbytheterrifiedspectators.It’schaos.Withamonstroushowl,SetrákusRagrowstofifteenfeetinsize.Thestagebeneathusgroans.Theold

manwhowasonstagewiththeGardetriestorunintothecrowd,butSetrákusRagrabshimwithhistelekinesisandhurlshimlikeamissileintoNine.Thetwoofthemfalloffthestageinaheap.FireballscometolifeinJohn’shands.TheygooutimmediatelyasSetrákusRatriggershisDreynen

field.Thatdoesn’tstopJohnfromchargingin,pullinghisLoricdaggeroutofhissheathashecomes.‘Yes!’SetrákusRascreams,beckoningJohnin.‘Comeracingtowardsyourdeath,boy!’UnaffectedbySetrákusRa’sversionofDreynen,Ipickupabrokenpieceofhiscane.Myfingersare

clumsyandInearlydropittwicebeforeI’mabletograspittightlyenough.Iconcentrate,ignoretheshreddingpainundermyskinandchargetheshrapnelwithmyDreynen.Whenthebrokenshardglowsbrightred,IjabitintothebackofSetrákusRa’sleg.TheMogadorianoverlordcriesoutandshrinksdowntohisnormalsize.IsensetheDreynenfield

cancelingLegacieslift.Toolate,SetrákusRastumblesforwardinafutileattempttogetawayfromme.TheDreynen-chargedcaneisburiedaninchdeepinthebackofhiscalf.WhenSetrákusRayanksitout,atrickleofnight-blackblooddarkenshistrouserleg.Nowthatit’soffhim,I’mnotsurehowlongtheeffectsofmyDreynenwilllast.Waitasecond.He’sbleeding.Thedamagewasn’ttransferredtome.Everycharmhasaweakness,

that’swhatSetrákusRasaidrightbeforeheburnedtheterriblethingintomyankle.Icanhurthim.I’mtheonlyonewhocanhurtSetrákusRa.

IbarelyhavetimetoprocessthisinformationbeforeSetrákusRaroundsonme,hiseyeswidewithoutrage.Hebackhandsme,hard,andI’mtossedintotheair.ThewindgoesoutofmewhenIhitthestage,myheadswimmingagain.Hemust’veknownthatevenifIfiguredouttheloopholewiththeMogadoriancharm,Iwouldn’tbestrongenoughtofighthim.SetrákusRastandsoverme,hishideousfeaturescreasedwithfury.Hereachesdown,fingersgrasping

formythroat.‘Youtreasonouslittlebi–!’Johnbarrelsintohimshoulder-firstandknocksSetrákusRaoffhisfeet.SetrákusRalandshardonhis

sideandIfeelbruisespuffupimmediatelyonmyownelbow.Iacceptthepain.There’smoretocome.I’mnotstrongenoughtofighthim,butI’vedonemypart.IdrainedhisLegacies.Now,theotherscandowhathastobedone.Johndoesn’tletup.HepouncesonSetrákusRa,whotriestoscrambleaway.TheMogadorianruler

doesn’tlooksofrighteningnow,tryingtocrabwalkawayfromJohn.I’mhappytoseehimsopatheticanddesperate.Heshouldknowhowthatfeelsbeforehedies.Beforewedie.Johnmanagestostraddlehim.Heraiseshisdaggerabovehishead.Itakeadeepbreathandbrace

myself.‘ThisisforLorien!AndforEarth!’Iknowwhathappensnext.JohnwillstabSetrákusRa,andI’lldie.ItwillbreaktheMogadoriancharm,

andthentheGardewillbeabletokillSetrákusRaforreal.It’sworthit.I’llgladlydieifitmeansendingSetrákusRa’smiserablelife.Doit!IscreamatJohntelepathically.Nomatterwhathappens!Doit!AsJohnbringshisdaggerdown,Ihearawhooshingsound.Somethingisflyinginthisdirection.Fast.Abeadofbloodticklesmythroat,asmallcutopeningup.That’showcloseJohn’sbladecomesbefore

achrome-platedcannonballfliesthroughtheair,knockshimoffSetrákusRaandsendshimcrashingthroughthestage.Five.He’saliveandhejustsavedmylife.Savedmylifeanddoomedusall.BeforeIcanreact,thestagecreaksandcollapses.Islidedownthetiltedpieceofwoodandlandhard

onthepavementbelow.Allaroundme,peoplearerunningandscreaming.SetrákusRalandsnexttome.Hereachesdownandgrabsmebythehair,yankingmeviciouslytomyfeet.‘You’lldieforthisembarrassment,child,’hesnarls,andbeginsdraggingmeoverthewreckedstage

towardshisship.Ninestandsinhisway.

28

Myshoulderisdislocated,thatmuchIknowforsure.I’monmybackwithjaggedpiecesofthedestroyedstagediggingintome.I’mseeingdoubleandit’shardtobreathe.IfeellikeIjustgothitbyacar.Notacar.Five.Thetraitorstandsoverme,gulpingdowndeepbreaths.Hisskinismetallic,buthestilllooksbadly

injured.He’swearinganeyepatch,forstarters.Onesideofhisfacelooksswollen,andIthinkIactuallyseedentsinthemetalcarapacethatcovershisskull.He’smissingacoupleofteeth.I’mnotsurewherehepickedupthoseinjuries,andIdon’tcare.Thebastardblindsidedme.Iwassoclose.SetrákusRawasasgoodasdead.Mydaggerisstillattachedtomywrist,butit’sthearmthat’sdislocated.Igropeforit,tryingtoswitch

hands.BeforeIcanmanageit,Fiveliftsmebythefrontofmytatteredsweatshirt.‘Listentome!’heshoutsinmyface.‘Gotohell,’Ireply.Withmyworkingarm,IgrabFive’smetalforearmandheatupmyLumenashotasitcango.Whatever

metalhe’sturnedinto,itdefinitelyhasaboilingpoint.IwonderifIcangethismetalshelltomeltoffbeforehecandowhateverhe’sgotplanned.‘Stopit,John!’Fiveyelps,shakingme.‘YoumurderedEight,yousonofabitch!’Noxious-smellingsteamcurlsupfrombetweenmyfingers.Five’seyewidensafraction,buthedoesn’t

letmelooseandhedoesn’tpullaway.I’mhurtinghimandhe’sjusttakingit.‘Youarrogantasshole,’Fivesnaps,andhecocksbackhisfistlikehe’sgoingtostrikeme.I’mnotsureI

havethestrengthtostophim.Hisclenchedfisttrembles,andheseemstoreconsider.‘Listentome,John!IfyouhurtSetrákusRa,thedamagewillbedonetoElla!’IlettheheatofmyLumendiedownafraction.Myhandfeelsstickywithmoltenmetal.‘What?Whatareyoutalkingabout?’‘It’sacharm,liketheonetheEldersusedonus,’Fivesays.‘He’stwisteditsomehow.’IturnoffmyLumenentirely.IsFivetryingtohelpusnow?DidheknockmeoffSetrákusRanotto

protecthisBelovedLeaderbuttosaveElla?Idon’tknowwhattothink.‘Howdowebreakit?’Ishoutathim.‘Howdowekillhim?’‘Idon’tknow,’Fivereplies,glancingoverhisshoulder.Hisexpressionsuddenlygoesdarkagain,that

furyI’dseenwhenhewasabouttopunchmereignited.‘Damnhim!’Fiveripsawayfrommeandtakesflight.IclimbbacktomyfeetjustintimetoseeNinechargingat

SetrákusRa.Heholdsabrokenpieceofthestageoutinfrontofhimlikeaspear.‘Nine!Don’t!’Ninedoesn’thearme,probablybecausehe’stoobusygettingsideswipedbyFive.Thetwoofthemgo

crashingintothewreckageofthestage,brokenpiecesofwoodflyingeverywhere.Oncetheyhit,itlooks

likeFivetriestotakeflightagain,butNinegetsholdofhisankle.‘Whereyougoing,fatboy?’IhearNineyell.Ninegetsbacktohisfeet,stillholdingFive’sankle,andthenswingshimwithallhismight.Fiveflaps

hisarmsinafutileattempttogetsomemomentum,buthe’soverpowered.NineslamsFiveface-firstontothepavement.Chunksofconcreteflyupfromtheimpact,andFive’sheadmakesthesoundofabellringingwhenithits.Inoticehismetallicshellmomentarilyswitchbacktonormalskin–thatmust’vehurtFiveenoughtomakeithardtofocusonhisExterna.‘Nine!Enough!’Ishout,pushinglooseofmyownpileofbrokenwood.Nineglancesinmydirection,andthat’swhenFiveuppercutshim.Witharoar,Ninedivesbackathim,

andtheyslamtogether.Theyhurlpunchesateachother,atangledmessoflimbsthatIlosesightofwhentheygocrashingthroughthefrontwindowoftheUnitedNationsbuilding.Ican’tworryaboutthemnow.IhavetogettoSetrákusRa.IhavetosaveElla.Iwon’tletherbetakenforasecondtime.Myleftarmhangslimpatmyside.I’dneedtopopmyshoulderbackinbeforeIcouldhealmyself,butI

don’thavetimeforthat.Ishakecrustyflakesofmetaloffmyhandandstrapmydaggertothewristofmyworkingarm.I’llhavetodothisonehanded.Surprisingly,SetrákusRadoesn’tseemtheleastbitinterestedinstayingtofight.HedragsEllathrough

therubble,headingforthepearl-shapedshiphearrivedin.EllalooksalotlikeshedidinthatvisionwesharedofWashington,D.C.–likeshe’sbeendrainedofsomethingessential.Iwonderwhattheydidtoheronthatwarship.Nomatterwhathappens!Doit!Ellahadshoutedinmymind.Nomatterwhathappens.Fivemustnot

belying.EllaknewwhattheconsequencesofmestabbingSetrákusRawouldbe,andsheacceptedthem.Whatevertheydidtoher,theMogsdidn’tbreakher.Shehadenoughfightleftinhertohelpus.Itwas

likeDulceBasealloveragain.ShestuckSetrákusRawithaglowingpieceofdebris,andmyLegaciesinstantlycameback.ShedrainedSetrákusRa’spowers,Irealize.And,judgingbyhiscowardlyretreat,theystillhaven’t

returnedtohim.ImightnotbeabletokillSetrákusRa,butthatdoesn’tmeanIcan’tsubduehim.Let’sseethe

MogadoriansinvadewhileI’mholdingtheirBelovedLeaderhostage.Iraceacrossthelopsidedandbrokenstage,tryingtocutoffSetrákusRabeforehecanreachhisship.

Ellaseesmecominganddigsherheelsin.ShestrugglesagainstRa’sgripandthisslowshimupjustenough.I’mgoingtocatchhim.‘SetrákusRa!’Damnit.Notnow.TheMogadorianleaderdoesn’tevenacknowledgeAgentWalkerasshecomesathimfromhisother

side.Doessheexpecthimtofreeze?It’sherandtwootheragentswhohavemanagedtoextricatethemselvesfromtheriotous,panickingcrowd.Samiswiththem.Theystopafewyardsoff,theirgunsleveled.EvenSamlooksreadytofire–hiseyesnarrowed,hismouthpressedintoafirmline.IrememberthoseacidburnsonSam’swrists.TheycamecourtesyofSetrákusRa.I’msurehe’sreadytosettlethatscore.‘Wait!’IyellatSamandWalker,butI’mtoolate.

SetrákusRajerkshisheadinthedirectionoftheagentsandSam,likethey’reanannoyingbugthatneedstobeswatted.WiththehandnotholdingElla,SetrákusRaproducesthatthree-headedwhipofhisfromwhereit’shiddenunderhistornuniform.Beforehecanlashoutatthem,theagentsandSamopenfire.Ican’tbelievewhatI’mabouttodo.Istopthebulletsinmidairwithmytelekinesis.I’mnotsureiftheywouldhaveevenpenetrated

SetrákusRa’sarmor,butIcan’triskit.Idon’tletSamandtheothershaveachancetorealizealltheirshotshavemissed.Instead,Ishovetheentiregroupbackwardswithmytelekinesis.Nothardenoughtohurtthem,buthardenoughtoknockthemoversomeofthebrokenstagedebris.It’salsoenoughtoputthemoutofrangeofSetrákusRa’swhip.I’llapologizelater.SetrákusRadoesn’tgivetheagentsasecondlook.Thebriefdistractionwasallheneededtoreachthe

stepsofhisshipaheadofme.Heboundsupthem,draggingEllaalongbehindhim,anddisappearsintothevessel.Isprintforward,determinednottolethimescape.Theshipbeginstoriseupbeforethestaircasehas

fullyfoldedbackintoitssmoothbody.Icanstillcatchthem.Icanstillstophim.I’msoclose.Idiveforwardandmanagetograbthebottomstepwithmygoodhand.Theshipcontinuestorisewhilethestepsrecedebacktowardstheopendoorway.Theypullmecloser

towardsSetrákusRaandElla,evenastheshiprisesfartherawayfromtheEarth.IswingoneofmylegsupsothatI’mhookedaroundthebottomstep.Soon,we’realmostahundredfeetintheair,gettingcloserandclosertothewarshipabove.Thestepsfolduplikeanaccordionintoapanelatthebaseoftheship’sentrance.IpushoffthestepI’d

beengraspingbeforeI’mcrushedinthemechanismandlungefortheopendoorway.Itisn’teasytodowithonlyonegoodarm.Ienduphangingfromthedoorway’sedge,mygoodarmstartingtofeelhyperextended.Mylegsdangleabovewhatisnowatwo-hundred-footdrop.SetrákusRastandsoverme.Histhree-headedwhipdanglesinmyface,thetipsalivewithcrackling

fire.Idon’tthinkheplanstopullmetherestofthewayin.IcatchaglimpseofEllathroughhislegs.She’sslouchedinoneofthecockpit’schairs,lookingtotally

sedated.Iwon’tbegettinganyhelpfromher.‘JohnSmith,isn’tit?’SetrákusRaasksconversationally.‘Thankyouforthehelpdownthere.’‘Iwasn’ttryingtohelpyou.’‘Butyoudid,regardless.ThatisonereasonwhyIwillletyoulive.’Igrimace.Mygripslipsalittle.Ineedtocomeupwithaplaysoon.It’shardtochuckafireballwith

onearmdislocatedandtheotherholdingonfordearlife.It’llhavetobemytelekinesis.MaybeifIcanpushhimback…It’sgone.Mytelekinesisisgone.Drained,justlikebefore.SetrákusRasmilesatme.HisLegaciesarereturning.I’vefailed.Hecrouchesdownsohecangetrightinmyface.‘Theotherreason,’hehisses,‘issoyoucanseehowImakethisplanetburn.’SetrákusRastraightensupagainandnonchalantlyflickshiswhipatme.Thethreeheadsstrikemeright

acrosstheface.I’mimmunetothefire,butthelashesstilldigthreegroovesacrossmycheek.

It’senoughtomakemelosemygrip.I’mfalling.AsIplummettowardstheriverbelow,IfeelmyLegaciessnapbackon.Imustbefarenoughaway

fromSetrákusRa.Quickly,Ipushdownwithmytelekinesis,doingeverythingIcantoslowmyfall.IstillhittheEastRiverhard.It’slikegettingslappedacrossmywholebody.Dirtywaterfloodsmy

lungsandforaterrifyingsecondI’mnotsurewhichwayisup,whichwaytoswim.Imanagetoresurface,chokingandspitting,andtryingtoswimagainstthecurrentwithonlyonearm.Iendupdoinganawkwardbackstroke,gaspingforbreaththeentireway.I’mexhaustedbythetimeIreachthebank,slightlydownriverfromthechaosattheUN,surroundedonallsidesbytrashanddeadfish.‘John!John!Areyouallright?’It’sSam.Herunsacrossthemudtowardsme.Hemusthaveseenmefallandfollowedmehere.He

skidsintothemucknexttome.Icanonlymanageagroanbywayofgreeting.Ithinksomeofmyribsarebroken.‘Canyoumove?’Samasks,gingerlytouchingmyscrewed-upshoulder.Inod.WithSam’shelp,Imakeitbacktomyfeet.I’msoaked,bruised,brokeninplaces,withthreelong

cutsacrossmyface.I’mnotsurewhattohealfirst.‘Where’sNine?’Imanagetoask.‘Ilosthiminthechaos,’Samreplies,hisvoicebreaking.‘HeandFivewerekillingeachother.Walker

andherpeoplearetryingtoevacuatecivilians.It’scrazyupthere.John,whatdowedo?’Istarttoopenmymouth,hopingaplanwillcometomeifIjuststarttalking,butanearbyexplosion

cutsmeoff.Theimpactispowerfulenoughthatmyteethclicktogether.IlookupattheskyjustintimetoseetheMogadorianwarshipopenfireonNewYork.

29

Eight’seyes,brightlyglowingembersofpureLoralite,assesseachoneofusinturn.TheylingerforaparticularlylongtimeonAdam–longenoughtomakeourMogadorianallytakeanervousstepbackwards.LikeMarina,I’mrootedinplace,staringatourfriendbroughtbacktosomekindoflife.EightfloatsovertheSanctuary’swellinacolumnofunleashedenergy.No,hedoesn’tjustfloatintheenergy.Theenergyisapartofhim.Orit.I’mprettysurethat’snotoursarcastic,goofyfriendfloatingupthere.Whateveritis,Ifeela

strangekinshipwiththeentity,almostlikethesameenergynowreanimatingEightisflowingthroughme,too.It’sthesameelectricrushIgetwhenIusemyLegacies.MaybeI’mlookingattheessenceofwhatmakesmeLoric,whatmakesmeGarde.MaybeI’mlookingatLorienitself.‘TwoLoricandaMogadorian,’theentitysaysatlast,itsappraisalofuscomplete.Itsvoiceisnothing

likeEight’susedtobe–it’slikeahundredvoicesspeakingatonce,allofthemperfectlyintune.TheflashingpoolsofenergywhereEight’seyesusedtobelingeronAdamagainandtheentity’slipspurseincuriosity.‘Exceptnotquite.Youaresomethingdifferent.Somethingnew.’‘Uh,thankyou?’Adamreplies,andtakesanotherstepbackwards.Marinaclearsherthroatandstepsclosertothewell.Therearetearsinhereyes.Herhandsextendout

infrontofher,likeshewantstograbattheentity’shandandmakesurehe’sreal.‘Eight?Isthatyou?’Hervoiceishardtohearovertherhythmicpulsingbeneaththewell.TheentityturnshisgazeonMarinaandfrowns.‘No.Iamsorry,daughter.Yourfriendisgone.’Marina’sshouldersheavewithdisappointment.ThethinginEight’sbodyreachesouttocomforther,

butenergycracklesbetweenthemanditendsuppullingback.‘Heiswithmenow,’theentitysays,soothingly.‘Hedoesmeagreatservice,lettingmespeakthrough

him.IthasbeenalongtimesinceIhadavoice.’‘AreyouLorien?’Iask,atlastfindingmyownvoice.‘Areyou,like,theplanet?’Theentityseemstoconsidermyquestion.ThroughthethinfabricofEight’sshirt,Icanseehiswound

lightup.Itglowscobaltblueliketherestofhim,hisentirebodyfilledupwiththeenergy.It’sseepingoutofhim.‘Iwascalledthatonce,yes,’theentitysays,andwavesitshandattheglowingcarvingsonthewalls.

‘Inotherplaces,Iwascalledotherthings.Andnow,onthisplanet,Iwillbecalledsomethingnew.’‘You’reagod,’Marinabreathes.‘No.Isimplyam.’Ishakemyhead.Godornot,weneedthisthing’shelp.Wedon’thavetimeforriddles.I’msuddenly

really,reallytiredofcavedrawingsandpropheciesandglowingpeople.‘Doyouknowwhat’shappening?’IaskEight–Lorien–whateveritis.‘TheMogadoriansare

invading.’

Theentity’seyesturnonceagaintoAdam.‘Notallofthem,Isee.’Adamlooksuncomfortable.Theentityquicklyturnsaway.Itstaresupattheceilingandit’sasifthose

cracklingeyescanseeoutsideofthetemple.Likeitcanseeeverything.‘Yes.Theyarecoming,’theentitysays,hisechoingvoiceapparentlybemusedbytheimpending

Mogadorianinvasion.‘Theirleaderhaschasedmeforaverylongtime.YourEldersforesawthefallofLorienandchosetoprotectme.Theyhidmehereinhopesthatitwoulddelayhim.’‘Itdidn’tgosohot,’Ireply.Marinaelbowsme.Theentity’seyesslowlyturntotheceilingagain.Foramoment,adeepsadnesspassesacrossitsface.‘Somanyofmychildrengoneforever,’theentitymuses.‘IsupposeyouwouldbetheLoricElders

now,ifsuchathingstillexists.’‘We’reGarde,’Isay,correctingthisbillion-year-oldgodlikeenergyforce,becausewhatthehell,

we’vecomethisfar.‘We’rehereforyourhelp.’Theentityactuallychuckles.‘Itdoesnotmattertome,daughter.Elders,Garde,Cêpan–thesewords

arehowtheLoricchosetounderstandmygifts.Itdoesnothavetobethatwayhere.Itdoesnothavetobeanyway.’Theentitypausesthoughtfully.‘Asforhelp,IdonotknowwhatIcanoffer,child.’Moreconfusion,moreriddles.Ididn’tthinkcomingtotheSanctuarywouldgolikeNinehadjoked–

thatwe’dunleashsomemassivepowerthatwouldwipeoutalltheMogadorians.ButIexpectedtofindsomethingthatcouldhelp.OurfriendscouldbedyingrightnowinthefirstwaveofaMogadorianinvasion,andI’mdownheremakingsmalltalkwithanannoyinglymysteriousimmortal.‘That’snotgoodenough,’Isay.Frustrated,Itakeasteptowardstheentity.EnergycracklesaroundmeandIfeelmyhairstandupfrom

static.‘Six,’Adamwhispers,‘becareful.’Iignorehim,raisingmyvoicetoyellattheall-powerfulLorien.‘We’vecomefartoawakenyou!

We’velostfriends!Youhavetobeabletodosomething.OrareyoucoolifSetrákusRajustmarchesdownhereanddestroysthisplanet?Killseveryoneonit?You’regoingtoletthathappentwiceonyourwatch?’Theentity’sbrowfurrows.AcrackopensintheskinonEight’sforehead,andenergybeginstospill

forth.Marinacovershermouthbutmanagesnottocryout.It’slikeEight’sbodyishollowinsideandtheenergyisgraduallybreakingitdown.‘Iamsorry,daughter,’EightsaystoMarina.‘Thisformcannotholdmeforlong.’Then,theentityturnsbacktome.There’snosignthatmywordshaveoffendedit,orhadanyeffectat

all.Itsvoiceisasmelodicandpatientasever.‘Idonotcondonethesenselessdestructionoflife,’theentityexplains.‘ButIdonotchoosefates.Ido

notjudge.IfitisthewilloftheuniversethatIceasetobe,thenIwillcease.Iexistmerelytobestowmygiftsuponthosewhoareopentothem.’Ispreadmyarms.‘I’mopentothem.Loadmeup.GivemeenoughLegaciestodestroySetrákusRaand

hisfleetandI’llleaveyourglowingassalone.’Theentitysmilesatme.MorecracksformalongthebacksofEight’shands.Theenergyisescaping.‘Itdoesnotworkthatway,’itintones.‘Thenhowthehelldoesitwork?’Ishout.‘Telluswhattodo!’

‘Thereisnothinglefttodo,daughter.Youhavewokenmeandrestoredmystrength.IamoftheEarthnow,andsoaremygifts.’‘Buthowwillthathelpuswin?’Iyell.‘Whatwasallthisshitfor?’Theentityignoresme.Iguessthat’sallthewisdomit’swillingtoimpart.Instead,itgazesuponMarina.‘Hewon’thavelong,daughter.’‘Whowon’t?’shereplies,puzzled.Withoutanotherword,theentity’seyescloseandEight’sbodybeginstotremble.Tomysurprise,the

energyactuallyrecedesfromhisbody.Thecracksalongthebacksofhishandsstopglowingandcloseup,asdoestheonethatopenedacrosshisforehead.Afterafewseconds,theonlythingleftglowingonEightisthewoundoverhisheart.HefloatsoutofthecolumnofenergyandendsuprightinfrontofMarina.WhenEightopenshiseyes,theydon’tglow.They’regreen,justlikeIrememberthem,serene,butwith

asparkofthatoldmischief.Eight’slipscurlintoaslowsmileasheseesMarina.‘Wow,hi,’Eightsays,andwhenhespeaksit’swithhisownvoice.It’shim.It’sreallyhim.Marinanearlydoublesoverwithadelightedsob.Shecollectsherselfquickly,though,andgrabsEight

firstbytheshoulders,thenonthesidesofhisface.Shepullshiminclose.‘You’rewarm,’shesaysinwonder.‘You’resowarm.’Eightlaughseasily.HeputshishandoverMarina’sandgentlykissesthesideofit.‘You’rewarm,too,’hesays.‘I’msosorry,Eight.I’msorryIcouldn’thealyou.’Eightshakeshishead.‘Stop,Marina.It’sokay.Youbroughtmehere.It’s–Ican’tevendescribeit.It’s

amazinginthere.’Already,IseetheenergyspreadingoutwardfromEight’sheart.Itracesthroughhisbody,fissures

openingonhisarmsandlegs.Hedoesn’tseemtobeinanypain.HejustsmilesatMarinaandlooksatherlikehe’stryingtomemorizeherface.‘CanIkissyou?’Marinaaskshim.‘Ireallywishyouwould.’Marinakisseshim,pressinginclose,squeezinghim.Asshedoes,theenergyswellsupfromwithin

Eightand,slowly,hisbodybeginstobreakapart.It’sdifferentfromwhenaMogadoriandisintegrates.It’sasif,foramoment,IcanseeeverycellinEight’sbodyandseehowtheenergyfromthewellglowsinbetweeneachofthem.Onebyone,thosepiecesofEightdissolve,andhebecomesonewiththelight.Marinatriestoclingtohim,butherfingerspassrightthroughtheenergy.Andthen,he’sgone.Thelightflowsbacktothewellandrecedesdeepundertheground.Theheartbeat

wetriggeredgrowsfainter.Icanstillhearit,butonlyifIreallylisten.Thechamberispeacefulagain,litonlybytheglowingLoralitecarvingsonthewall.Ifeelfreshaironmybackandturnaroundtoseethatadoorhasopenedupinthewall.Itleadstoastaircase,sunlightcominginfromtheoutside.Marinacollapsesagainstme,asobbingwreck.Ihughercloseandtrynottobreakdownmyself.Adam

watchesuswithoutstaringtoohardandwipesatsomethinginthecornerofhiseye.‘Weshouldgo,’Adamsaysquietly.‘Theotherswillneedourhelp.’Inodathim.Iwonderifweevenaccomplishedanythingdownhere.ItwasbeautifulseeingEight

again,evenforafewfleetingmoments.Yetmyconversationwiththeintergalacticentitythatgrantsusour

Legaciessuredidn’tyieldalotofanswers.Meanwhile,thetimeuntilaMogadorianinvasionisprobablyrunningout,ifithasn’talready.Marinasqueezesmyarm.Ilookdownather.‘Isawit,Six,’Marinawhisperstome.‘WhenIkissedhim,Isawinsidethething–Lorien,theenergy,

whateveryouwanttocallit.’‘Okay,’Isay,wantingtobegentlewithher,butnotsurewehavetimeforthis.‘And?’Marinagrinsatme.‘It’sspreading,Six.ThroughtheEarth.It’sspreadingeverywhere.’‘Whatdoesthatmean?’Adamasks.‘Itmeans,’Marinasays,wipingherfaceandstandingupstraight,‘thatwearen’taloneanymore.’

30

Skyscrapersburn.Werun.TheMogadorianwarshipcrawlsacrossNewYork’sskyline,itsmassiveenergycannonsbombarding

theblocksindiscriminately.Thewarshipalreadydisgorgeddozensofarmedscoutships,thesmallervesselszippingupanddowntheavenues,ferryingwarriorstotheground,wheretheyblastwhatevercivilianstheycomeacross.Otherthingsleapeddownfromtheship,too.Hungry,angrythings.Ihaven’tseenanyyet;I’veonly

heardtheirterriblehowlsrisingabovetheexplosions.Piken.NewYorkCityislost,thatmuchIknowforsure.There’snoturningbacktheMogadoriansatthispoint.

IhavenoideahowtheothercitieswhereMogadorianwarshipswerespottedaredoing.ThenetworkisdowninNewYork,andmysatellitephonesunktothebottomoftheEastRiver.Allwecandoisrun.JustlikeI’vebeendoingmyentirelife.Exceptnow,unfortunately,therearea

millionpeoplerunningwithme.‘Run!’Ishoutatanyonewecomeacross.‘Rununtilyoucan’tseetheirships!Survive,regroupandwe

willfightthem!’Samiswithme.Hisfaceisashenandhelookslikehe’sgoingtobesick.Heneversawwhatthe

MogadoriansdidtoLorien.He’sbeenthroughsomehardtimeswithus,butneveranythinglikethis.Ithinkhealwaysbelievedthatwewouldwin.Heneverthoughtthisdaywouldcome.I’velethimdown.Idon’tknowwhereNineandFiveare.Therearen’tanynewscarsburningtheirwayacrossmyankle,

sotheyhaven’tkilledeachotheryet.IlostAgentWalker,too.Sheandheragentsareontheirown.Ihopetheymakeitoutalive.Iftheydo,

maybethey’llbesmartenoughtomeetusbackatAshwoodEstates.IfSamandIcanevenmakeitthatfar.Werundownstreetsfilledwithsmoke,dartingaroundoverturnedcars,climbingoverfallenchunksof

buildings.Whenoneofthescoutshipscruisesby,weduckintoalleysorhideindoorways.Icouldfightthem.WithalltheangerI’mholdingonto,I’msureIcouldripthroughtheminnotime.I

couldeasilytakedownoneofthescoutshipsonmyown.ButI’mnotonmyown.ThereareabouttwentysurvivorsfollowingmeandSam.AfamilyIpulledoffaburningbalconywith

mytelekinesis,apairofblood-splatteredNYPDofficerswhosawmetakedownapairofMogwarriors,agroupthatcameoutfromhidinginarestaurantwhenIflashedmyLumeninside,andothersstill.Ican’tsaveeveryoneinthiscity,butI’lldowhatIcan.Thatmeansnotpickingfightswiththe

Mogadorians.AtleastnotuntilIcangetthesepeopletosafety.

IavoidtroublewhereverIcan.Itisn’talwayspossible.Wecrossanintersectionwhereslashedpowerlinesaredrapedacrosstheburnedhuskofacitybus,

andwerunrightintoadozenMogadorianwarriors.Theybringtheirblastersaroundonus,butIblowthembackwithafireballbeforetheycansqueezeoffanyshots.Theoneswhoaren’timmediatelyincineratedgetpoppedbythecopsstandingbehindme.Ilookovermyshoulder,noddingtotheofficers.‘Niceshooting.’‘We’vegotyourback,JohnSmith,’oneofthemsays.Idon’teventhinktoaskhowheknowsmyname.OurgrouprunsafewmoreblocksbeforeI’mdrawntothesoundofnearbyscreaming.Aroundthe

corner,wefindayoungcoupletryingtoescapefromtheirburningapartmentbuildingviathefireescape.Theboltslooklikethey’vecomeunmooredfromthewallneartheroof,andnowthewholefireescapehangslikeacrookedfingeroverthestreet.Stillfivestoriesup,theguyhasfallenovertherailing.Hisgirlfrienddesperatelytriestopullhimbackovertheside.Sarah’sfaceflashesintomymind.Juststayalive,Ithink.Survivethis,andwe’llbetogether.I’m

goingtomakeitbacktoher.Iruntowardsthefireescape,bracingitfromadistancewithmytelekinesis.‘Letgo!’Ishoutupatthecouple.‘I’llcatchyou!’‘Areyoufreakingnuts?’theguyyellsback.Noneofushavetimetoargue,soIreachoutwithmytelekinesisandjustyankthecoupleoffthefire

escape.AsI’mloweringthemtotheground,Ihearthebeatsofheavyfootfallsbearingdownonme.‘John!’Samscreams.‘Lookout!’Iturnmyhead.It’saPiken.Thebeastgallopstowardsmeatfullspeed,itsjawscoveredwithslobber,

itsrazor-sharpteethbared.Ihearscreamsfrommygroup.Thecopstakesomeshotsatthemonster,buttheydon’tevenslowitdown.TheothershavethegoodsensetorunfromtherabidMogadorianbeast.Exceptthedirectiontheyruninputsthemrightbeneaththefireescape.Which,ofcourse,choosesthat

exactmomenttotearfullyawayfromitsbuildingandcomeclatteringdownintothestreet.I’vestillgotthecouplesuspendedintheair,andnowI’mholdingupthefireescapewithmy

telekinesis,too.ItrytodividemyfocusenoughtoturnonmyLumen,butit’sjusttoomuch.I’mtooexhausted,thestrainismorethanIcanmanage.ThePikenisalmostontopofme.Sarah’sfaceflashesagaintotheforefrontofmymind.Ihavetotry.Igritmyteethanddigdowndeeper.Withamassivewoomf,awaveoftelekineticforcehitsthePikenandknocksitintotheair.Thebeast’s

muscularlegsflailwildly.Itlandsback-firstontopofastopsign,thepoleimpalingthebeastrightthroughtheheart.Thatdidn’tcomefromme.Ilowerthecouplesafelytotheground,tossthefireescapeasideandturninthedirectionthe

telekineticblastcamefrom.Samstaresatme.He’sfrozen.HishandsareextendedoutinfrontofhimlikehejustshovedthePiken

andstillhasn’tfinishedwiththefollow-through.Slowly,heblinkshiseyes.Samlooksdownathishands,thenoveratme.‘Holyshit,’hesays.‘DidIjustdothat?’

THEBEGINNING

Lettheconversationbegin...

FollowthePenguinTwitter.com@penguinukbooks

Keepup-to-datewithallourstoriesYouTube.com/penguinbooks

Pin‘PenguinBooks’toyourPinterest

Like‘PenguinBooks’onFacebook.com/penguinbooks

FindoutmoreabouttheauthoranddiscovermorestorieslikethisatPenguin.co.uk

MICHAELJOSEPHPublishedbythePenguinGroupPenguinBooksLtd,80Strand,LondonWC2R0RL,EnglandPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.,375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,USAPenguinGroup(Canada),90EglintonAvenueEast,Suite700,Toronto,Ontario,CanadaM4P2Y3(adivisionofPearsonPenguinCanadaInc.)PenguinIreland,25StStephen’sGreen,Dublin2,Ireland(adivisionofPenguinBooksLtd)PenguinGroup(Australia),707CollinsStreet,Melbourne,Victoria3008,Australia(adivisionofPearsonAustraliaGroupPtyLtd)PenguinBooksIndiaPvtLtd,11CommunityCentre,PanchsheelPark,NewDelhi–110017,IndiaPenguinGroup(NZ),67ApolloDrive,Rosedale,Auckland0632,NewZealand(adivisionofPearsonNewZealandLtd)PenguinBooks(SouthAfrica)(Pty)Ltd,BlockD,RosebankOfficePark,181JanSmutsAvenue,ParktownNorth,Gauteng2193,SouthAfrica

PenguinBooksLtd,RegisteredOffices:80Strand,LondonWC2R0RL,England

www.penguin.com

FirstpublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericabyHarperCollinsPublishers2014FirstPublishedinGreatBritainbyMichaelJoseph2014

Copyright©PittacusLore,2014

Themoralrightoftheauthorhasbeenasserted

Coverimages©AlamyCoverdesignthe-parish.com

Allrightsreserved

TypesetbyJouve(UK),MiltonKeynes

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

ISBN:978-1-405-91363-8