“I killed my father.”

His mouth opened. Closed.

“Can’t argue with that one, can you?” I said.

“No, I’m just trying to figure out what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. Your father died when the house collapsed. Maybe that collapse started with your magic, but you certainly didn’t kill—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Sparks sizzled from my fingertips. My hair snapped with electricity. I stepped toward Adam, but he stood firm, holding my gaze, not even flinching when the sparks singed his shirt.

“I know what happened that night,” I said. “I’ve pretended not to know what happened because that was what you all wanted. I lashed out at my father. I threw him into a wall. I killed him. I know that. I’ve always known that.”

The look on his face then—the sympathy and the pain—was almost enough to make me break down completely, and when he reached for me, I imagined myself collapsing against him, how good it would feel—eight years of pain washing away. But I couldn’t. I stepped back, teeth gritting, sparks flying.

“Go away.”

“No, Savannah.”

He stepped forward again.

“I said go away!”

My hands flew up to ward him off, and he sailed off his feet, chin jerking up like he’d been hit with an invisible uppercut. He crashed to the ground, keys sailing from his hand, blood gushing from his nose.

I ran over. “I didn’t mean—” I stopped. Swayed. Looked down at him, dazed and bleeding. I stepped back. “Don’t you see? I never mean it. Never. But it doesn’t matter. My mother. My father. Paige. Michael. Paula. Kayla. Everything I touch, everyone I touch.”

“Not me.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere, Savannah.”

“No, you’re not,” I whispered. “You’re staying right where you are. Because you know not to come any closer.”

He screwed up his face. His nose gushed again and he swiped the blood aside, impatient. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He moved in front of me. “There, is this close enough?”

I said nothing. He took another step, so close I could smell the blood.

“Still seems safe,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

I lifted my gaze to his. “Don’t mock me.”

He looked me in the eye. “I’d never mock you, Savannah. I know you’re hurting and you’re going to lash out, and if you need to do that, then I’m right here. Lash away. I can handle it. Just don’t do this to yourself. You want a target? Use me.”

I started to shake. I clenched my hands to stop it. Waves of energy pulsed from my fists. Sparks popped, singeing his clothes, burning his skin. He only stepped closer, eyes locking on mine.

I stumbled back. Then I ran. I scooped up the keys and I ran, and I didn’t care how immature it looked, what he thought of me for it. I took his keys and I ran because if I stayed, he’d get hurt. Or I would.

I ran to the Jeep, leaped inside, and pulled away from the curb, tires chirping, dust flying, seeing him out of the corner of my eye, but not daring to look. Just get away. Get away fast. Get away far.

forty-two

I drove to the motel. I grabbed my things, stuffed them into my bag, and took off on my bike, leaving the Jeep behind, keys on the bed where Adam could find them.

By the time I was pulling out of the lot, I could see him, coming toward the motel. His arm lifted, hailing me. But he didn’t pick up the pace, knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Get away fast. Get away far.

The last part didn’t work out so well. I’d barely gone twenty miles on the highway before I began shaking again, this time from exhaustion. Then the rain started, a thunderstorm whipping up in the distance.

I stopped at the first motel I found. By the time I left the office with my key, the thunder was crashing, lightning splitting the sky, rain pelting, hard as hail. I trudged along, getting soaked, bone-cold soaked, and not caring.

When the key stuck in the lock, I was too exhausted to make the trek back to the office. I cast an unlock spell. It worked the first time. I went inside. Cast a lock spell on the door. Tested it, not quite trusting that my powers were back. They were—my temper tantrum earlier proved that.

I flicked on the light. It came on, then went off, every light in the parking lot following as the power failed. I cast my light ball.

Thank God for my spells.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back the prickle of tears. I still had my spells, but I’d give them up to fix what I’d done. I couldn’t bring my mother back, or my father, or Michael, but if I could fix even one thing and give Kayla back her grandmother, I’d gladly give up my powers.

I stripped off my wet clothing and crawled into bed, the light ball still blazing on the night table beside me. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I slept through the storm. What woke me was a much quieter noise: soft snoring. I opened my eyes. The room was still pitch black, parking lot lights out.

I blinked and lifted my head, following the snoring to a chair beside the bed. In the dim glow of cloudy moonlight, I could make out a familiar figure asleep in the chair.

“You don’t take a hint, do you?” I murmured. I smiled, but tears tickled my eyes, and I blinked them back.

I still felt like shit. Exhausted and achy. But more than that, I felt ashamed of my breakdown. I don’t do pity parties. Never have. Shouldn’t start now. So what if I’d stumbled? I needed to haul myself up by my bootstraps and keep moving. Do what I could for Paula and Kayla, get Lucas’s help.

I had another problem to solve, too: the small matter of a witch-hunter on my tail. I couldn’t let Paige come home to that or she might join me on the hit list.

I sat up and took a deep breath. I should do some work, quietly, letting Adam catch up on his sleep. Now, where had I dumped my laptop?

I cast my light ball, trying to keep the power on low. When nothing happened, I tried again, and didn’t even feel the mental click that told me it worked. I cast again, and again, and again. Then I remembered my last thought before I’d climbed into bed.

If I could fix even one thing, and give Kayla back her grandmother, I’d gladly give up my powers.

Oh, shit.

KELLEY ARMSTRONG is the bestselling author of the Otherworld series, as well as the New York Times#I bestselling young adult trilogy, Darkest Powers. She lives in rural Ontario with her family. Visit her Web site at http://www.kelleyarmstrong.com/.