CHAPTER 24
Andi
“Skip, you have to
talk with them! They’ve come all this way!”
“I don’t need to do
any such thing.” They were in the kitchen, with only the swinging
double doors between them and the six new arrivals. Everyone could
hear them, and they both knew it.
“Tavia called
them!”
“Tavia’s
dead.”
“They’re a critical
resource. Skip, it’s the natural instinct of our kind to act alone.
But we are at our most powerful when we band together—like the
Quadrivium did.
“You mean, the
Quadrivium that failed?”
“Don’t be immature
about this. You could learn from these people. Half of them were
thought dead by Tavia herself.”
“Terrific. I can
learn how to play dead.”
“There’s more to it
than that.”
“What—I can learn how
to keep secrets? How to be supercautious? How to lay intricate
traps that take decades to unfold? Who gives a shit about any of
that? What good does it do?”
“You don’t know until
you ask. They’re willing to help. To teach.”
“No, Andi. They’re
not here to help or teach. They’re here to take over. To control.
Like my father had to control, and
Tavia and Edmund after him.”
“Are you kidding?
Tavia and Edmund did so much for you. They protected you. They gave
you precious time.”
“I didn’t need their
protection or time!” Skip kicked a boiling pot off the lower rack.
It skidded and slammed into a pile of lids, all of which dumped
onto the linoleum. “I can handle what’s out there on my
own!”
“Your mother? Your
half-sister? Get real, Skip. You were as scared as I’ve ever seen
you when they appeared on the Mississippi.”
“They won’t be able
to stop what I have in mind.”
“What’s
that?”
Before he could
answer, the shadows from under the racks and appliances converged
on Andi and seized her. She let out a shriek of alarm as the ground
collapsed under her feet, eroding her thickness and distributing
her across a single plane. It was petrifying feeling, not least
because she had no idea how to move. It turned out not to
matter—whatever shadows had trapped her here pulled her
away.
His startled gaze
followed her. “Andi!”
Skip, help me. I don’t want to . . .