She scooted closer. "You're still having them?"

"Yes."

The surprise on her face confirmed she really had no idea. "Lor, why didn't you tell me? Why would you lie about that?"

"Because I don't want them."

"Why? Why would you not want something so miraculous?"

"Miraculous?" That time I did scoff. "You call what happens to me miraculous?" I drew in a ragged breath and readied myself to give her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Curling my fingers into the pillow, I asked, "Did you know there is a student at Riley High who was raped last year?"

Her eyes widened, but I barreled forward, afraid if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to start again.

"She never told anyone, because she thinks it was her fault. She keeps it bottled up inside." I leaned into her. "Do you know what it's like to be raped, Brooke? Because I do. Now I know exactly what it feels like. It is a complete and savage violation of body and soul."

Stammering, Brooke said, "I-I didn't know."

"Then did you know that another student is planning to kill himself?"

Her expression morphed into a mixture of shock and sympathy. "No."

"Not just thinking about it. Planning every moment. He's going to do it with his father's gun. Do you know what it feels like to be that desperate? That lost?" Before she could answer, I asked, "And do you know what it feels like when a bullet enters the roof of your mouth and blows the top of your head off?" I was shaking with the memory of something that had yet to come to pa.s.s. My stomach lurched as I heard the gun go off. As I felt, for just a split second, a bullet enter my brain before everything went black.

"Lorelei," she said, her voice faltering, "I'm so sorry."

"And did you know that there is another student who will die in a motorcycle accident this summer? Or another who is almost going to die of exposure and dehydration when he goes rock climbing with a friend in Utah and gets lost in the desert? Do you know what it feels like when your kidneys shut down? When your tongue swells to three times its normal size until you can barely talk? Barely swallow?"

She put a hand on mine. "I'm so sorry, Lor."

"You don't understand. I don't just see what happens to them. I feel it. Every ounce of horror. Every wave of nausea. Every pang of heartache. I'm right there with them. And I get everything-every emotion, every jolt of pain-in a blinding flash that leaves me in a stupor. The aftermath lingers for days on end. I can't eat. I can't concentrate."

Her hand pressed against her mouth as tears spilled over her lashes and onto her cheeks.

I gazed into her huge brown eyes, not wanting to offend her, but hoping-no, praying-that she would understand. I was not prying when I saw what had happened to her. I would never do such a thing. It came to me when I least expected it. When we were working on a science project in lab. It was just there.

"And did you know that another student at Riley High was almost abducted when she was seven? That a man reached out of his car and grabbed her as she was on her way home from the store? That terror filled her so completely, she wet her pants?"

Brooke stilled in disbelief for a second, then she fell into the memory like a skydiver during free fall, her expression blank, void of anything but that moment in time.

"And when she wrenched free of him, ripping her shirt and staining it with the orange Popsicle she dropped, she ran all the way home, too scared to scream, too in shock to cry. But she never told her mother. She wasn't supposed to go to the store by herself. Ever. And she was more worried about getting in trouble for that than turning the man in. So she never told anyone."

After taking a moment to let the memory resurface, Brooke stood and stepped back, struggled to absorb the fact that I knew.

"How would you suggest that I tell her that?" I asked, my voice soft, empathetic. "The student who wet her pants and told her mom she'd fallen in a puddle of water? How should I approach her and tell her that I know one of her most guarded secrets? Do you think she would believe me?"

I hadn't missed the clenching of Cameron's fists when I talked about Brooke's memory. The tensing of his jaw. He cared for her deeply. That much was obvious. And I was glad because of it. To have a nephilim on your side could only be a good thing. He was super strong and super fast and could protect her from so many of life's dangers. Like pedophiles.

"I don't want this anymore, Brooke. Any of it."

She blinked back to me, but before she could respond, Glitch lifted the window. "What'd I miss?" he asked, his gaze bouncing between the two of us. Alarm flitted across his face when he saw Brooke. Then again when he saw me, and I realized I was crying.

I wiped furiously at my wet cheeks and strode to the bathroom. Apparently, Cameron had called the whole gang.

"What happened?" Glitch asked Brooke as I closed the door and swiped at the tears, angry at what I'd seen, angrier that I'd shocked Brooke, that I'd hurt her with a memory she'd tucked into the farthest reaches of her consciousness, trying desperately to forget.

Oh, yeah. These visions were great.

BEEN THERE, DONE THAT.

Since I'd been honest with Brooke, I had no choice but to tell Glitch the truth about my visions as well. He was surprised. And then a little hurt. Then a little angry. Then sympathetic. And about twenty seconds after all his emotions boiled and bubbled beneath his coppery surface, he settled on understanding and supportive.

"We're staying over all weekend if we can get away with it," he said. "But seriously, Cameron needs to go for pizza."

Cameron scowled over his shoulder. "Okay, and while I'm gone, can you protect Lorelei from any supernatural threats that might come her way?"

"I'll go for pizza," he corrected. Thankfully, the Pizza Place stayed open until midnight on Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights.

An hour later, we were having a slumber party complete with pepperoni pizza, orange soda, and an '80s movie about kids in detention who become unlikely friends.

"Shouldn't Jared be back by now?" I asked Cameron, growing more concerned by the minute.

He took another bite of pizza and shrugged. He was so helpful.

I stood and looked out the window. "My grandparents are sending me away."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and gaped at me.

"They got in a fight with several members of the Order about it, but they're resolute. They think it's become too dangerous, and they're sending me away."

Cameron frowned as though confused, as though the mere thought was unfathomable.

"Did you remind them how insane that is?" Glitch asked.

"I didn't talk to them about it. I overheard."

"Then I'm going with you," Brooke said, indignation raising her chin. "They can't separate us. We're practically twins."

Glitch took the floor. Cameron took Brooke's bed since it was closest to the window seat and he could stare out the window in his broody way and still get some rest. And Brooke had insisted. She slept with me on my bed, and while we were small, we still had to snuggle really close to get comfortable. Twin beds weren't exactly made for two, but it was nice having her so close. About an hour after we all settled in, I still couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about Jared. Was he still out there? Back in his apartment? Was he still on guard duty or sleeping?

Cameron gave it his all, sitting on the bed instead of lying in it, but even he had dozed off. Glitch had joined him, snoring softly into the carpet after stuffing the pillow I gave him between his legs and cradling it. He would have quite the cheek imprint come morning.

Brooke whispered softly into my ear. "What about Glitch and Cameron? Did you see what happened to them on that camping trip that spring break? Have you seen that in your visions?"

I turned to face her, our noses mere inches apart in the dark room. "No," I whispered back, hoping not to wake Cameron, since we were talking about him and all. "I've tried very hard not to, in fact. It's just- It's such a violation."

"But if you're not doing it on purpose, if you're not controlling it-"

"I used to think that too, but it's all I can do to make it through a school day without throwing up or becoming suicidal. I just try my best to avoid visions whenever and wherever possible."

She took my hands into hers and lifted them to her mouth. "I'm so terribly sorry, Lor. All the pushing I've done, all the nagging, and you were just trying to get through the day."

"It's not your fault."

"I just wish I had known. I wish I had picked up on it instead of making your life worse."

I smiled, wondering yet again what I'd done to deserve her. "You couldn't make my life worse if I paid you to."

The smile that widened across her face like the New Mexico sky made me rethink my last statement. She crinkled her nose. "Bet I could."

I laughed softly. "Okay, I bet you could too."

She sobered, bit her lip, looked at me from underneath her ridiculously thick lashes. "Lor, why didn't you tell me?"

My lids closed with regret. "I'd planned to, but when I saw what happened to you, when I saw your past, I just didn't know how. I felt like I was doing something wrong. Something invasive. And I just wanted it to stop."

She nodded. "I understand. I do. But you'll still have to pay. Dearly. You realize that, right?"

I grinned. "I suppose I do."

"And I won't go easy on you just because we're besties."

"I would never expect you to."

"There'll probably be pliers involved. And fire ants."

I shuddered. At least she didn't mention spiders.

"And spiders."

Dang, she was brutal.

By Sunday morning, Brooke was belting out cla.s.sic tunes to try to cheer me up. It was not working. Jared had never come home, and I had been reduced to a pile of nerves. No, not just a pile of nerves. A quivering pile of nerves.

Brooke leaned over to me as we sat in a padded pew, and whispered, "Want me to sing 'Tainted Love' again?"

I frowned. "No."

"'Love Is a Battlefield'?"

"Nope."

"'Love Shack'?"

I couldn't help it. I cracked a smile.

"'Love Shack' it is."

She took a deep breath and I clamped a hand over her mouth in horror, garnering a few admonishing looks from our staunchest members in the process. When Grandma joined in, her expression mortified, we straightened instantly. Brooke pointed to me, rolling her eyes as though I were hopeless. She would pay.

Grandma made eye contact with me. I quickly averted my gaze. I could see the sadness and frustration through my periphery, but I couldn't quite bring myself to pretend everything was okay. They were once again making plans for my life without even consulting me. And just where were they planning on sending me? We had no relatives. We were the last of our clan. I think my grandma had a great aunt who was still living, but that was about it. She lived in Oklahoma. Was that where they would send me? Off to live with an estranged aunt n.o.body had heard from in decades?

I fought not to focus on that and tried to pay attention to Granddad's sermon. My mind wandered regardless.

Like many churches, this one had an una.s.suming door behind the pulpit. Ours led to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Or so that's what I'd always believed. My grandparents showed me just how deep the bas.e.m.e.nt went. They gave me the grand tour of the Order of Sanct.i.ty headquarters.

Down one level was a shadowy storeroom that looked like any other bas.e.m.e.nt one might find beneath an old church. Dark and dank and a little bit scary. But down another set of stairs was a second bas.e.m.e.nt. Again, it looked normal at first glance. Until Granddad opened the doors to what I could only describe as an underground warehouse.

Room after room flowed through a ma.s.sive bunkerlike structure. It had tall ceilings with exposed metal framework and rooms divided by half-height part.i.tions. All except one.

One structure was a room unto itself. It had thick walls and a single opening. Inside it, metal drawers and shelves lined the walls. Inside those were the ancient texts and doc.u.ments of the Order of Sanct.i.ty. That was the archive room.

The ancient doc.u.ments had been pa.s.sed down from generation to generation. They were very valuable. Some of the texts were prophecies directly from Arabeth or one of her daughters, recorded long ago and translated through the ages by varying scribes. And some talked about the prophets from the other lines. Always female. Always groundbreakers. People like the famous Greek poet Sappho and the awe-inspiring heroine Saint Joan of Arc.

I had to own up to a certain amount of pride, knowing I hailed from such brave and n.o.ble beginnings. Though they were both from different branches, we were all related in the end. At least, that's how I saw it.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a lick of bravery or n.o.bility.

With as much stealth as she could muster, Brooke slipped a note to me while keeping her attention focused on Granddad.

I unfolded it and read, We should come back tonight.

She wanted to come back to do some research, but I was pretty researched out. And I wanted to know what had happened to Jared.

I wrote, Been there, done that, and slid it back.

We'd sneaked into the archive room several times over the past few weeks. It was like some kind of morbid curiosity took hold of me. I didn't want anything to do with this war or the visions, yet I couldn't help but read the prophecies every chance I got. I always hoped they would tell me what to do. How to fight. How to win. But after another fruitless search, I could only close the thick book I'd been trying to decipher with a huff of frustration. Prophecies were weird and boring. The translated texts said things like, "It will take the Last but a moment to undo all that which evil has done." How the heck was that supposed to be helpful? The last what? Prophet? That's what they called me, the last prophet of Arabeth. Which did not bode well for any children I might have. Since the prophets were always female, I supposed if I did survive the war and did happen to have children someday, they would all be boys. So that was one question out of the way.

"... but a moment to undo all that which evil has done."

If that prophecy was about me, it was nice to know it would take me only a moment to fix everything. Not. I'd already tried snapping my fingers, to no avail. I'd even tried crossing my arms and blinking. Wiggling my nose didn't help either. Clearly magic was not part of my gift.

I felt the note slide under my fingers again. We might learn something about your visions. About how to control them.

At that exact moment, I realized something. None of the translated texts talked about the visions themselves. They recorded only what had been seen, not how to see or how not to see. Just what had been seen already.

I wrote back. We couldn't be that lucky.