34.

THE LIGHT CHANGED FROM BLACK to bright red. I squinted against it.

"She's moving. Look."

"Hey, you."

Jamie's voice. I tried to answer him, to swallow, but my throat was filled with sand. I forced my eyes open-the light in the room was blinding. A backlit shadow shifted beside me.

"Stella-some water, maybe?"

In seconds another shadow joined Jamie's, handing him something. He held something cold and hard to my lips-a glass. I was weak and couldn't take it from him, but I sipped from it greedily. Freezing water ran down my chin, and as it did, I noticed that I was freezing too.

"Cold," I said between gulps. My voice was still hoarse, but at least I had one. The room was coming into focus too. The more aware I became of everything around me, the more aware I became of myself. I was freezing, and nauseous, but somehow I didn't feel sick.

"What happened?" I asked.

Jamie and Stella exchanged a glance.

"What do you remember?" she asked cautiously.

I thought back, rooting through hazy memories of the past few days-the road trip, the sickness, the train, the razor- Oh, God. "I-I cut myself," I admitted. My cheeks burned with shame.

But then Jamie said, "We got them out."

I blinked.

"There was totally something inside you, Mara. You were right."

Horror. "Oh, God. What was it?"

"Like, capsules, they looked like?" Stella said.

"Do you still have them?" I asked.

"Yeah. Jamie?"

"They're in my room. Hold on." Jamie left, and when he came back, he held out his hand.

There were two of them, slightly larger than grains of rice, and transparent. Something copper and black was inside one, copper and red in the other.

"How did you know they were there?" Stella asked.

I thought back, remembered my face in the mirror, and the whispers: Get them out.

Please stop.

I opened my mouth to tell them, but then swallowed the words back. "I had a feeling," was all I said as I shivered. Stella wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

"You scared the shit out of us, you know."

I knew. But I'd had no choice. Or at least it felt like I'd had no choice. I remembered the feeling I'd had on the train, the feeling that had been with me since I'd woken up in Horizons, on the island. It was gone now. I felt like-like me.

"You look better," Jamie said, studying me. "How do you feel?"

"Better." I was thirsty, and tired, and nauseous and hungry at the same time. But I felt normal. Normal for me, anyway.

"Listen," he started. "There's something you need to know."

I raised my eyebrows.

"When you-when we found you like we found you, we found something else."

Jamie looked at Stella, who reached into her pocket. "Someone left a note at the door." She handed it to me.

Believe her.

I didn't recognize the handwriting. "I'm 'her'?"

Jamie nodded. "It came with a medical kit or something. A big bag of surgical shit."

I felt cold again. "Someone knew what was inside me."

"And knows that we're here."

"Which means we have to leave," Stella said. "Like, yesterday."

"But whoever it was, whoever left it, they told you to believe me. And they were right."

"But this person knows what's wrong with us, and why wouldn't they just say something if they wanted to help?"

My mind seized on the image of the man I knew as Abel Lukumi. If Noah had been there, he would have said that I was grasping at coincidences and trying to force them into facts. But Noah wasn't there. It was just me, and Stella, and Jamie, and a trail of breadcrumbs that led to no one and nothing but the priest.

So I told them. About the botanica in Little Havana, where he had seen me, recognized me, and tried to kick me out before giving me some weird concoction to drink that had made me finally remember what I had done to Rachel and Claire. I told them about trying to find him again, after I'd killed everything in the insect house at the Miami zoo. I explained how it had been his face I'd seen in the hospital after Jude had slit my wrists, him on the platform as the train had pulled out of DC. By the time I'd finished, Jamie had backed up onto the bed, his head in his hands.

"So, what you're telling me is"-he held out his hand-"some Santeria voodoo guy from south Florida followed you-followed us-all the way to DC, and he knows we're in New York, and he knows where we are, but won't show himself?"

"Yes," I said.

"Why, though? What would he stand to gain?"

I remembered words that had once belonged to Noah, but that now belonged to me. "You never know what a person stands to gain or lose by anything."

"I don't get it, though," Stella said. "Why would he just leave the bag? If he wants to help us, then he should just fucking help us."

"Maybe he can't," Jamie said.

"Or maybe he doesn't want to," I said, the thought forming as the words left my mouth. "Maybe he's . . . responsible for it."

"Responsible how?" Jamie asked.

"Responsible like, maybe he's the one behind it. All of it," I said. "If this-if we're some kind of experiment or whatever, him following us could be part of it. Watching what we do, how we react, what happens to us when we do react." I thought of the things we had seen in Horizons, the things Kells had said to us. "Maybe he's the one-maybe he's the one who funded Dr. Kells."

"But then why bring us the bag? Why would he want to help get those-whatever they were-out of you?" Stella asked.

"Maybe she put them in without permission," Jamie suggested. "Speaking of which." He looked at me. "Do you think the rest of us have them too?"

"I don't feel any different," Stella said. "You?"

Jamie swallowed. "I don't really know what 'different' means anymore. I woke up one day on the island and couldn't walk, just like you," he said, staring at me. "But then why aren't I sick?"

"You are sick," Stella said carefully. "But you're a year younger than us. Maybe you're just in the first stage of whatever's happening . . ."

I remembered the words written on the whiteboard when I'd first woken up in Horizons.

J. Roth, manifesting.

"Manifestation," I said out loud. "That list, remember it? It said Stella and Noah, they've manifested already. Kells wrote that, in her notes."

"What does that even mean, though?" Jamie asked.

"It means that you're going to get sicker," Stella said. "When it was happening to me-I got worse before I got better."

"What, you mean when you were-"

"Manifesting, or whatever. The voices, they weren't always loud. In the beginning I could kind of ignore them. Sometimes I even listened to them," she said quietly. "I heard things I shouldn't have, and sometimes I-did things," she said. "I used what I knew, even though part of me knew it was wrong. I cheated on a test. This girl who was bullying me, I exposed her secrets to everyone. And each time I did something, the voices got louder. Stronger. There were more of them. It got so I couldn't tell which thoughts were mine and which belonged to someone else. I felt like I was going crazy. I was going crazy." She rounded on Jamie. "Using your ability-it's not free, even if it seems that way now. It's working pretty nicely for you right now, and for that you're lucky-but it's going to eventually bite you in the ass."

Jamie seemingly had no reaction to this.

"And if there is something inside of you," Stella went on, "like whatever was inside Mara? It's going to activate at some point, just like it did with her, and you're going to go through the same shit."

Jamie rolled his eyes, but he was unsettled. I could tell. "So fine," he said. "What do we do now?"

I interrupted the both of them. "I almost died tonight," I said. "Tomorrow we're going to find out who almost killed me."

35.

IT WAS ELEVEN-ISH WHEN WE finally dragged ourselves out of bed the next morning. I could walk on my own, but it hurt. A lot. So I was slow. But our only real lead was the tax stuff Stella had taken from Kells's office with the address of the accountant on them, and he wasn't going anywhere. Probably.

The cab burped us up in the bowels of Midtown. The three of us stared up at a squat, ugly building sandwiched between a Laundromat and a FedEx, a building that bore the address where Ira Ginsberg, CPA, purportedly filed taxes for evil corporations such as Horizons LLC.

"So, what's the plan exactly?" Stella asked.

"We're going to ask him who he works for," I said.

Stella scratched her nose. "And what if he doesn't just . . . volunteer that information?"

"Then Jamie will encourage him to volunteer it." And if that failed, I would encourage him myself. I felt strangely well and strangely confident. Whatever Dr. Kells had tried to do to me, she had failed. I was still here, and those things that had been inside me, whatever they were, were gone. We had the address of the man who'd made it possible for her to do what she'd done. We were getting closer to everything. Closer to Noah. I could feel it.

Jamie cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

We shall. A doorman handed us visitors' badges, which we slapped on (my chest, Stella's hip, Jamie's left ass cheek). Then we rode the elevator up to the stated suite. The waiting area looked like a doctor's office, complete with a gum-chewing, ponytailed receptionist. Stella looked at Jamie and gestured at Chewy.

"You owe me so much, I can't even count how much you owe me," he muttered.

"Names?" the receptionist asked us.

"Jesus," Jamie answered.

"Mary," said Stella.

"Satan," I said as I walked past her and pushed open the door to Ira Ginsberg's office.

The room was painfully unremarkable, and so was Ira. He had a slightly doughy face that emerged from the collar of his slightly too tight dress shirt and tie. He rose the instant we walked in, followed by the receptionist.

"It's all right, Jeanine," he said. "Tell my client on line one that I'll have to call him back."

"Yes, Mr. Ginsberg," she said, glancing at us on her way out.

"How can I help you?" Mr. Ginsberg said to us.

Jamie slid into a seat opposite his desk. "I'm so glad you asked." He handed Mr. Ginsberg the tax thing Stella had stolen from Kells's office. "Who hired you to prepare this?"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge client information, Mr. . . ."

"Jesus," Jamie said. I snorted.

"Mr. Jesus," Ira said, without humor.

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. I'll rephrase. Who hired you to prepare this?" This time when Jamie spoke, his voice was sharp and compelling, and Mr. Ginsberg looked at the paper for only a second before answering. The interrogation had begun.

"Horizons LLC is a wholly owned subsidiary; a representative of its parent company contacted me and asked if I could incorporate them in New York and handle their finances. Why?"