“Drive faster!” Munroe shrieked.
Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. They’d been so close to safety, if only Tobias hadn’t held them up. Thud. Another fireball hit the side of the van, and she sank into her seat, clamping her eyes shut. The Harvesters would drag her into the Common and string a noose around her neck. Druloch clearly had it in for her. What was it Jack had said?—Everyone is afraid of death?
She forced herself to open her eyes. The van screeched into another intersection, swerving between lanes. Screams filled the air, and Munroe seemed to be hyperventilating. In a panic, the driver clipped a car on the right side as the van roared into a tunnel.
Only Tobias seemed calm. He stared out the back window. “We’re losing them.” He tilted back his head, closing his eyes.
Fiona inched up in her seat, peering out the window at the tunnel walls zooming past. They’d escaped the Harvesters.
She exhaled. They were out of danger, and Tobias was safe. But something didn’t feel right. His dark eyes held an unfamiliar glint, and the bruises blossoming on his face told her that he’d just been in a fight. Why wasn’t he saying anything about it?
*
Fiona jerked awake, relieved to find herself in the van, still cruising along the highway. She’d been dreaming of the boy she’d seen the Harvesters kill at Mather—the one with flaming arrows jutting from his chest, twitching on the ground.
If she could only stay around other people, she could keep these memories at bay. She could silence her thoughts. But as soon as she shut her eyes, and drifted into sleep’s solitude, the images took root in her mind.
She glanced at Tobias. He was chatting with Munroe, rattling off details about the blackbird he’d seen soaring past, and the texture of the clouds in the sky. He seemed awfully friendly with her, considering only a week ago she was holding a knife to his neck and screaming “Witch!” at him.
Fiona leaned against Mariana’s shoulder. As she nuzzled her cheek against her friend’s well-worn hoodie, she tried to force herself to relax. If the Harvesters had never arrived, maybe she’d be at her mother’s kitchen table, eating beans on toast and listening to her mom prattle on about college entrance requirements and the French teacher with the drinking problem. The image calmed her nerves.
When they drove out of the storm, warm sunlight gleamed through the windshield. Alan chewed his fingernails down to ragged stubs.
She glanced at Mariana. After running out of room on her hand, Mariana had moved on to writing out the lyrics to “Girlfriend in a Coma” on the inside of her arm, tracing over some letters so it looked like the handwriting of a mental patient. Her black nail polish was chipped after days of neglect.
Both of them wore old, ill-fitting clothes. At the shelter, volunteers had handed out donated clothes to the displaced students. By the time Fiona and Mariana had arrived at the front of the line, only children’s clothes were left. Fiona had squeezed into a tiny pink T-shirt with a cartoon princess simpering on the front, and her friend wore a small gray sweatshirt, unzipped over a superhero shirt. Their own clothes had burned in the fire, and their computers were now melted globs of plastic under the ashy remains of the school.
In an unusual burst of community spirit, the Mather student body had banded together, pooling their money to buy basic necessities while they stayed in the shelter—underwear, toothbrushes, caffeinated soda.
From the front seat, Munroe turned to face the others, her chalice pendant glimmering over her tight black sweater. “Can I get everyone’s attention?” She placed a delicate white hand on her chest. “Well, I think I can speak for us all when I say I’m relieved to be out of Boston. I’m just glad we were able to get away from the witches. Sorry, my dad keeps telling me to call them terrorists.” She used air quotes. “The members of Mather’s junior class have been granted clearances to stay in my family’s home, Winderbellow, until Boston is free from witches. Terrorists, whatever.” She waved her hand, and students behind Fiona clapped listlessly.
Munroe’s glossy lips curled into a beatific smile. “Anyway, all of your parents have signed permission forms for you to stay with us for as long as necessary. Maybe even for our entire senior year. And while we don’t ask for praise for saving everyone, we hope that some of you might be interested in learning about the Sanguine Brotherhood.”