“It’s strange. I thought for a second that you—” His dark brows drew together before he shook his head.

“You thought for a second…what?”

“Something bad. But it’s nothing.” He turned to look at the Dumpster-diving kid before returning his gaze to mine. “You need to go now, Samantha.”

I inhaled sharply. “What?”

He took a step back as if forcing himself to put some space between us. “I need to talk to him alone.”

The distance between us helped to clear my head a little. “But—”

“Just go. And forget you ever met me.”

It felt like I’d just been punched in the gut, and it took me a moment to catch my breath. The cold splash of a raindrop hit my face.

He wanted me to forget I’d met him. But I kind of thought that we…

That we what? Had a connection because a good-looking but kind of crazy guy had called me beautiful? Because he’d said I was special?

My second bee sting of the weekend hurt like hell.

“Fine.” My chest ached. “I guess you should grab your friend before he finds a dead rat to nibble on.”

There was a sliver of regret in his blue eyes—or maybe that was just wishful thinking. He’d gotten what he needed from me and now he was giving me the brush-off. “Goodbye, Samantha.”

“Whatever.” I swallowed hard, then turned and walked away, forcing myself not to look back.

But even as I left the alley, my steps slowed.

Was he some milk-carton missing kid? Did he need professional help to deal with his mental issues? And who was the garbage-eating boy in the alley Bishop had needed a beam of light in order to find? I couldn’t just walk away and forget all about this without having any of my questions answered. Even if he didn’t want me around, I had to find out what was going on.

Ignoring the sharp needles of cold rain, I returned to the small alley and peered around the corner. The boys were close enough for me to hear them.

The other kid finally noticed Bishop and abandoned his secondhand meal, dropping the remains of the burger to the dirty, wet ground. “Who are you?”

Bishop didn’t speak right away. He cleared his throat first. “You don’t know me?”

“No, should I?”

“My name’s Bishop,” he said evenly. “I’m here to help you.”

The other boy eyed Bishop warily. “How are you going to help me?”

“Do you remember who you are? Do you remember anything at all?”

The boy ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, now damp from the rain, his expression tight and uncertain. “I woke up three days ago in a park north of here with no idea how I got there.”

“I know how.”

Relief flooded the kid’s expression. “Yeah? And you can help me?”

Another moment of hesitation. “That’s my job. Come closer.”

Bishop’s voice sounded stronger now, no babbling or disjointed thoughts like before. His shoulders were broad and he stood straight and tall, his back to me, the rain soaking through his T-shirt, darkening it.

The boy moved away from the Dumpster to stand in front of Bishop. They were the same height and build.

“Show me your back,” Bishop instructed.

“My back?”

“Please, it’ll only take a moment. I can’t make any more mistakes, even if I’m absolutely sure who you are.”

The blond kid looked bewildered as he turned and pulled up his shirt. It was fully dark now, and the only light came from a single security lamp on a post against the gray brick wall, but I could still see enough. On either side of his spine was a detailed tattoo of wings, so large that it extended down past the waistband of his pants. I squinted a little and noted that the wings were outlined and shaded in black.

It was trendy for some kids to get a wing tattoo—especially the guys on McCarthy’s football team, the Ravens. But they usually got it on their arms.

My rational mind wanted me to believe it was just a big version of the Ravens tattoo. However, these wings weren’t feathery like a bird’s. They were more webbed and…batlike.

Another shiver raced through me and my teeth began to chatter. My hair was now drenched from the icy-cold rain.

“I’ve seen enough,” Bishop said.

The boy lowered his shirt. Just like Bishop, he wasn’t wearing a coat despite the chill in the air and the falling rain.

“So now what?” the boy asked.

“Now you need to be brave.”

The boy’s attention shifted to the gold-bladed knife Bishop pulled from a sheath on his back that I hadn’t noticed before. “What are you going to do with that?”

“What I was sent here to do,” Bishop said. “My mission.”

He plunged the knife into the boy’s chest.

Chapter 4

A scream tore from my throat. “No! What are you doing?”

Bishop sent a fierce glare over his shoulder at me. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

I ran toward the boy and grabbed hold of his arm as he staggered backward. A flash of lightning forked across the sky followed by a crack of thunder, and the rain came down even harder.

“You… You’re a—” The boy clutched at me, his eyes widening with pain and shock. I looked with horror at the blood soaking through his dirty white shirt as the boy’s grip on me grew painfully tight. “A gray.”