I could only watch as it crept forward, its target still unaware of its existence, and the words came to me in a flash.

“Rey’aziel,” I said, forcing my teeth apart. “Te libero.”

In an instant, Reyes materialized beside me as time crashed through my barrier with a vengeance. I heard another gunshot a microsecond before I heard the shiiiiing of Reyes’s sword.

His robe, thick and undulating like an ocean wave, swallowed half the room as his blade sliced through Walker with the grace of a seasoned golfer.

Walker froze, his eyes wide with disbelief as he glanced down, wondering what was wrong, because Reyes sliced from the inside out. No external trauma. Nothing distasteful like gaping wounds or gushing blood. So the fact that he had been drenched in pain and could no longer move boggled him. I wished he could see Reyes, the massive presence of his robe and what lay beneath it. Since he couldn’t, he’d have no idea what was now picking him up and throwing him across the room. The walls shook when Walker hit, and I realized I could no longer see Reyes’s corporeal self. I could only hope the bullets were less strategically placed than Reyes’s blade. It would take more than a couple of bullets to bring him down.

Then he turned toward me and lowered the hood of his robe, revealing the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. He kneeled and took mine into his hands. “Dutch, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” I tried to say, but I realized my mouth and throat were too full of blood to say anything. Then I tumbled back into oblivion and slept at last.

25

An integral part of any best friend’s job is to

immediately clear your computer history if you die.

—T-SHIRT

“I think you’re right. Should we get a doctor?”

I tried to focus on the voice by my side, male and distinctly Uncle Bob–ish, but I couldn’t quite place the source. Then another one chimed in, so I tried to focus on it instead.

“Definitely, yes, go get someone.”

Cookie was on my left. She had my hand in hers, which was silly. We rarely held hands in public. Before I could comment, I realized someone had superglued my eyelids shut. Damn it. I tried to protest, but my mouth seemed to have suffered the same fate. After someone stuffed cotton into it.

I frowned, and an unattractive moan escaped me.

“Sweetheart, it’s Cookie. You’re in the hospital.”

“Mm-mm,” I said. And I meant every word. This was ridiculous. I’d never actually been admitted into a hospital before, like in a room with a view—or without a view, since I couldn’t be sure, but I felt the distinct presence of a bed beneath me.

“Is she awake?” I heard a bustle of people entering the room and my sister’s voice. “Charley?” she asked, and I had so many comebacks, it was unreal. Damn the inventor of superglue.

“What do you think?” Gemma asked, and I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought about this whole freaking situation, but a nurse interrupted before I got the chance.

“Her sutures look good. The surgery went well. She should have the full use of her arm back with therapy.”

My arm? What the fuck happened to my arm?

Someone walked out and Gemma followed, asking questions.

“Hey, pumpkin head,” the Uncle Bob voice said. I totally could not put a face to it. “Can you hear me?”

“Mm-mm.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I lifted my free hand and tried to feel my face. It was gone! Then Cookie led my hand a little farther left.

“Here you go,” she said.

Oh, thank God. I had some kind of headband on, which was slightly mortifying as those went out in the eighties, and half my face was covered with a huge bandage. That couldn’t look good.

What the hell happened to me? Then I remembered. “Oh, my god!” I mumbled, and tried to sit up.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” that voice said, and I was beginning to think it might have been Uncle Bob.

“Walker,” I said, though it sounded more like muffler.

“Did you get that?” Ubie must have asked Cookie. “Me neither.” He leaned closer and talked really loudly, enunciating each syllable. “Do you want some water?”

After a strong wince, I took my hand and felt for his face.

“I’m right here,” he nigh yelled.

When my hand came into contact with his face, I covered his mouth and said, “Shhh.”

Cookie giggled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand into his.

“I can’t see.”

“Here, I have a warm cloth.” Cookie wiped my eyes and face, at least the part that wasn’t bandaged, and I was finally able to pry my lids apart.

I blinked and tried to focus. Uncle Bob was on my right, and I reached up and felt his face again, his dark mustache tickling my palm. Cookie was on my left and had my other hand, but I couldn’t squeeze.

“Reyes,” I said, and she glanced at Uncle Bob.

“He’s fine, honey. Don’t worry about him.”

So I didn’t. I drifted off again, in and out for hours. People were there one minute only to be replaced by other people the next. When I finally awoke without feeling like a house had fallen on me—well, no, I still felt like a house had fallen on me, but I was able to stay awake for more than ten seconds—the room was dark with only a soft light glowing from the instrument panel beside me. And empty, save one. Reyes.

I felt him, his heat and energy. I pried open my eyes and spotted him instantly, balancing on the back of a chair in the corner, his robe sliding along the floor like a black fog, creeping up the walls and around the instruments. His hood was back as he watched me, his powerful gaze unwavering.

“Are you okay?” I asked, the cotton still in my mouth.

He jumped down, his robe swallowing in on itself. When it settled around him, he turned to look out the window at the lights of the city. Or the Dumpsters out back. Who knew?

“This is my fault.”

My brows slid together. “This wasn’t your fault.”

He glanced over a wide shoulder. “You really need to figure out what you’re capable of,” he said, scanning me from head to toe.

I was suddenly self-conscious. I had a huge gash in my face and an arm in dire need of therapy. Walker had actually cut the tendons in my arm and partially cut them in my leg. Speaking of Walker … “Where is he?” I asked.