Kenya eyed Brooke as though she was going to shank her for grand larceny. It was a tense moment. After coming to her senses, she said, “True heroes are never heroes for the recognition. They do what they are supposed to do, play the hand they’ve been dealt.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, my mouth hanging open. It couldn’t have been appealing. “That I want recognition? I never asked for this. I never wanted to be this great prophet who is supposed to figure out how to stop this stupid war. I don’t expect anything, especially a pat on the back.”

The barest hint of a smile tilted her mouth. “And true heroes don’t seek out their heroism. It’s thrust upon them. Kind of like what’s happening to you.” She winked at me and strode away as Brooke and I both just stood there like bumps on a log.

“She sucks,” Brooke said, indignant. “She’s way too calm about this whole thing. Too logical.”

“Right? Since when does logic enter into anything we do?”

“Exactly.”

Dinner was wonderful. We had a kitchen full of food, including my grandmother’s famous green chile stew, Betty Jo’s amazing asparagus casserole, and Mrs. Chavez’s hand-rolled tamales. I ate more in that one meal than I did the entire time I was in Maine. Unless one were to count seafood. I pretty much ate my weight in seafood.

Brooke and Glitch wanted to know everything. I told them what I could about Maine as we sat in plastic chairs, drinking orange soda around a fire pit. I explained how we only assumed we had the whole layering thing down. “They have that stuff down in Maine. It’s layer up or die a slow and painful death.”

They nodded in understanding. But could they ever truly understand the depths of my near-hypothermic experience?

Still, Maine was kind of cool. I’d certainly miss Crystal.

With the sun dipping low on the horizon, I strolled as nonchalantly as I could over to Cameron. He’d eaten and was busy surveying the surroundings. He had yet to say ten words to me.

“Hey,” I said, taking a sip of orange soda and leaning against the building beside him.

He offered me a quick glance, then went back to scowling at the dirt. The dirt probably deserved it.

“I love your hair. It really suits your face.” And it did. He was a handsome guy, even when glowering like now.

But I got nothing. Not even a nod of acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry. If that helps.” When he still didn’t reply, I continued. “I thought maybe if I left, things would change. They’d stop. Maybe this war wouldn’t happen.”

“Do you think I give a damn about this stupid war?” he asked as though appalled. “I’m not here to fight a war, Lorelei. I’m here to keep you alive. Remember? That’s why I was created in the first place. I should have gone with you.”

I blinked in surprise. “If I’d made you go with me, what do you think that would have done to Brooke? Your girlfriend is my best friend. You forget that sometimes.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

I’d noticed a strained silence between them all the way back. Brooke could hide things well, but clearly something was wrong.

“What happened?” I asked him; then I glared at him and rephrased my question. “What did you do?”

He straightened. “Me? I didn’t do anything. She’s the one full of piss and vinegar.”

I kind of gaped at him. First, I’d only ever heard my grandparents use the piss-and-vinegar phrase. And second … “Brooke is mad at you? Why?”

“She says I have no right to be angry. With you.” He said the last bit accusingly, then leaned closer. “But I do have that right.”

Uh-oh. My running off in the middle of the night had caused more damage than I thought it would.

“She’ll get over it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you two.”

Maybe that was the root of his anger.

“I’m not worried about Brooklyn’s temper either, Lor. I thought … I was created for one purpose only. My entire existence is because of you. If I can’t protect you, what good am I? What is my purpose?”

“Is that what you think? That your only worth lies in protecting me?”

He snorted. “Duh.”

I almost laughed. I’d never heard him use the word “duh” before, either. If “duh” could be considered a word. “Did you ever think that maybe this whole thing is because of me? Maybe if I’d never been born, it would never have begun?”

“That’s not egocentric at all.”

He had a point. “Okay, sorry. But don’t you think it’s possible? I mean all the prophecies say that the last prophet of Arabeth will stop the war before it even begins. Maybe my birth was some kind of catalyst to the end of times.”

His hard gaze turned almost sympathetic, but not in a nice, caring way. “The only thing your birth catalyzed was the constant pain in my ass.”

Well, that was uncalled for. But again, he had a point.

* * *

Jared’s gaze followed me as I said my hellos to our friends. Mr. Moore only glared at me when I greeted him, but he was relieved to have me back. I could tell. Mrs. Henderson and the Dixon sisters were almost giddy to have me back. It was sweet. And there were new members, too. I knew their faces, but they’d never been members of our church, much less members of the Order.

“Granddad, is everyone here members of our super-secret club?”