I’m panting. I grip my aching side to keep from falling over. “What?”
Mom sheds her navy-blue, open-front cardigan. The same one she wore last time I saw her. “Trade me.”
We’re both soaked. What good will trading clothes do? “Why?”
She seizes my hoodie’s zipper, pulls it down, and peels the whole thing off in one swift move the way she did when I was young. She thrusts her cardigan at me and dons my sweatshirt. “You are to stay here until Joshua comes to get you. Do you understand me?”
“What?” I choke on the word. “No.”
Mom wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ll see you again. I promise. But right now the most important thing is keeping you far away from Jasyn Crowe.”
The hug doesn’t last. Who’s Jasyn Crowe? I don’t care. Only Mom matters. How can I let her go again? I won’t. “No.” I snatch her hand. Draw her deeper into the trees. “We’re going home. Together.”
She slides her fingers out of my sweaty ones and backs away. “I love you.”
I blink. She’s gone.
I love you too.
Fwit. An arrow sticks out from the ground before me.
I fight the urge to run after her, or better yet, start screaming so the shooters will come for me. What just happened? A dream? Did I fall victim to unconsciousness and am now drowning at the bottom of the Pond?
Fwit. An arrow grazes my arm, tears right through Mom’s sweater. I hiss through my teeth. Touch three fingers to my stinging skin. When I lift them, bright red blood paints their tips.
Not a dream.
I press my hand over the wound. I’m a duet of nausea and panic. What should I do? Mom said to wait here, but what if I could save her? I bend and scoop up the arrow. Where’d the other one go? I shuffle around the dirt and twigs with my bare feet. Got it. With both arrows in my free hand, I dart in the direction she went.
There’s too much light on the path. Some spills from the lampposts. Some streams down from Fifth Avenue. I stay on it anyway. Where were the arrows coming from? How did Mom just . . . vanish?
An arm materializes in front of me, jerks me into the trees. Now I really am getting whiplash.
I whirl, arrows pointed like spears.
A tall man in a black trench coat frowns down at me. “Makai?”
“Yes.” He squints, focusing on something behind me. A quiver of arrows is slung over his back, a bow held close at his side.
Now I’ve seen everything.
He shoves a hand in his pocket, removes a white handkerchief, and hands it over. “Wrap it around your arm to stop the bleeding. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I remain, helpless as a toddler in a playpen. I’m not stupid. I’m not the girl in the horror flick running up the stairs in her underwear when she should be running out the door. I have enough brains to know when to act. When to stay put. But I’m tired of everyone treating me like a baby.
I unfold the white square, one-handed. Shimmering blue thread embroiders three initials in one corner—E.K.C. I drop the arrows, roll the cloth into a loose line, and tie it around my arm. The pressure pinches, a good, stay-alive pain.
Target. Enemy. Reflection. The words switch around like the notes of an unfinished composition. How can I believe any of it? How can I not? After everything I’ve seen tonight, my disbelief morphs closer to conviction each second. A boy with the power to render his victim immovable. Arrows soaring through Central Park. Mom appearing and disappearing. This isn’t just weird, it’s otherworldly.
A not-so-distant scream pierces the night. Mom.
I won’t stand behind the curtain while Mom’s fight scene takes center stage. Dumb or not, I have to help her.
With an arrow in each hand, I stumble onto the path and move north. Wet bangs stick to my forehead and hang before my eyes. I part them, push them off my face. Where’s Makai? How does he keep disappearing? Water laps the shore to my left. Arrows zip by between interludes. Shouldn’t I hear shouts—something to alert me of the raging battle?
The bridge rises just ahead. I stop and wait. Silence. I cross. I’m jogging now, don’t slow when I cross paths with another unobservant pedestrian or two. Should I really be surprised when no one offers help? Wonders why a sopping girl is walking around barefoot, arrows fisted in each hand?
I’ll give you that one, Ky. Most people are totally self-absorbed.
The gritty sidewalk scrapes my bare feet. I ignore the blisters, the skin stripping off layer by layer. It would be worse to walk around in soggy shoes. I’m almost where I started with Ky. Where is everyone? Where are the arrows coming from? What—?
A single arrow shoots from the water, into the air. The battle is . . . underwater?
One deep, gulping gasp. Mom’s head surfaces. She screams again. Flails and disappears—pulled under?
Drawing in a huge breath, I dive after her. When I open my eyes, they burn against inky water. I swim forward. Down. My oxygen supply dwindles. What am I looking for? Guess I’ll know when I find it.
A pinprick of clear, green light beckons me deeper. I swim closer and the light grows, first into a beam, then a pool. When I’m directly above it, the glare is almost too much. Like a glowing emerald treasure lost at sea, the light sparkles and shines. Draws me in. Mesmerizes me.
And then it really is sucking me deep into its whirlpool. I let it take me. For Mom. A hand reaches out from the light’s nucleus. A head appears. There she is. Her face contorts, her eyes closed, her teeth clenched. Someone, or something, is hurting her.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I kick hard, aiding the whirlpool in consuming me. I ignore the pain in my lungs, forget I can’t breathe. I have only one goal, one purpose—save Mom. I stretch for her, but she’s sucked into the light. Faster. Deeper. Closer. Green surrounds me. I have to reach her. I have to.
Another whiplash. I’m hauled backward, up and out, away from the light. Away from Mom. No! I try to scream, but opening my mouth only floods my lungs. Wiggle, squirm, kick. I don’t need rescuing. I need to keep going. But I’m not strong enough. Whoever’s gripping me refuses to relent. I don’t give up. I resist all the way to the oxygenated surface.
When my face hits the cold night air, I release the arrows and cry out. Relieved. Agonized. I couldn’t help her. She was right in front of me. I should’ve fought harder.
“Eliyana, are you okay? What in the world were you trying to do, get yourself killed?” A blend of relief and anger salts Joshua’s voice. He has hold of my hand, his fingers threaded through mine. I’ve always imagined our hands intertwining this way. So what.
I wrench away, but he won’t let go. “I was trying to save my mom.”
He shakes his head. “El—” He squeezes my hand.
“I’m not crazy. She saved me. I saw her.”
“It’s not that. I don’t think you’re crazy. I know she’s alive.”
“You do?” And you didn’t tell me?
A slight nod. Is that an apology in his eyes?
“Then we have to go back down there. We have to—”
“We’ll get her. I promise. But not that way.”
My mouth opens in automatic protest. Before I can argue he says, “I’ll explain everything, but first we need to get to safety.” He pulls me against him, and I stop breathing mid-exhale. Our bodies touch from chest to hip. His face is so close to mine our noses nearly brush.