After the End

55 MILES

“IS JUNEAU IN DANGER WITH THOSE MEN?” WHIT asks.

I cross my arms defensively and stare at him.

“Are you and the men who took her working for Blackwell Pharmaceutical?” he asks, and something in my expression must be giving it away, because he nods like he’s thinking, I knew it! One of the guards in the backseat shuffles uncomfortably.

“Since when does Murray Blackwell hire teenagers to do his dirty work?” he prods.

I don’t say a word. I just give him my eat shit and die look. But it doesn’t seem to be working on him because he just gives me an astonished look, like he read my mind and knows exactly who I am. And then I notice that his hand is positioned over the gearshift so that his fingers are lightly touching my jacket.

“You were Reading me!” I say.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Whit protests, but something in his eyes tells me that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, let’s get this show on the road,” urges Thick-tongue from behind me.

Whit puts the Jeep in gear, and I scrabble to pull up the door lock while yanking on the handle. It’s already unlocked! I manage to think before I tumble out the door, landing hard on the sidewalk and sending a shock wave of pain through my right shoulder. Rolling to my hands and knees, I leap forward and make a run for the Dairy Queen.

I hear swearing behind me, but don’t dare look as I sprint across the parking lot and in through the glass door. I push it closed behind me and see Thick-tongue stop mid-run as Whit yells something at him. The burly guard turns his head and gives me a scorching glare, pointing his thumb and index finger at me like a gun. He shoots. And then he turns and stalks back to the Jeep. They drive off in a screech of rubber, leaving skid marks on the sidewalk.

“May I help you?” I swing around to see a teenage girl standing behind a cash register. I stick my hand in my pocket and pull out my cash. Juneau paid for our uneaten lunch, so I still have change. “What can I get with a dollar twenty-nine?” I ask.

“Water,” she says snippily.

I look back at the street. They’re definitely gone, although who knows if they’re just turning around to come back for me. I have two choices: hang out drinking water in Dairy Queen in case they come back, or risk it and make the trek back to my car.

“That’s okay,” I say. “Not thirsty.”

She rolls her eyes, and I walk out the door.

A twenty-minute walk later and I’m amazed to see that my keys are still on the ground where I dropped them when Portman and Redding smashed into the Jeep. Our lunch is still sitting in the bag on the dashboard where Juneau had set it. And Juneau’s pack is still in the backseat.

I’ve got this Tabasco-hot anxiety burning in my chest, but it quickly turns into anger as I think of Dad’s men snatching Juneau. They better not lay a finger on her. I’m comforted by the knowledge that Dad will treat her well as long as he thinks she can help him. But knowing her, she won’t be very helpful. Even if she knows the formula or technique or whatever it is that they use to stay young, there’s no way in hell she’s going to give it to him.

I think of her face when she’s angry and can’t help but smile. I wouldn’t want to be my dad before a wrathful Juneau. If Portman and Redding are taking her to L.A., like I imagine they are, she’s going to be majorly pissed off. Her goal right now is New Mexico, and the longer Dad keeps her from it, the angrier she’s going to get.

But my frown returns when I think of my father and how cutthroat he is when he wants something he can’t get. He’s got a whole corporation, money, and manpower behind him. And what does she have? Her earth magic. I start the car and buckle in. There’s going to be a major face-off in L.A., and I need to be there to stop it.

As I pull out of my parking space, something black lands on my car and blocks my view through the windshield. I hit the brakes and see that it’s Poe, wings spread wide as he flaps to get my attention. I unbuckle and jump out of the car. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say, and then realize. “You led Whit here, didn’t you? You… you traitor!” The bird squawks and struts across my hood to look me in the eye.

I know Poe was just an unwitting tool, but I still want to strangle his little feathered neck.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go find Juneau?” I say. He leans his head to one side, as if considering my question. Then he squawks loudly and flies off to the north—the direction opposite of where Juneau’s being taken. I’m obviously not “close enough to the Yara” to use him as a messenger raven.

I climb back into the car. How did I ever get involved in this mess? Oh yeah. Dad. Dad’s greed. And a girl who may or may not be holding the secret to a drug for immortality.

I shake my head and try to find a radio station. Country and oldies are all I’m picking up. It’s going to be a long drive to L.A.