“It’ll happen,” he said.

She huffed. “But how do you know? What if—”

He shook his head and put up a hand to stop her. Even with his bearded face, he still looked young. “Everything will always happen the way it’s meant to.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “It always does.”

Pearl’s white hair flowed down the sides of her face as she glared at him. “We’re risking a lot waiting.”

Nathan turned and faced the winter-topped foothills. A chill had come in on the wind. “Yes. But the best things are worth the risk of patience.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

“You’ll see. Everything will come back around. You did.”

“With divine intervention.”

“Our whole future depends on divine intervention.”

***

Light and crisp, the winter snow fell from the dark abyss, surrounding the Bridges Gap apartment com­plex in a blinding white blanket. Chilling air slithered in through the front doorway, freezing David Corbin’s soul in place, numbing him to the terrible events of days past.

David welcomed the chill, welcomed the complete shut­down of his emotions, his thoughts, his sense of things. It was all he could do to survive—to close himself off from the rest of the world while he attempted to regain himself, much like a computer’s hard drive is rebooted to restart its convo­luted programs.

The old recliner David sat in was strangely comfortable, and the stale scent of cigarettes and rose-scented air freshener reminded him of his late sister and her bad habits. Cybil Corbin’s corpse remained in the bedroom on the other side of the wall from where he sat, a mercenary’s knife deep in her back. He couldn’t bring himself to move her, instead regarding the murder scene as a shrine of sorts.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” These had been Cybil’s last words to David, after he inadvertently accused her of do­ing drugs. The conversation played in an infinite loop in his memory, tormenting him.

Why couldn’t I save her? I tried so hard to save Carrie, to save the world, and I couldn’t even protect my own sister?

David opened his eyes to the dark room before him. Time had somehow halted when David told Chaos—the other­worldly master of illusions—that he was going to go after the books Chaos wanted David to forget about. Now, David simply sat in his late sister’s chair, which was marred with cig­arette burns and cat scratches, and waited for the pieces of his mind, of himself, to reconnect so he could move again.

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen suddenly made its way into his sense of hearing, and he realized with true horror that time had started up again. Dull pain surrounded his right wrist under the cuff of his glove, where he had tried to cut himself open with the edge of his metal boomerang. Dozens of surface scratches released enough blood to lightly stain the carpet, but he couldn’t bring himself to cut deeper.

He chuckled with the grim irony of trying to kill himself with the weapon that symbolized his heroism. Maybe it was because the same weapon had been used to kill Agent Parks. David thought of wrapping the wounds but didn’t care enough to. He would wear them like bracelets, reminding him of how frail his psyche was.

Across the living room, the VHS security tape that David grabbed from the mall jewelry store sat on the kitchen table. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, but his eyes formed its shape anyway. A shape that David stared at for minutes, maybe even hours.

“You killed me,” the tape called out in a melodious tone. In the darkness, David thought the tape looked a lot like Mel­ody’s young, acne-riddled face. “You left me to die. How could you do that? Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? Instead, you got me killed. Heroes don’t do that.”

You don’t know if she died or not, David countered himself. His standoff with police in the jewelry store ended in Melody’s injury—and possible death. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to make sure she was ok. She could be alive. She might be alright.

The tape scoffed. “Alright? You know nothing is alright now. Nothing.”

David shook Melody’s ghost from his mind and gingerly stood from the recliner, his head swimming, his legs threaten­ing to buckle. Moving to the sliding glass door, he drew open the blinds and slid the glass panel open, allowing more cold air and even some snow to drift into the living room. He wel­comed the freeze with his arms opened wide. As the snow­flakes landed across his bare arms, across the bloody roads mapped out across his wrist, he noticed the stark contrast be­tween the white flakes and his own crimson stains. Red and white. Destruction and innocence. Death and purity. It seemed like a strange thing to think about, but something about it brought order to his chaotic mind and settled his nerves.

Balance.

Light from the parking lot illuminated part of the living area, giving David sight to see the worn brown couch and the beat-up brown coffee table in front of it. Trash littered the coffee table: potato chip wrappers, soda cups and cans, an empty pizza box. As much as he had once hated his sister’s style of living, he yearned for it now. Staring at the trash, he took it all into his memory and pleaded with his brain, his heart, to keep the images as a token of his sister. He suddenly wanted to remember everything about her—the good and the bad—and never forget who she actually was instead of who he always wished her to be.

His mind nagged him again, reminding him to contact his parents, to tell the tale of what had occurred here only hours earlier. David refused his mind’s pleas, and instead decided he would have his parents find out from someone other than him. He couldn’t face them after this. Besides, they were out of town and probably unreachable. They would have to learn of their daughter’s death at a later date.

Right now, David knew he needed to check the surveil­lance tape to find out who had the third and final timepiece necklace in their possession. The mysterious object was the reason David had been in that mall in the first place with Mel­ody, with Veronica, and with that trigger-happy cop. The time­piece necklace was also why David was here, in his sister’s home, in the place of her final moments here on Anaisha.

His struggle with Drather rushed through his mind, and he fought to keep it at bay. He wanted to kill the man, wanted to exact vengeance on him for killing his one and only sister.

But he wasn’t here. Neither was his sister. It was just Da­vid, the falling snow, the bitter cold, and guilt. Mountains of guilt.

David made his way toward the kitchen through the living room. He spotted stray crumpled sheets of tissue paper and a small box on the floor near the entertainment center. He picked up the box and brought it to the sliding glass door, hoping to get more light on the object. Black velvet lined the outside. When he opened it, he slowly sunk back into the strangely comfortable recliner. The third timepiece necklace—a black capsule with a glowing blue line cutting around it—sat nestled inside the white jewelry pillow.

“How did you get here?” he asked the long-sought item.

Hurry! Come back! Carrie is in trouble!

David shook his head, still disconcerted that Turquoise could telepathically enter his mind whenever she wanted. 

David, hurry!

He reached into the pocket of his black denim coat and pulled out the fist-sized crystal timepiece. The clear crystal al­lowed one to see the small emerald clock within, and the un­moving minutes and seconds hands were both still glowing green from the previous two necklaces being inserted into the piece. David removed the necklace from the velvet box and carefully slid the blue-lined cylinder into the third hole on the side of the crystal.

The clock hands stopped glowing, then both wound to twelve o’ clock. The small device let out a faint ticking sound, and the crystal grew cold in David’s hand. An awful feeling struck him, as if he shouldn’t have inserted the timepieces into the crystal at all.

Is it a key to something? A bomb? Is it counting down to something, or counting up? I should have waited for Turquoise…

David shoved the crystal into his pocket, knowing he couldn’t do anything with it now. He had to return to his par­ents’ house where Carrie was resting and hope with all his heart she was okay. After everything he had done to save her life, he couldn’t possibly imagine losing her to the rack matter moving through her system.

David made his way to his sister’s bedroom and stood in the doorway for a long minute, staring into the deep darkness. Although he couldn’t see his sister’s corpse, he could sense her empty shell, dead and soulless, murdered by the hand of the mercenary David knew only as Drather.

I’ll get even with you, Drather. When the opportunity presents itself, by the gods, I’ll get even with you.

David turned the bedroom light on and examined the mess he had made in his rage. The dresser had been toppled to the ground. Scattered everywhere were his sister’s things: picture frames, jewelry boxes, clothes. He lifted the dresser to its upright position against the wall. He collected the picture frames he had broken, setting the pieces across the surface of the dresser, sections of a puzzle he wanted so badly to put right. He placed the jewelry boxes where he remembered they had been, hoping he could put everything in its rightful place, to restore the shrine to its former order before he lost himself to grief.

“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than make sure your sister’s room is put back in tidy order.”

David turned to the vaporous man in the red suit and then returned his attention to making sure his sister’s things were put back in their place.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Chaos asked. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“I’ve told you my intentions,” David said without looking at him. “I’m going to find that book, and I’m going to put a stop to you and whatever else is going on here in Anaisha.”

The man in the suit laughed jovially. When he was fin­ished, he wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eye and shook his head. His white eyes, though translucent-looking, were filled with mischief and danger. “You really know how to bring humor to the situation, you know that, David?”

David placed the last broken picture frame, one housing a photo of David and his sister in their younger years, on the dresser, and then he turned to Chaos.

The man’s face turned from silly to serious. “You have no idea what’s out there in the world you live in, David. No idea. You think I’m the only one who doesn’t want that book found? You think—”

“I don’t care!”

Chaos stood still and silent for a moment, seemingly fro­zen by David’s outburst.

“I don’t care,” David whispered through gnashed teeth, “what the book is for, what it does, who’s after it, or anything else for that matter. You had a hand in my sister’s death. For that, I’ll make sure I find the book you don’t want me to find, and I’ll use it—somehow—to destroy you.”

“Can you hear yourself speak?” Chaos said. “You don’t have a clue what you’re getting yourself into. You already lost your sister, and there is so much more you can lose before this is over. My advice remains: stop your pursuit of the book and go back home. Mourn your sister’s loss. Romance Carrie. Live ever after.”

David stared at the picture of him and his sister, tears crawling to the surface of his eyes. In the photo, they were riding in the bed of a green pickup truck together—their grandfather’s pickup truck. “You do what you have to, Chaos. I’ll make sure I do the same.” He slid the photograph into the inside pocket of his black denim coat.

Chaos sighed. “Very well. If this is the way you want it.”

“It is.” He turned to the man in the red suit but said nothing more.

Chaos nodded, his white eyes shining in the harsh orange bedroom light. “I get it. At least we’re on the same page now.” He pointed at David as he backed out of the room. “Keep your eyes peeled. The tricks you’ve seen me pull up to now are nothing compared to what I’m fully capable of.”

“You don’t frighten me. I’ve fought worse. I’ll continue to fight worse.”

Chaos smiled. “Let that passion of yours fan into flames. Let it consume you. And when you’re fully lit, when your flame is consuming all your being, that’s when I will take you down with one swipe. That’s when I will bring you to your knees. I’ve toppled greater ones than you, David. You mean nothing to me, a mere speck on the timeline of this tragedy called life.”

With those final words, Chaos vanished.

David felt a rush of relief when the otherworldly being disappeared from his sight, but he instinctively knew Chaos was still around, lingering in the air much like the scent of gas­oline at a pump station.

Something from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the bedroom floor. David knelt down and picked up a small package wrapped in brown packing paper. His own name was written on it in black marker, with, “Love, your sister, Cybil.”

David unfolded the paper and found a black leather hol­ster inside, with a note that said:

 David, I had a good friend make this for you. It’s for your boomer­ang. Hope you like it.

 David set the paper and note on the dresser and put the holster onto his belt. He pulled the small metal bar from his coat pocket and extended it to make his boomerang. Then he slid the metal weapon into the holster. It was a perfect fit, strangely enough, seeing how the metal boomerang was cus­tom made by Professor Grey. I wonder who made this holster.

Without actually looking at her, David turned himself to­ward the bed where his sister’s body lay. “You didn’t have to do this…but thank you.”

“Who’s here?” a voice called from the living room.

David peered out the doorway of the bedroom and found Nicolas Rodwick, Cybil Corbin’s boyfriend, towering in the front doorway, rubbing his bald head. David took one last look at his sister’s room, snapping a final glimpse of it with his mind as one would take a photograph to remember a moment in time. Then he shut the bedroom light off and made his way into the living room, taking another quick snapshot or two of his late sister’s place of living.

“What are you doing here?” Nicolas asked. A small welt brandished his right temple. “Where’s Cybil?”

Before leaving the apartment, David put his hand on Ni­colas’s arm and whispered, “Please make sure my family is notified.”

Nicolas stared at the bloody bracelets around David’s wrist. “Notified of what? Why are you here?”

David headed out of the apartment and along the concrete path leading to the SUV he stole from the mall in Mirana. The snow coating the path to the vehicle felt soft under his feet, and the cold air—having before shut down his senses and memories—now awakened him to the true gravity of his situ­ation. He had to save Carrie. He had to find that book, the Codex of Ra’f. He had to put a stop to everything.

As he opened the door to the stolen SUV, he heard glass shatter in the apartment. He looked up to find Nicolas barrel­ing down the pathway leading to the stolen vehicle. David stood in front of the vehicle and stretched out his arms to catch the man. The force felt like a ton of cinderblocks smash­ing into his chest as Nicolas slammed David into the hood of the SUV.

Pain shot up David’s back to the base of his skull as he hit the vehicle. He felt the surface of the hood bend under the impact.

“You killed her!” Nicolas balled David’s shirt in his fists and slammed his body against the vehicle again. The vehicle’s hood flexed inward with a loud popping sound.

David kneed Nicolas in the groin and shoved him back­wards. Nicolas rebounded and lunged forward, running his fist toward David’s face. Shifting inches to one side, David grabbed Nicolas by the arm in the middle of his swing and gave momentum to the man’s form, propelling him into the hood. David pressed Nicolas’s face against the vehicle. “Why would I kill my own sister?! Huh?!”

Nicolas’s eyes reddened with fury and panic. He was in a rage, emotions churning through him so fast, he didn’t know what to do with them. David pitied him but pitied himself more. It was his sister who died, not just some idiot’s blond fantasy.

“What happened?” Nicolas growled, spittle shooting from his mouth onto the bent hood. “Who did this? Who killed her?”

“A man name Drather.” David let up on Nicolas.

The man sprung up from the hood, his massive form overshadowing David’s. His body trembled, and his fists balled up tight at his sides like wrecking balls. “Who is he? I’ll kill him. I’ll kill Drather!”

David shook his head and turned toward the vehicle. “Drather is a dangerous man. You’ll do well to—”

“I’ll kill him! I’ll make him pay for what he did.”

David entered the vehicle, started the engine, and rolled the window down. Nicolas’s face looked like that of a rabies-crazed bulldog, his mouth covered in foamy spit, his eyes bloodshot and full of malice. “You’d be wise to stay away from him.”

“You failed to protect Cybil. You should have been here to protect her! The least I can do is make the one who did this pay.”

“I suggest you contact my family so they can set up funeral arrangements.”

Nicolas pointed a fat finger at David. “You weren’t here when she needed you. All you ever did was accuse her of doing drugs.”

David put the vehicle in drive. “Call my mother and let her know what happened.”

“Is there something more important than burying your own sister? Huh, hero?!” He pounded his fists on the hood. David stared at him for a long minute before Nicolas finally moved to the side to allow him a clear exit.

David drove out of the parking spot and made his way through the apartment complex, not entirely sure what he felt. Was it my responsibility to protect her, to watch over my own family, to put them before the rest of the world? He shook his head. He might have been able to assume Chaos—or Drather—would possi­bly go after his family at some point, but there was no way to tell. He still wasn’t even sure what was going on. And there wasn’t anything he could do about his sister’s death now. She was dead. Drather killed her, and now it was time to move on.

Carrie was still alive. As was Veronica as far as he knew. He could still protect them. He could still prevent them from coming to the same fate as his sister.  

The house smelled of orange blossoms and vanilla. It was a scent Carrie Green knew well with all the times she visited David’s home in the past. His mother never changed the scent of the house. Counters were popu­lated with vanilla candles, vases were filled with orange blos­som reeds. The scent permeated everything in the house, and traces of the scent could (in the past, when he lived here) al­ways be found on David’s clothes, or even in his hair.

Now, the scent was soothing, comforting. It was one Car­rie had adapted to over the years, one that gave her peace of mind. It was a scent that indicated to her that David was nearby, or that she was someplace that had some connection to David.

Even as she lay ill in David’s old bed, in what was now the guest room, Carrie felt comforted by the scent of orange blos­som and vanilla. Even as black swirls slithered across the skin of her right arm like serpents under thin sheets of foliage, the scent eased her mind, relaxed her soul. The tree was gone—the one that anchored her mind to reality. In her mind, in her personal sanctuary, darkness had come to stay after having consumed everything familiar to her. Even her imaginary ver­sion of David was gone, never to return, leaving her on a cliff­side that overlooked a canyon of dark fog.

The rack matter—a term the wedges gave to the Legion material moving through her—felt cold and soothing between her flesh and muscle. But she knew the feeling was deceiving. The rack matter wanted nothing more than to control her mind and her spirit, fighting against her every second of every day in hopes of consuming her inner core and corrupting her from within.

She knew very little about the rack matter. The substance had been planted within her body back when she was being held captive in the Complex by Alex Waterford. Carrie was almost certain Alex implanted it within her to control her, but he never had the chance to enact his sinister plans because of Rio’s jealousy and David’s rescue attempt.

Instead, Carrie was here in David’s old house waiting for him to return while she fought against this alien presence in her body. She fought daily within her mind to salvage what was left of her internal sanctuary. She fought against the cold sweats, she fought against the migraines, she fought against the loss of circulation throughout various parts of her body.

She fought, and her will was strong, but she knew even she would eventually tire and succumb to the rack matter if it wasn’t stopped soon.

Strangely enough, her arm didn’t hurt. If anything, it just felt cold, as if the blood had been chased away by the black ink showing in her skin. Ink. That’s what she would refer to it as. She didn’t like the term, ‘rack.’ She didn’t like the idea that Legion was trying to use her as its puppet.

She had encountered Legion once already back at Grey’s house, when she was with David. Luckily, with David’s help, they had escaped.

But how do you escape something inside of you, working its way deeper, toying with your mind and your spirit?

Her hope, she decided, would be in David. Her anchor, her oak tree, she needed him now more than ever to keep her rooted, to keep her stable in this chaotic menagerie of events. He was supposed to be here soon…

A slight distortion in the space of the doorway caught Car­rie’s attention. Serenity, one of the three wedges tasked with ‘babysitting’ Carrie, stepped across the threshold. All reality around her carried a strange, distorted field, as if when one were looking on her they were looking through slightly mal­adjusted glass that caught light at all the wrong angles. The effect was supposedly part of her powers, but all Carrie knew she did was heal people. Why would a healer carry a distorted presence around them like that?

Serenity took a seat on the edge of the bed. Her black sweater, black skirt, and the heavy black eyeliner and shadow (which gave her racoon eyes) gave her a very gothic vibe, but the purple streak of hair color running through her bangs added a splash of gaiety to her otherwise dour demeanor. She said very little to Carrie, but her presence instilled some hope that Carrie would be free of the rack matter…at some point. The wedge had a knack for healing, but the rack matter thus far had proven to be incredibly resilient. Serenity had been us­ing her wedge healing powers for hours now but had only managed to slow the spread of rack matter throughout Carrie’s body.

The girl adjusted her thick-framed glasses and took hold of Carrie’s rack-barraged arm. “Hold still while I try this again.” She closed her eyes and massaged Carrie’s arm where the inky designs had consumed most of her flesh to give it the illusion of a tattoo sleeve.

Carrie closed her eyes. A vision came to Carrie’s mind, a vision of herself on a ledge overlooking a chasm filled with dark mist. When she last put her hand in this mist, the ink had taken over her arm, giving her the marks she now had. She didn’t want to touch that dark substance anymore, but it was quickly filling up the sanctuary her mind had created, breaking her will and her spirit.

Her only option was to let it take over, or to leap off the cliff and take refuge in the city she believed hid beneath the dark mist. She wanted to do neither. She wanted David to rescue her.

As Serenity healed her, Carrie took deep breaths and thought of David. He had exited her visions a while ago, never to return. Where had he gone? She hated it when he left both her visions and her real life. She wanted him here, by her side, holding her as she fought against this mystical villain. To­gether, they could do anything. Apart…she hated being apart from him.

“We have a problem.”

Carrie opened her eyes. Turquoise stood in the doorway of the room, her bright pink hair and turquoise-colored eyes lighting up the dim space.

“What is it?” Serenity asked as she continued to massage Carrie’s arm. The girl’s black-painted nails were sharp and happened to dig into Carrie’s skin more than what was com­fortable. There was no tenderness with Serenity’s touch, nothing sympathetic about it. It was mechanical, the healing act she did to Carrie, and because of that, because she was using a tool that resided within her, it felt like a mechanical procedure, void of caring, void of love.

But what more could Carrie expect? Serenity was a stranger, using her skills to save a life she knew nothing about. Carrie knew she would most likely only get mercy from David.

“Rio,” Turquoise answered. “Rio is on her way here.”

Serenity grinned, her attention still on her healing act. “So what? Rio is nothing. A nobody.”

“She’s under the influence of Legion.”

Serenity turned her head toward Turquoise. “How do you know that?”

Hammer entered the room, the large, spiked metal ham­mer on his back scraping against the door frame as he squeezed his mammoth frame through the room’s threshold. Carrie felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle every time he came near her. He was the supposed leader of this group of wedges, but he only acted like a control-freak and not like someone Carrie would want to follow into battle. Why he al­ways wore the hammer on his back, why he always asserted dominance over everyone—even non-wedges, why he always cast derision toward Carrie—it was all beyond her. All she knew was she didn’t like him. At all.

“It’s true,” he said, his deep voice rolling through the room like harsh thunder. He had a long scar running diago­nally across both his lips. Carrie wondered where that scar came from. “We’ve received reports she’s carving a path straight for us. She’s already destroyed a number of buildings with both the powers Legion has bestowed upon her and her own fire element skills. She must be stopped.”

Serenity stood to her feet. Even standing, she barely came up to Turquoise’s chest, and with her dark clothing, she re­sembled a dark elf Carrie remembered seeing pictures of in a fantasy book her dad read to her when she was a little girl: Siren Of The Tides.

“We should take Carrie and flee,” Serenity said.

Hammer shook his head. “No. We need to stay and fight. We need to destroy her.”

“We aren’t strong enough to stand against Legion,” Seren­ity countered. “Not while we’re trying to protect the Key.”

Hammer sighed as he ran his fingers through his long, pointy beard.

Carrie also hated his beard.

“I know,” Hammer said. “But we have to try.”

Turquoise approached the side of the bed, eyeing Carrie. “Why doesn’t one of us move her from here while the others distract Rio?”

“That won’t work,” Hammer answered. “Infused with Le­gion, Rio will follow after the Key, especially since she has rack matter flowing through her.”

Turquoise grabbed Carrie’s hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Where’s David?” Carrie asked.

“On his way.” Turquoise said it with such confidence that Carrie could not bring herself to doubt what she said was ac­tually true. David was on his way. But he couldn’t get here soon enough.

Carrie stood. Hammer moved as if he were thinking of restraining her, but instead simply adjusted the overalls he wore and grunted. There was an immediate flash of guilt in his eyes, but it quickly fled.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” Carrie said as she stared into Hammer’s golden eyes. “Is that alright with you?”

Turquoise put her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “I think you should keep resting. I can get you something if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Carrie snapped. “I don’t like being waited on.” Her left side suddenly felt as if an ice block were being pressed against it. She lifted her shirt to reveal black swirl marks crawl­ing across her rib cage.

Turquoise said nothing, only stared at the marks with a thoughtful expression.

Carrie dropped her shirt and made her way out of the room. She heard the wedges talking in hushed tones behind her about how she should be resting and how the rack matter wasn’t slowing down as much as they had hoped it would with Serenity’s healing expertise.

She brushed their comments out of her mind and made her way into the kitchen. She had been to this house many times before and knew where almost everything was, even though the kitchen had been remodeled a number of times over the years. The first time she ever set foot into David’s house—back when she and Veronica were just getting to know David—the kitchen had been doused in hideous colors of brown, yellow, and tan. Over the years, through countless revisions, she was happy to say she could stomach the kitchen’s colors of light blue, white, and light gray. They were easy on her eyes, and there was something about those colors that seemed to calm her spirit and quiet her soul.

Maybe it was the fact it was David’s kitchen.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, Carrie glanced into the living area and saw the fourth wedge, the one named Velvet, laying on the couch, watching a police drama on the television. Velvet was not a sight to calm Carrie’s mind or soul. The woman wore a purple and black leopard-print fur coat, some­thing Carrie would have protested had Carrie had less im­portant things to worry about. She didn’t support poaching—especially the poaching of spotted Moon Cats from Alall. In another time and place, she would have splattered red paint on the hideous coat.

But this wasn’t another time or another place. It was here and now. And here in the now, Carrie knew she needed to focus on other things.

She scrounged through the refrigerator until she found a half-emptied carton of orange juice. She poured herself a glass and quickly put the carton back, shutting the fridge door to contain the cold air that made the chill the rack matter inflicted her with even worse.

Turquoise entered the kitchen, staring at Velvet for a few moments, irritation overcoming her face like wildfire in a field of dried corn. She took control of herself and turned her at­tention quickly to Carrie. “We’ve decided the best course of action is to stay here and fight Rio when she shows. This is only until David can get here with the timepiece. Once he’s here and we have the piece and the necklaces, then we’ll head to the Farlands and the Veritas Construct.

Carrie gulped down the orange juice and nodded. “Where is Veronica?”

“I don’t know.”

Carrie flushed with frustration. If she was going to go through this, if she was going to be used as a key to unlock some powerful artifact that could save their world or destroy it, she wanted her friends by her side.

Hammer entered the kitchen and scolded Velvet for being lazy.

Velvet threw a few choice words his way and shut the tel­evision off before joining them. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we going to fight Rio or are we going to get out of here so we can get our hands on this book?”

“We’re going to fight,” Hammer answered. “We need to prepare ourselves. There’s a basement we can use to keep Car­rie safe while we fight. I suggest we move her down there and then figure out what positions everyone is going to take.”

“Excuse me?” Carrie said, slamming her glass down on the tile island. “What makes you think I can’t fight?”

Hammer chuckled deeply. “You’re too important to be fighting. You will stay in the basement with one of us while the rest of us take care of Rio.”

“I’m not hiding in the basement while you fight that psycho.”

“You’ll do as we say,” Hammer bellowed.

“No.”

His face reddened, and the hairs on his chin snapped to attention, like soldiers in some grand army. “You will!”

“I won’t.” Carrie felt the cold chill of the rack matter mov­ing to her hip. “You’re going to tell me what you want done with the house, and then I’m going to fight by your side.”

Hammer’s face turned red with fury. He slammed his giant fists on the island, cracking the beautiful tile. “I don’t take or­ders from anyone. Nobody! I am in charge of this mission, and you will do what I tell you to do. You’re well-being is our priority.”

Carrie fought to control her frustration at the fact that Hammer had the nerve both to tell her what to do and to destroy part of David’s home. “Why? Because I’m a key? I want to help you save the world, but I’m not going to take a backseat to it. This ink—or rack matter as you’ve called it—may be trying to destroy me from within, but I won’t go down that easily. And Rio…I owe her for what she did to me in the Complex.”

Turquoise glanced at Hammer, raising her eyebrow as if to silently agree with Carrie’s determination.

He walked away, grumbling to himself.

Velvet stood with arms crossed, eyes glaring at Carrie. Her purple outfit brought an eyesore of a montage to her purple eyes and purple-streaked hair. “So you really think you can fight, huh?”

“Apparently you don’t know what I’ve been doing most of my life.”

“Yes, you think you’re a hero. Which is cute, no doubt about that. But I don’t think you know what you’ll be fighting against this time around. Legion isn’t a playground bully. Le­gion destroys planets and all life along the way.”

Carrie stared at the cracks Hammer created in the island tile, her anger building. “Then I’ll fight harder than I’ve ever fought before.”