The Journey Home: The Chain, #1

Prologue

Something ate at William Big Bear Saganash’s gut. It was one of those unnamable sensations, like a manitou whispering a message he couldn’t hear over the noise of the mundane world. There was certainly no shortage of trouble to distract him: the imminent start of another miserable Missouri summer that already had his shirt sticking to his back; the failing health of his friend Driss Zéroual; the squabbling of the other Elders of the Circle.

And the absence of the Circle’s only students.

That was at the root of all the problems. A mansion meant to hold twelve students and their teachers felt empty without children. And in the sunlight coming through the glass doors and windows, the chairs around the large dining room table felt even emptier.

William winced as his knobby fingers brushed back long hair that was going gray. Arthritis. It was attacking his joints, making every movement painful, slowing him down. He’d put on weight as a result, which made the pain worse. The long-sleeved shirt and jeans—both simple and faded blue—clung tight where they had once been comfortable.

To his left, Driss ran a shaking finger around the rim of a tea cup, and his bloodshot eyes stared into the last of the brown fluid. The aroma of mint rode on the rising steam. In recent weeks, his olive skin had taken on a yellow tone, which looked even more sickly with his pale blue turban pressing low on his brow. With a raspy whisper, he asked, Now they are both gone, what will you do?

William had wondered the same thing. Tammy—Driss’s granddaughter—would come back. She always did after her rebellious outbursts. But Elliot? He was an adult now. He’d left with blessings, eager to start his own life. We must continue searching for students. Maybe once we have an air-conditioner, Tammy will find it more tolerable here.

A wizened woman set a coffee mug down across from William, then lowered herself slowly into a chair. The hiss of her weathered jeans almost hid the creak of her bones. She needs more comfort than we can provide.

William bowed his head. Daysi is right, of course. Tammy seeks acceptance and friendship.

Were we so different at her age?

The challenge we always face is our own humanity. William pulled something from beneath his shirt: a leather strip with a beadwork bear hanging from the end. There were so many memories within. For good and bad.

Daysi sipped her coffee. The loose, colorful blouse she wore highlighted skin as coppery as his and even more wrinkled after a lifetime in the Peruvian sun. Don’t give up on them.

Driss frowned and finished off his tea. I have given up on everything.

William patted his friend’s hand, noting the network of veins crawling over prominent bones. Hope only dies if we let it.

The smaller man pulled his blue flannel shirt tight over the faded black T-shirt that hid a skeletal frame beneath. They cannot survive in the world. None of our kind last long.

Strong, firm hands reached between the two men, taking Driss’s tea cup and replacing it with one filled with coffee. William glanced up into the scowl of the mansion’s most recent addition: Ms. Fernandez. Not an instructor but someone brought on to help with so many growing too weak to help themselves. Although far younger than him, she was still much older than Elliot and Tammy. She was Filipina, with dark hair and olive skin that was still smooth—a daily reminder of how quickly age was advancing on most of them.

Her scowl softened. You talk like old women.

Daysi chuckled. I’ve afflicted them.

Hush now, Ms. Pizanga. Ms. Fernandez returned to the sink with Driss’s empty teacup.

William stared out the glass door to the veranda and the lawn beyond. Harrison Mansion was a peaceful place, full of power and…stability. Was that what drove the children away? The sameness? No sense of adventure? Or was it merely the call of youth, the desire to be free and set their own course?

Driss rubbed the stones of a necklace hanging from his skinny neck. He had only recently taken to wearing the simple amulet again. "The baraka are agitated."

The sunlight caught the silver mass of Daysi’s long ponytail as she shook her head. The spirits are always agitated anymore. Her eyes locked on William’s.

She feels it too, William realized. The rumbles reach you?

Daysi bit her lip. Ms. Nakama as well. It is the Powers moving.

Driss squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut. "The djinn are angered."

Could that be what the manitous were warning about? It seemed Daysi knew more than she was letting on, and Driss was upset. Or maybe I’m denying what I should have known already. The manitous have been speaking to me, and I haven’t listened as I should.

William placed his hands on the tabletop. I will sit in the sweat lodge tonight.

Daysi glanced over the rim of her glass. It’s been so long.

Elliot and Tammy were of that age… He shrugged. Youth. Things had become so complicated. It had been easier being a young shaman in Manitoba.

Ms. Nakama and I will join you, if you will have us.

Perhaps Neda and Praveen would join us also. William knew better than to ask Driss. He was too weak anymore and had become intolerant of other beliefs as he grew older.

Oh, that would be nice. So pretty, those two. Daysi chuckled mischievously.

Driss wrapped his hands around the steaming coffee cup. "You cannot see what the Powers will not allow you to see. If the ancestors will not share their knowledge, neither will the baraka."

Driss— William sighed. Despite their dreams, the Powers are only human.

The sickly man snorted. "Human? How does that matter when they can control the djinn?"

No one truly controls the— William caught himself before saying gitche manitou. It would only irritate his friend. The Ancients cannot be mastered. The Powers seek to become as the ancient spirits, but such power… It wasn’t possible. The gitche manitou would never allow it.

The Powers will strike the children down.

They will not seek to harm them while we live. Elliot and Tammy have turned away from our training. We are the threat, not them.

Four old fools with failing bodies and two who have yet to master their own arts? Driss scoffed. We are no threat to the Powers. Their time has come, and we will not live to stop them.

Daysi clucked. You give the children too little credit. They are the future.

The future is a world darkened by storm clouds summoned by these shamans and this sorcerer and djinn-child.

Daysi pushed away from the table with a sour look. I will gather the others. She circled around William and whispered into his ear. We will need to send Ms. Fernandez away to have our talk.

That would be easy enough. They needed groceries, and it was a good time to have the younger woman head into Rolla for supplies.

Glen Stone was starving. He was a big man, muscle-covered, with big appetites, but this was new, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Cellophane wrappers crinkled at the touch of his thick, hooked fingers. He licked crumbs, greasy cheese chunks, and discolored mayonnaise from the wrappers of the sandwiches he’d picked up at the little grocery store. Beneath the grimy, sleeveless T-shirt he’d thrown on before heading out, his gut bulged slightly over his dark jeans, grease-stained from the sloppy eating he’d taken to.

Ever since that night in Boulevard Heights with the blond bitch, he’d been a mess. Hungry. Always so damned hungry.

Could you get a parasite from fucking someone?

Heat rippled over the dirt road and turned the cab of his pickup truck into a microwave. Just another minute or so, and—ding!—he’d be ready to serve.

Sweat trickled down his shaved scalp, into his thick eyebrows, across sunken cheeks, into his goatee.

Fucking shit. He raked his beard.

He’d suffered through worse. Summers up in Stateville, you could drop ten pounds working out in the yard. Wasn’t like you had some goddamn trainer yelling in your ear, either. No chilled Gator-Ade waiting for you when you racked the barbell, no little fucking treadmill for your candy ass. Just a brother telling you the way it was: Get that next rep in, and it might just save your life when someone came for you at night. Fight for your life from the time you’re born into the home of a drunk bastard who don’t know a damn thing but punching and—

Pain spiked through his belly, like something was kicking around with razor-nailed toes.

It wasn’t just the hunger and pain, though. He rubbed a thumb-sized, faint discoloration on his thick, tattoo-covered forearm. The discoloration was almost invisible in the dark ink of an Iron Cross tattoo, stretching from the semicircle of words: Für immer wei—forever white.

What would his white brothers think of him now?

That got him laughing. Dancing to a red man’s tune, that’s what he was doing.

She’d been pretty enough, the blond. Tall, with alabaster skin, and a nice, strong nose. And easy. Hell, yeah, easy. Two Pabst Blue Ribbons was all it took, and she was showing a lot of bright white teeth and smiling when he stared at her rack. And her eyes: blue, like she was straight from the homeland.

Then getting her into bed, it was like being with an animal, the way she took whatever the hell he threw at her. He had his appetites.

And when they were done, he’d slept like a baby with a full stomach.

But he’d dreamed. Fucked-up dreams. And she wasn’t white in those dreams. Hell, she wasn’t even a she. More like an old man. Indian. Feather, not a dot.

Glen snorted at that one.

But the dreams. Wasn’t no laughing at that. The way the old bastard glared, the way he dabbed paint over all the tattoos it’d taken a lifetime to acquire, the way it felt like something had taken up residence somewhere inside…

Glen’s stomach growled, and there wasn’t no way beer and pizza was going to change that. He needed something big, and he needed it soon. It would come from the huge mansion down the road: three stories, walled, and fucking creepy. Just looking at the place made his skin itch.

That was the discolored spot again, the mark the blond bitch had left on him.

He scratched and shivered, it felt so goddamn good.

Then the nose of a minivan poked out of the trees shielding the mansion yard and driveway. It was an old vehicle, blocky, with sections of blue paint going almost silver-white. He’d broken into a couple before. They were workhorses, and usually didn’t have shit inside them beside change in the cupholders.

He pulled on his red hoodie to hide his tatts and slipped a Cardinals baseball cap over his head. No need to scare folks and put dinner at risk.

The minivan turned onto the road and headed toward him. It’d be the Asian woman. He knew her smell, the way her black hair brushed the base of her neck when she looked around. Never saw her before, but he knew her.

The thing inside did.

He started the truck up, waited until she was accelerating and focused on the road, then gunned the engine and shot across the road, straight at her.

The minivan braked and swerved off the road.

He screeched to a stop, turned the ignition off, and ran to the other vehicle.

Gotta look scared and sorry. Set her at ease.

She glared at him, wide-eyed, then rolled down her window. What—

Goddamn accent, too. Shit, ma’am. I’m real sorry! The wheel just jerked out of my hand! You okay?

That relaxed her. Yes. I was—

He grabbed her hair and punched her. Right in her fat lips and on the jaw. Two, three times. Good fucking hits.

Then he smacked her face into the steering wheel and reached past her for the keys.

Laughter bubbled up from deep inside, but the hunger didn’t get any better.

Gimme a goddamn minute, he hissed. Man’s gotta have his fun.

She wasn’t pretty like the blond, but she felt damned good as he pulled her from the van. Oh, yeah, she’d do just fine. That was his own appetite, though. The thing inside him wanted what was inside the mansion, and it wasn’t going to wait.

He cradled the woman in his arms and sauntered up the road. No rush. It was a private lane, ending at an ancient cemetery at one end and the highway at the other.

When he reached the gate, he slowed. The mansion stones gave off a threatening sense of power. Lightning coiled all along the front, frozen, like in ice.

This was the dangerous part. The people inside—six of them—would be manageable for the thing, his little parasite. But let that lightning touch you, and don’t matter what the old Indian had put inside. Body’s just a fragile thing—don’t let no one tell you otherwise.

Gotta play the part. Just an accident, borrow the phone. Don’t know who’s here, don’t know she came from here. Can you help me?

Goddamn, but the lightning burned his eyes when he wasn’t even looking at it.

He took one of the lady’s itty-bitty hands and made a fist with it, then banged the door.

That’s gonna hurt if you wake up, Missy.

Just an accident. Borrow the phone.

The door opened, and goddamn if it wasn’t another old Indian, the one the thing in Glenn’s chest wanted more than anything. Who knew Indians hated on Indians?

He blinked, felt desperate. Oh, thank God! Y’all have a phone? Can ya call 9-1-1?

The old Indian leaned out of the doorway shocked. What happened?

It’s all my fault. I got lost and I was comin’ up this chere road too fast, and I didn’t see her comin’ until it was too late, and she drove offa the road. Oh, God, I think she’s hurt.

Bring her in. The Indian stepped aside with a wave. Set her over there, on that divan. Daysi, please call the hospital.

Divan. What the fuck is that? A couch?

Glen shot past the Indian and set the Asian lady down gently, then stepped back. I sure hope she’s okay. Laid on thick and smooth, just like he’d practiced.

The thing inside slithered and moaned. So damned hungry.

An old lady entered the big open area and looked at the divan. She was ugly as sin. Wrinkled. Covered in moles. Wearing an even uglier top.

Then came others: another Asian lady, but this one shriveled and hideous, followed by a snake; a sunken old geezer with a turban; and on the stairs above, a couple of the other kind of Indians, one of them pretty as fuck.

The thing inside shouted caution!

It was the old woman and her snake, shuffling up and slithering. They both had cold, dark eyes.

Be ready, the thing hissed.

Glen scanned the people. Less than people. Not his people. Not welcome in his country.

He was ready. Oh, hell yes, he was ready.

Chapter One

Summer had come early to Arlington, Missouri, and it had settled in hard. Tamment McPhee—Tammy to her friends—was actually fine with summer—the thick, sweltering heat; winds that provided no relief; the nights that never quite cooled. It meant freedom from school and structure. Tank tops and shorts.

And closing in on another birthday.

She’d have a life of her own before too long, a life away from Arlington.

She wanted nothing more than to escape the place.

Yeah, summer was her favorite time of the year by default, what with hating everything else and all that.

She bounded down the steps of the dust-covered double-wide that her best friend Tessa—Tessa Copeland—called home, leaving behind its stale, incense and weed-laden air, and settling into Tessa’s Chevy Cavalier coupe. Faded blue paint covered about half the body, a dull red the right quarter panel. The rest was a mix of rust and primer. It was like the dusty trailer, which barely held hints of its former two-tone beige and brown glory.

Classic, Tammy muttered.

She wore a Target ensemble that was equally classic: black skirt and blue spaghetti strap top. It actually was pretty dynamite. The skirt had been a good fit a few months before but was snug now. Very snug. She was really filling out.

Finally.

It was tough, looking like she did in a small dump like Arlington: black hair, deep olive skin, and sharply defined but full, dark lips. Against all that, her cobalt blue eyes seemed to smolder. The product of her Moroccan Berber mother and her Scottish-American father.

Of course, if she just wanted to blend in, that would be easy enough. She could pass as Latin American, black, Asian, or anywhere off the Mediterranean, really. But that felt like abandoning her mother. It wasn’t just Jeddo—her grandfather—harping on all the time about their great, disappearing people, either. It just stuck with Tammy. She only knew a smattering of Arabic, even less Berber. Even her French was stronger, and that was a joke.

Is that what I want, though? Just to fit in?

She absently rubbed her chin, where the night before she’d drawn siyâla—tattoos that would protect her from malicious spirits.

That was her mother’s Berber identity again, or at least Tammy imagined it was. But it was hard to really know your mother when she was stolen when you were still a little kid.

Tessa finally bounded down the steps, jiggling wildly in her red, semi-sheer, skintight shirt. The equally tight denim skirt should have made it impossible to navigate the steps, but she managed it like a queen.

Tessa faced the same challenges with small-town minds. Her father had been a Cuban-American soldier, a one-night fling for her mother Emmanuelle, a Euromutt. Tessa had pale mocha skin, her mother’s traffic-stopping hourglass figure, and a nose that was too broad and long for her small face.

With the right makeup, Tammy could be absolutely stunning, and Tessa could be…cute.

In favorable lighting.

But they were best friends forever, and they were kicking summer off right.

Tessa slid behind the steering wheel and cranked the stereo up. Crappy speakers blasted overproduced pop: thumping drums, distorted bass, whistling and tinny synthesizers.

Tessa giggled. St. Robert ain’t gonna wait all day.

Don’t wanna keep a saint waiting. Tammy’s phone vibrated. She squeezed it out of her skirt pocket, checked the identity—Unknown Caller—and took it off vibrate, then returned it to the pocket with some effort.

Your boyfriend, hm?

One of them.

Tessa smiled and brushed loose, bleached curls back from her plain face. Hey, you remember Everett from Rachel’s party?

Bad breath, buff body, gangsta poseur. But sorta cute. Yeah.

Gonna be at Area 151. Tessa danced in her seat, top swaying wildly. Big party tonight, girlfriend.

Tessa knew her assets, and she worked them. Hard. Tammy always felt diminished in comparison but never said anything.

Best friends forever.

The Cavalier started on the third try, and Tessa maneuvered it like it was a tank. By the time they hit State Street’s clay and dirt topping, the bald tires were really spinning. A red cloud of dust swirled in their wake.

Tammy finally felt the first hint of relaxation. School was nearly over, and they were way past ready for summer break. They danced, arms pumping, hands gripping imaginary microphones and reaching out windows to touch imaginary fans. They belted out off-tune but earnest renditions of their very favorite song of the minute.

They might not have much in life, but they had each other.

Tammy and Tessa: Newburg High’s Twin Terrors. And when things were really bad, they were TnT.

Before long, they were on the road to St. Robert and a night of dancing.

Arlington was a dead zone. Like, literally. The IGA grocery store, a small hardware store, and the trailer park where Tessa lived with her mother. That was it. Without Harrison Mansion and the quarry out by Pillman Cemetery, Arlington would have been a ghost town. That left two options for young ladies like Tammy and Tessa: Rolla and St. Robert.

Rolla was a college town, St. Robert was the civilian support system for Fort Leonard Wood, the nearby Army base. Only St. Robert offered any entertainment, and that was just a couple decent clubs.

One day, Tammy would head up to St. Louis, maybe even Chicago!

One day.

Hey, you goin’ to sleep over there? Tessa laughed and turned up the radio.

Nah. Tammy dug out her phone and angled it so that Tessa couldn’t see the display, then searched until she found a picture: Tammy’s parents. It was from someplace in Germany, where they’d met. Before me. They seemed happy. Genuinely happy. It seemed like such a wonderful feeling.

Uh-uh, this is Party Night, hear? You schedule Sulk Night for when Tessa’s not around, okay?

Tammy closed the photo and pushed the phone back into her pocket. I’m good.

We gonna get some trance on?

Sure. Tammy did enjoy trance, but thinking about her parents had brought her down.

Party Night, ‘member? Fix that shit up.

Tammy gave her best the World Is Awesome smile. It seemed to satisfy most people. Everyone just wanted to be sure they weren’t caught up in someone else’s misery, really.

That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Tessa danced enthusiastically.

The ride to St. Robert took them through gentle, wooded hills that made up a lot of southern Missouri. There were places where their cell phones wouldn’t even work.

This must be what the frontier settlers felt like.

Area 151 had parking at the front, back, and on the east side. Tessa oohed and gunned the wheezing engine, then swung into a spot between a couple beat-up trucks, just ahead of another driver.

Law of the Asphalt Jungle, bitch. Tessa grabbed the black clutch she’d brought for the night and checked herself in the rearview mirror, humming in appreciation as she admired the diamond studs in her ears.

Tammy had the exact same studs, pinched from a shop in Rolla when a counter girl had gone all racist on Tessa. Or maybe before. Tammy couldn’t remember for sure. It didn’t matter. Little Miss White Precious had been watching them from the moment they’d entered the shop, as if they were toting AK-47s. A lawsuit for the bad treatment would’ve netted a lot more than a few hundred dollars—what the diamond studs were worth—so Tammy considered it all even when she plucked them from the counter.

Oh, Tessa is looking dazzling tonight, little sister. Tessa adjusted the skinny white belt holding up her skirt, then tugged on ankle-high, black felt boots. She’d draw a lot of attention and knew it.

Tammy’s focus had already shifted to the club entry. Everything hinged on them knowing the guy at the door. Her fake I.D. was good, not great.

Sometimes, Tessa’s apparent age got her a long way. Like tonight. Other times, it got Tessa into situations that left Tammy anxious. It was living wild and free and fearless, sure, but it was dangerous.

Tammy was adventurous and independent, but not in Tessa’s league by a mile.

You ready, girlfriend?

I don’t know, Tessa. Maybe this isn’t the best idea. I don’t see John or Mick at the door.

Oh, damn. You need a diaper?

Tammy rolled her eyes dramatically. Fuck you. This is just stupid.

"No, you’re stupid, and you’re fucking up my fun."

I don’t—

Tessa got out of the car and closed her door.

Tammy hissed. She nearly bumped her door against the pickup truck on her side, then squeezed out. She stomped around to the back of the car, where Tessa smiled impishly.

Tessa, if this doesn’t work, we could get busted.

So?

Like go-to-juvie busted! One more strike, I’m fucked.

So? Ain’t you always goin’ on about how shitty your life is and how you wanna escape from big, bad Harrison Mansion?

Tammy gave up. Walking back to the mansion was out of the question. At the very least, she had to make sure Tessa didn’t get arrested.

A trio of soldiers got in line behind Tammy—young men with lean bodies and short haircuts. They were rowdy, probably already drunk. A few seconds later, several young women lined up behind the soldiers.

Tammy groaned when she recognized the women: the Bitch Brigade. They were the popular girls who existed only to make her and Tessa’s life miserable. They’d ridden Tammy since her first day at school, when she was just a chubby little seven-year-old girl dealing with her father going off to war and abandoning her at the creepy mansion Jeddo called home. Even after she’d lost all her baby fat and become the bean pole she was now, they’d made her life a living hell. It hadn’t mattered to them that she’d spent an entire month in ICU suffering from an undiagnosed condition, slipping in and out of a coma. All that had mattered was that when she returned to school, instead of being a fatty, she had become a graceless, clumsy girl with an eating disorder.

She hated them, especially Ashley Parks. Bitchley.

Tammy tried to get Tessa’s attention, but she was preoccupied with a cute young man in line ahead of them. When he was waved through, he twisted back to watch Tessa shake and nearly stumbled over the doorstep.

Tessa giggled. Gonna be on the floor all night. She beamed at Tammy. You see that boy checkin’ me out? I could handle some of that.

Tammy jerked her head at the brigade. Ashley Parks.

So? Tessa’s voice was loud, challenging.

Tammy shrank. Tessa didn’t have an inside voice, and her only setting was eleven. So, if she recognizes us—

Fuck that bitch. I’m goin’ in, and you are too.

The doorman—a bodybuilder with a shaved head and a nose that had probably been broken a couple times before waved Tessa forward, looked her up and down appreciatively, then sent her through.

Tessa headed for the entry.

Abandoned again.

The doorman signaled Tammy forward. Let’s go.

She held out her I.D.

Ashley’s snooty, nasal voice called out. Hey! This isn’t an all ages club!

Tammy blushed. Bitchley!

The bodybuilder glared sternly and pushed the I.D. back. His pink face reddened as he checked her out. His eyes settled on her flat chest and slender hips. You better be sure that’s legal ‘fore you show it to me.

Tessa stood in the entryway, silhouetted by the strobe lights.

Tammy stepped out of the line, shoulders slumped. The music, the dancers, the energy…the doorway. It all called to her, but she didn’t want juvie.

Tessa shot back out and headed for Ashley. You stupid little b—

The bodybuilder shifted slightly to cut Tessa off. Take it elsewhere, sweetie. He pointed at the Bitch Brigade. That includes you, ladies.

Ashley’s laughter died, and the men in line around her groaned. She and her friends were dressed for the night, and unlike Tessa and Tammy, they had the money to really rock a look.

Tessa wrapped Tammy in a gloriously soft and warm hug that smelled like candy perfume. We still gonna have fun tonight, okay?

Tammy nodded weakly. Yeah.

Tessa headed toward the Cavalier, slowing slightly to glare at Ashley and her friends, who seemed to be content hanging around near the end of the line.

When they passed the Cavalier, Tammy slowed. Hey, where’re we going?

Not far. C’mon. Tessa cut across the side parking lot and into the front. She stopped beneath a flickering lamplight and pointed to a metallic brown Infiniti SUV at the end of the parking spaces.

Shit. That’s Ashley’s car.

You gonna let Bitchley push you around the rest o’ your life?

I’m not gonna be around Arlington after I turn eighteen, Tessa.

Tessa’s brow wrinkled. Leaving Arlington meant leaving her, and Tammy usually knew better than to talk about that. You need to worry about the now. You got two more years o’ that bitch.

What do you want me to do, beat her up? Here? They’ve probably got cameras everywhere.

This ain’t Fort Knox, girl. Ain’t no cameras out here. Their cameras cover their entry. I’ve seen what they record.

Fine. I’m still not doing it. Juvie, remember?

Pfft. Tessa squatted down next to the concrete island the light pole was anchored to. A moment later, she had a wedge of concrete in her hand. These things’re all fallin’ apart. They do all kinds of damage to cars all the time, especially when they’re driven by rich little bitches.

Tear up her car? You’re kidding.

Bitchley parked out here for those lights. Ain’t no cameras. Ain’t no one around. No one’s gonna see what you do. She dropped the concrete wedge into Tammy’s hand.

The thing was surprisingly heavy. It wasn’t big, but it tapered down to a nice edge. It could crack a windshield or break a headlight, easily.

No one around. The car alarm. They’ll hear it. Someone will.

Mm-hm. And we’ll be over there, hiding in those trees in the dark, movin’ down the other side of the building. No one’s gonna see us. She took Tammy’s hands and leaned in tight against her back.

Tammy let her friend guide her.

Window, light…which is it, girl? Tessa whispered into Tammy’s ear. It was seductive, hot. You just gotta swing.

Tammy squatted. In the flickering light, the car sparkled. Someone had washed and polished it recently. Not Bitchley, obviously, but someone. It was new and perfect and something she would never have while she lived at the mansion. She wasn’t going to get a Mercedes like Special Elliot had.

"Just think of all the names she called you, baby girl. Fatty. Skinny. Retard. Remember how she made you cry and wish you was dead? Remember?"

Every last insult, every effort to humiliate: They had been burned into Tammy’s memories. They were scars only she could see. They were marks that had more influence over who she was than the few, precious, loving memories of her childhood with her mother and father.

Bitchley’s had everything handed to her. Girl ain’t never earned a thing, and she gotta show up someone like you for being different. Ain’t that some shit?

Tammy closed her eyes, clenched her jaw tight, then swung. The concrete wedge slammed into the car, and the alarm went off. She opened her eyes, stunned.

There was a dent in the door and paint on the wedge.

She looked around, but Tessa had already crept away.

Shit!

Tammy dropped the weapon and sneaked around the front of the car. Her heart was pounding, and blood hammered in her ears. She cut across the front of the buildings and into the trees. Tessa was leaning against a tree deep in the shadows, face lit by the blue glow of her phone’s display.

Tammy growled, Way to back me up.

You’re kidding, right? You all grown up, okay? You can handle escaping on your own. I’m busy gettin’ us in.

Getting us in?

"You do want to dance, don’t you? Or was tonight all about smashing up Bitchley’s ride? Hm?"

Tammy tried to appear casual as she looked back at the parking lot. No one had checked out the alarm. Leaving now would actually be somewhat satisfying.

But she had come to dance. How’re you getting us in?

Mick’s running the club tonight. Big man’s back east on family business. Tessa’s phone vibrated, and she grinned wickedly. And now Mick says we in. C’mon.

Wait. Mick’s running the club?

That’s what I said, right?

How long have you known that?

Tessa made a sour face. Mm-mm. Don’t start. You tryin’ to ruin the night?

How long?

Tessa spun on a heel.

Tammy followed until they were at in the employee parking lot at the back. Her stomach threatened to flip. Tessa, how long?

Tessa stopped at the service door, then spun around and jabbed a finger into Tammy’s sternum. Listen up, you need to get your head on straight, okay? You just goin’ around looking to start a fight with everyone, and it’s not happening.

Just tell me. Did you know he was running the club tonight? Was that whole thing with Ashley unnecessary?

Tessa’s eyes narrowed, but she only tapped away on her phone. A moment later, it vibrated. The service door popped open, and she shoved her phone into Tammy’s hand. You can stay out here all night, if you want.

The text exchange between Tessa and Mick was on the screen. Tammy scrolled up.

Tessa had started the whole exchange with a text to Mick explaining that she’d been stopped at the entry. The very next text, Mick said he was in charge.

Shit.

Tammy caught the door just before it closed. Tessa was already halfway through the bar and following Mick into the manager’s office. She wasn’t looking back.

Tammy ran after them, head down, embarrassed.

The bar area was half full, dark except for some strip lighting and strobe lights. Mindless jabbering rose over music that was ramping up into a deep, rhythmic drone. People gathered in clumps on the open dance floor, their bodies giving off heat and scents—cologne, perfume, sweat. It was still mostly men and women in separate groups, waiting, watching, hoping. No one paid attention to Tammy as she passed among them, the tingling from passing through the doorway was a ghostly, lingering sensation.

She entered the manager’s office.

Close the door, right? Mick was sitting on the corner of the desk that anchored the office, his attention focused on Tessa, who was smiling and holding his hands.

After an uncertain moment, Tammy did as he’d said.

She lowered her eyes but still watched Mick. He had a rat’s face—narrow, with beady eyes, a long nose, and a jutting chin. His hair was a washed-out brown and wavy. Most of the time, he radiated a strange sort of menace that frightened Tammy but seemed to excite Tessa.

The excitement seemed to be mutual at the moment. Mick playfully pulled at Tessa’s top. I’m takin’ a lot of risks for you, girl, so why don’t you make it worth my time?

Tessa pushed his hand away. You know I will, baby. No need to—

Tammy turned slightly, uncomfortable in the stuffy room.

Mick stood up and took Tessa by the wrists. I’m not fuckin’ around, yeah? You caused a big commotion tonight, and I need to let off some steam.

Tammy blinked at the sound in his voice. He was from somewhere in London, but his accent only became noticeable anymore when he was really mad. Tessa’s eyes widened; she was finally seeing the danger Tammy had always seen.

O—okay, Mick. Sure.

Without meaning to, Tammy gasped.

Tessa shot an apologetic, frightened look at Tammy, then nodded toward her. She don’t need to be here, does she, baby?

Mick looked Tammy up and down. Nah. She’s just a kid. He sneered. Get out.

Tammy waited until Tessa smiled—a fake, terrified Don’t Leave Me smile—then stepped back into the club.

Back in the club, the music pounded and lights flashed. People danced, and every sort of drama imaginable played out, but Tammy’s thoughts were stuck on the drama she’d escaped. She made her way to the bar and ordered a Coke, taking it into her shaking hands and pressing the cup to her numb lips. The rattle of ice in the glass seemed louder than the thumping bass.

The night of adventure and fun had suddenly lost all of its thrill. She couldn’t shake the image of her best friend’s frightened eyes.

Minutes ticked by, and Tammy worried she’d made a terrible mistake abandoning her best friend. Suddenly, the office door opened, and Tessa stumbled out, adjusting her top and wiping a tear from her face. She shot Tammy a furious look that seemed to carry