Twist (27 page)

Sunrise?

Wrong direction.

Heat pressed my torso like a heavy blanket. My nostrils filled with the familiar scent of smoke. A massive firestorm raged in the distance.

“No.” I collapsed.

Finn's house was at the center of the storm.

 

chapter 21

“FINN
!
” I KNEW THERE WAS NO WAY
he'd hear me over the roaring inferno, but I couldn't stop myself from screaming it. I only prayed there was no way he could hear me because he'd already Shifted to safety.

The fire hissed and spit sparks like an angry, caged beast as it gobbled away at the Mastersons' home. Flames had already devoured the top of the deck, blocking the way to the back entrance. The shrill beep of their smoke alarms shrieked into the night. I ran along the side of the house to the front, ducking my face away from the heat. The window to the uppermost guest bedroom burst. Shards of sparkling orange burst like fireworks into the black sky.

I rounded the corner of their property and came to the porch, each step a silent petition for God to spare this boy, spare this family that I loved. The blaze had apparently begun at the back of the house. It wasn't as bad in the front. I wrapped my hand around my shirt to make an impromptu oven mitt and wrenched the front door open. Smoky, but no flames in the entryway yet. The high ceilings left a pocket of relatively breathable air if I crouched down.

“Finn!” I screamed. “Charlotte! Anyone?”

No response. They couldn't have slept through this, not that I could get up to their bedrooms. Surely they'd all Shifted out. And there was no way John would have gone anywhere without Charlotte. That's what I told myself to stay calm.

I asked myself if there was anything irreplaceable that I should try to get out of the fire. Oh, who was I kidding? Their entire art collection was beyond priceless. My mother was always fussing that they didn't keep it in their safe.

Their safe. I had to get the IcePick I'd stolen from Bergin out of it … the one that would become the reverter at some point. I pulled my shirt over my mouth and ran into their living room. I pulled the hidden panel off the wall and turned the lock's combination, a mish-mash of their birthdays.
Phew
. The Pick was still there. As I put it in my pocket, a mass of yellow fur hurled itself at me, barking.

“Slug”—I hugged the family's Labrador around the neck—“let's get you out of here.”

Bark bark bark bark.

“Come on.” I tugged him toward the front door, but he hunkered down and refused to move. He started to whine.

Slug let out a yelp and took off toward the kitchen.

“No, Slug!” Blark. I lowered my face to snatch a mouthful of clearer air and darted after him. The flames were already creeping down the walls of the living room. I pushed open the kitchen door. The room had filled with smoke but only the back wall had caught fire so far.

That's when I heard it. A coarse cough, hacking and hoarse.

The smoke stung my eyes as I searched to find where it was coming from. I spotted a shoe behind the granite island and raced around it. Georgie was sprawled flat on her back—unmoving but awake.

“Georgie!” I bent beside her.

“Brrrrrr…” Her jaw was locked in a grimace.

“What are you—?” I recognized the stiff posture. “Have you been stunned?”

She blinked twice. I'd take that for a yes.

“Where's Finn?” I asked.

“Gonnnn.”

Thank God he'd gotten out.

“And your parents?”

“Notttt … hrrr.”

“Don't worry. I'll get you out of here.” We were actually only ten feet from the garage. But as I pulled her dead weight across the tile inch by inch, I realized it would be a long ten feet. “As soon as you can move anything, let me know.”

I shoved the door open. The intake of fresh oxygen made my lungs happy, but it made the fire furious. Flames licked down the walls and danced across the ceiling toward us. Georgie started to wheeze. I had to get her out of here. Now.

I fumbled in my pocket for my magno-grappling hook. I reached up and raised the garage door. The sudden influx of air whipped the fire into a frenzy, but I needed a clear shot.
Ping!
It hit something solid at the end of their driveway. I placed one side of the handle in Georgie's hand and the other side in mine and activated it. Red light.

Dang it. The hook wasn't designed for fully horizontal takeoffs. It wouldn't support both our weights. I readjusted our grips and tried again.

Nope.

All right. I took my hand off and wrenched her other fingers around the handle. Green light.

I pushed the center button and away she went. Thirty feet of driveway would scrape her up something bonks, but she'd thank me later.

I was about to stumble out after her when there was a thunderous clank behind me. Part of the ceiling over their stove had collapsed. The large pot rack came tumbling down.

“Slug!” I cried. He cowered by the range as the rack teetered over the edge of the counter. I rushed over to pull him to safety. It was too late. The rack crashed down, right on top of the whimpering dog, pinning him to the floor.

Unhh unhh unhh
. He cried from under the copper cage of pots and pans.

I tried to lift the metal jumble, but it was too hot to touch.

“It's okay,” I whispered to the shaking animal. I reached into the drawer where Charlotte kept her mitts and found the thickest ones. The rack wasn't all that heavy, especially with adrenaline zipping through my veins, but Slug had a snow-white muzzle and already-creaky hips. I helped him up, and he hobbled out. I got down on all fours to follow.

That's when I heard it, a groaning screech above me. That telltale sound of a roof giving way. Instinctively, I looked up. Ash and sparks rained down. I started to crawl faster toward the door, but the smoke was so thick. I fought to keep my eyes open against the crackling heat and fumes. Every breath was a struggle as I dipped my head as low to the floor as I could, searching for any puff of breathable air. But there was nothing, only soot.

The door … I had … to reach … the …

I was so close. Inches. Inches.

I fell flat on my face, sparks nipping the back of my neck, pulling myself forward in an army crawl.

There was no urge to synch, not a prickle. My limbs loosened in defeat.

The next thing I knew, someone was pulling me up by my armpits.

“Come on,” said a deep voice. Strong arms cradled my head against a broad shoulder. “Easy now. Try to hold your breath until we get out.”

As we cleared the garage, I cracked my eyes and caught the first welcome flicker of street lamp.

I turned my gaze on my rescuer and looked into deep green eyes, a razor-cut jaw. I relaxed.

“Deep breaths,” he said. “You're going to be okay.”

“Finn?”

“No, it's John.” He laid me down on the grass. “Is Finn still inside?”

“No. He already made it out.”

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

“No.” I coughed. “I'll be fine. Help Georgie.”

“Georgie?” He flipped back around to the house, his terror palpable. “Is she—?

“No.” I shook my head and tried to say something but a ragged, grating hack came out instead. I pointed the direction she'd grappled.

He took off running. I pushed myself up and stumbled after him.

Georgie was lying at the base of the mailbox, curled in a ball, shaking. At least the stun seemed to have worn off. John pulled his jacket off and wrapped her in it. “Focus on me, sweetie. You're going into shock.”

John turned to me. “Why didn't Finn Shift her out?”

“I don't know. He must have thought she was right behind him.”

“I tried,” she said, crying. “I tried.”

“It's okay, honey.” John stroked her matted hair. “Shh. You're going to be okay. Everyone's fine.”

“Where's Charlotte?” I asked.

“We're staying at a bed and breakfast a few hours away. I'm about”—he looked at his watch then Georgie's—“five minutes ahead of you.”

“I tried … I tried to stop him.” Georgie began to cry. The fire reflected off the flow of her tears so they looked like a web of red strings clinging to her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” I sat down next to her and hugged her. “You tried to stop Finn from Shifting?”

“No … I … Finn didn't Shift out.”

John and I both whirled at the same moment to face the inferno behind us.

“He's in there?” Now I was the one shaking.

“No, no.” She grabbed her head in her hands. “The guy stunned Finn before me, then he started the fire.”

“What guy?” I asked. But I already knew.

“I couldn't see the face. There was a mask. Like some sort of alien suit. It was silver. I don't … I don't…” The sobs took over.

“Where is Finn now?” I asked.

“He took Finn with him,” she said.

“When you say ‘took,' do you mean he Shifted Finn out?” asked John.

She nodded. It further confirmed my suspicions. Raspy had to be a natural-born Shifter, and he had sticky tendrils like mine. But who would do such a thing? What Shifter would work for ICE? And why target the Mastersons? I couldn't imagine anyone having a vendetta against them, much less Finn.

Sirens wailed in the distance. We didn't have much time. Once there were witnesses, it would be harder for me to synch. I looked up at John, but his eyes were closed. He had guessed what I had figured out.

ICE had kidnapped Finn. I didn't know for what purpose. But at least I knew where they were keeping him.

“I've gotta go,” I said. “I'm going to get Finn back.”

Georgie wiped the tears with the back of her hand so that her whole face had a wet glow. “Tell him I'm sorry, okay?”

“Hey.” I turned her face toward me. “You and I both know that when I see him, he'll just tell you to stop being stupid.”

“You mean if you see him.”

“I mean when.”

“I have a message, too,” said John.

This one was harder. John and Finn had only recently started to get closer. It had been hard for Finn, after so many years of feeling like his dad had lied to him about his very existence, to trust him again. But they'd been working on it.

“You should tell Finn yourself,” I said quietly. “When he comes ba—”

“Let him know that I love him?” John said. “Just … I love him.”

I nodded.

My tendrils began to tingle.

“Tell your mom everything's going to be okay,” I said to Georgie. Charlotte didn't yet know that her whole world was ablaze. She'd be beyond hysterical when she awoke to discover her life was cinder and ash.

Everything ICE touched burned, burned, burned.

“Dad, is Finn going to be all right?” Georgie asked.

“Of course he is.” John looked over her head at me, and I knew he was trying to convince himself as much as his daughter. “Of course he is. Bree's going to take care of him.”

Me. I was the only thing standing between alive and dead. Or tortured lab rat. Or whatever it was they were doing to Shifters in those tanks. I shuddered again, thinking of Leto's violent end. And he was one of ICE's customers.

My tendrils quivered. The sensation roiled within my very veins; it was almost painful. This was beyond a synch. It was as if gravity had combined with every hold of nature and was pulling me to Finn.

“I'll go with you,” said John. “Maybe I can help somehow.”

“No, Charlotte and Georgie need you here.” I gathered my grappling gear and lowered myself into a defensive crouch, not sure of where I'd land. Not sure what would happen when I got there. Absolutely certain of one thing, though.

Whoever took Finn was going to hurt.

 

chapter 22

FOOL ME ONCE,
ICE? Shame on you. Fool me twice? Shame on you again.

I was nobody's fool.

I cinched my anti-grav belt as tight as it would go, my magnagrappling hook already primed and ready to fire as I stepped into the black transportation tube in ICE's lobby.

One of the only nice things about the changes to the timeline (and “nice” was way too strong a word) was it kept ICE in the dark about me. Well, not completely in the dark. Raspy might have made them aware of my existence, that I was an unchipped Shifter, but he didn't seem to have told them details about what I was up to. Maybe he didn't know.

Or maybe he didn't want to be ICE's fool either.

I had used the hair I'd stolen from Wyck to gain entrance to their headquarters, then meandered along with a tour group until they reached the spectators' gallery. It was a simple matter of slipping away unnoticed, then straight up the black tube I went.

And this time, I came even more prepared.

As soon as my body hit the landing area of the transport chamber, I shot the grappling hook out of the porthole. The heightened gravity tugged tightly on my foot as I exited. Like a chronologically challenged Cinderella I wiggled my boot off and went on my way.

Now for the tricky part.

There was a small rectangular air grate above the doorway that I'd noticed the last time I was in this hallway. It didn't lead directly into the Cryostorage Room, but my guess was the room would be accessible through the same air shaft. I shot the grappling hook through the grate and set my ascent to slow. The cover wasn't too hard to remove. I put it back in place even though I planned to be long gone before anyone noticed its absence.

The vent was tight but passable. It was also surprisingly well-lit. The same glowing blue fluid that I had seen before swirling in that central tank undulated through a tube that ran the length of the tunnel. I followed the flow backward to its source, and as I expected, it was the air vent at the top of the domed ceiling of the Cryostorage Unit. I pried off the cover, activated my gravbelt, and lowered myself until I hovered over the tank. I grabbed ahold of the side, switched off my belt, and swung myself to the ground.