Sienna.
Emma.
Caleb.
Brady.
Lola.
The hiker with the port-wine birthmark, Juniper Vale.
And beside her, Ivy Winslow.
With a sharp intake of breath, the vision vanishes. I awake on my back inside the maze of mirrors with Naomi and Harper bent over me, calling my name in panicked voices, like I’ve been unconscious for a concerning length of time.
My heart judders as I blink several times.
“What happened?” Harper asks, grabbing my clammy hand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sending out an SOS,” Naomi says.
I try to tell her no.
I try to say I’m fine.
I try to sit up so we can get to Lainey.
But when I move, a wave of nausea lurches up my throat.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Outside the maze, I get sick in a garbage can. I brace my hands against my knees while the world spins.
“Ivy is alive,” I mutter.
But Harper and Naomi aren’t listening.
They’re too busy ushering me off the beaten path, behind a row of stalls toward a picnic table secluded from the crowd. Naomi tells me to sit down and unzip my coat. Maybe getting some cold air on my neck will chase the nausea away.
Rafe strides around the stalls toward us. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Naomi replies curtly. “She just got a little dizzy.”
I plunk my elbows on my knees and cup my forehead.
Harper sets her hand on my back.
Rafe comes closer. He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my face up to the moonlight. “She’s white as a ghost.”
“She collapsed,” Harper says.
“Harper,” Naomi scolds. “We have this under control.”
“Of course you do,” Rafe replies.
He lets go of my chin and surprisingly, he leaves.
I slump forward and clutch my arm.
