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“It’s fine,” he said. He didn’t want to see her—if she even cared to see him. His grandfather would probably call him names and demand that he pay for the damages to the carnival equipment.
But for a fraction of a second, he wished Gabriel hadn’t used power to heal him, that this Hannah woman had put him on a medevac helicopter to shock trauma or wherever. Just so his mom would have to look at him for an instant, instead of wallowing in her own mess.
Then again, she’d probably ignore even that. She hadn’t moved a muscle while her father was laying into him.
Michael pushed loose strands of hair back from his face. “I checked the news last night. Seven people are missing. Three are confirmed dead, but the bodies were too badly burned to identify which of the missing people are definitely dead. Seven. Most of those were kids. And that doesn’t even count the number of people in the hospital.”
The sudden guilt clogged Hunter’s throat. He remembered the feeling of panic and despair on those carnival grounds. He hadn’t been able to help any of them. He rubbed at his eyes.
Michael was still looking at him. “Calla is on the list of the missing.”
Hunter thought of the way her body had jerked, the way she’d dropped in the middle of the flames.
She’d fallen in the middle of an inferno. She had to be one of the dead.
“At least she can’t hurt anyone else,” said Hunter.
“Jesus,” said Gabriel. “Why do you sound upset about that?”
“I’m not upset.”
But he was. Because he’d wanted her to stop, but he hadn’t wanted her dead. Because he hadn’t been able to stop her himself, and now more people had lost their lives. Because once again, he wasn’t exactly sure where he fell on this continuum of good and evil, or even which end was which.
He wasn’t like Calla. He knew that much.
But if he wasn’t like the Guides, where did that leave his father? Where did it leave the man who’d shot Calla? The same man who’d pointed a gun at Hunter?
Hunter’s first instinct had been to run.
Not to put his hands up and say, “Don’t shoot. I’m one of you.”
And where did it leave Kate, a girl who seemed to have as many secrets as he did himself? She’d climbed down the Ferris wheel more efficiently than he had. She’d called his name when he’d been running from the Guide—causing a hesitation that had probably saved his life. His shoulder wasn’t any great distance from his heart.
She hadn’t been the one with a gun. But what would happen if he told the Merricks that he suspected . . . something about her? About this friend she was texting all the time? He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even pin it down himself, so how was he going to explain it to them? He had no proof of anything, really. And they already didn’t trust him.
He wasn’t sure he trusted them, either, if they were going to leave him here.
His head hurt.
Seven people missing.
Seven people. All because he couldn’t make himself pull a stupid trigger in the library.
All because he’d made his dad come back for him.
This line of thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
Hunter kept thinking of the kid who’d shown up in his kitchen that night, when Calla had come after him in his bedroom. Where had that guy gone? Why hadn’t Hunter seen him around school?
o;Mommy is working.” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “I’m supposed to be sleeping, but I wasn’t tired anymore.”
The house was a well of quiet, insulated by the rain smacking the glass outside. At least that meant it was probably morning.
The boy stretched for a remote control on the coffee table, ignoring Hunter’s hold on his wrist. “Can I turn on cartoons?”
This was . . . surreal. Hunter let him go again. “Sure.” He paused. “Do you know where everyone else is?”
“They’re sleeping.” The boy climbed up on the couch next to him as if he’d known Hunter all his life. Then he clicked on the television.
