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BRIANNA TOOK A deep breath of chilly night air. Was that a breeze? Excellent: a breeze for the Breeze.
“Here, Drake-y, Drake-y,” she said.
She was in the middle of the street. As long as Drake hadn’t found a gun, she would be safe. Drake was quick with that whip hand of his, but not Breeze quick. No one was Breeze quick.
“Oh, Dra-ake,” she sang in a loud voice. “Oh, Dra-ake. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
She ran down Pacific Boulevard, turned onto Brace, and shot back up Golding.
She heard Orc bellowing drunkenly in the distance. It would be easy to locate him. But Orc wasn’t the problem.
No sign of Drake. She paused at the corner. Either she could just zoom randomly around or she could go methodically, street by street.
Methodical was not Brianna’s thing.
Better to taunt him, tease him into showing himself. “Here, Drake-y, Drake-y.”
She zoomed to Astrid’s house. No sign of him there.
She zoomed to the firehouse. To the school. To Clifftop and down the beach, kicking a tail of sand behind her as she ran.
Where would he go? What would he do?
It dawned on her then: Brittney. What was Drake going to do about Brittney?
As far as Brianna knew, Drake had no power to stop Brittney from emerging.
Where would Brittney go if she were free?
Brianna turned her gaze to the ruined church. And just then, she heard the sound of voices from within.
She zoomed up the stairs and into the church as . . .
BLAM!
The explosion, a stab of yellow, blinded her. She stopped as fast as she could, but not fast enough. She slammed into a pew and flew headfirst through the air, unable to see.
Anyone else w
ould have smashed face-first into the marble altar, but Brianna was not anyone else. As she was flying she tucked, spun, and landed on her feet on the altar. Like a cat.
The wave of pain from the impact with the pew made her gasp. But she fought down the urge to scream.
Then she saw.
And then she did scream.
The rifle blast had hit Brittney in the face and neck. The entire left side of her face was gone. Her neck was torn open. She should be spouting blood. But although the shattered flesh was red and raw as uncooked hamburger, no arteries sprayed.
And Brittney was still standing.
Jamal made a sound like a tortured animal, a howl of fear. He leveled the gun at Brittney’s chest but in the half second it took him to find the trigger with his finger Brianna was on him.
She hit the barrel and knocked it away just as BLAM!
She grabbed Jamal by the neck, yanked him forward so fast his head snapped back. She punched him six times in less than a second and Jamal crumpled, blood gushing from his nose and lips.
“Don’t hurt me, it’s not my fault!” Jamal wailed as he dropped and curled into a ball protecting both the gun and his face.
