"I've got a couple guys behind me," PJ's voice said, echoing down the hallway, "fingers on triggers. They're way out of your range, Lark. They're way out of your league. Show me the yo-yos, all three."

The orbs froze in the air around me. I froze, too. What should I do?

I looked to Rachel for help, for direction, for instruction. Because PJ was right, I was out of my league, but somehow she understood this stuff. A knew a few people who think that's her power. They say that her father had succeeded in turning her into an active. They figure that her steely steadiness, her refusal to panic, her bottomless resolve, is her longshot power.

I don't believe that. I don't think there's anything extraordinary about Rachel except Rachel.

After a moment, she nodded to me, so I sent the orbs to cluster in the intersection, in full view of PJ and his men. Vague impressions filtered into my mind: PJ at the corner, a handgun by his side, and two blurry shapes at the far end of a dingy white corridor. Holding rifles.

"Just two guys, Peej?" Rachel called, leaning against the wall. "I’m not sure you've thought this through."

"There's three of us," he said, from around the corner, as the stench of rotting seaweed poured into the hallway. "And two of you."

"One of me," she told him. "Lark’s not worth much."

"Thanks," I muttered, breathing through my mouth.

"Hey, he did a good job disarming you," PJ told Rachel. "Who gave a kid like you a gun, anyway?"

"I didn't need one to put you down, back when I was seventeen."

"You got lucky," PJ said.

"Then how come you’re hiding around the corner?"

Her gaze flickered to me, brief and meaningful. Why didn’t PJ just step forward? His narcotic breath wouldn’t work on us, breathing through our mouths. Was he trying to buy time to control someone? Was he waiting for Spandle to arrive?

"Safety first," he said.

"How’d that work last time?"

"I’m stronger now--a hundred times stronger."

She dropped her hand by her hip, where I could see it but PJ couldn't, and patted her leg with her palm. Like she wanted to get my attention. I watched her as I rubbed the ache from the back of my neck.

"There’s this one scent," PJ continued, "one celestial mind-fuck perfume that makes every synapse in my brain buzz like a lightning strike. This one smell that is rocket fuel in my veins. Guess what it is."

"Onion rings?" she said.

"It's the final perfume, Rachel …" PJ’s voice grew softer, almost reverent. "When you die, your body releases everything. Everything. One last gasp, like mainlining someone’s soul. I take that into myself, and you cannot imagine."

Rachel frowned. "When you smell someone die, you get stronger?"

"Not just anyone. It's got to be a longshot."

"Okay," she said. "That’s gross."

"I’ll tell you what that is. That’s me, turning into a--" He laughed suddenly. "Ah! There were go, now everyone’s in place. Look at the girl."

I turned to Maddie and saw a red dot glowing on bruised forehead. She was lying on the floor, caught in a sniper’s crosshairs. My breath caught and my hand clenched into a fist. What if they hurt her? What if they killed her? I felt the stirrings of panic. Not Maddie. Anyone but Maddie. Aiming a gun at her was bad enough, but seeing that red dot drift across her skin made it worse; like the killing bullet was already on the way.

"Breathe deep," PJ told me and Rachel. "Inhale the scent."

Rachel clicked her teeth softly, then again when at first I didn't look away from Maddie. When I glanced at her, she flashed three fingers at me, with her hand beside her leg.

"I don’t think so," she told PJ.

I wanted to run to Maddie. I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw myself between her and that dot. But I needed to stay calm. I took a trembling breath and made myself keep my eyes on Rachel.

"You and the kid both," PJ said. "If you don’t close your mouths, we kill Dewitt."

Rachel flashed three fingers again. "If we breathe, we’re yours." She pointed two fingers at Dewitt. One at Maddie. "We’re better off dead."

"See, that’s why you need two hostages," PJ said, chuckling. "One hostage is nothing. One hostage is a lack of foresight. But two? I can shoot Dewitt, and I’ve still got Maddie."

Down by her hip, Rachel pointed at me then flashed three fingers.

I nodded. I understood. At least I thought I understood. Send two orbs to Dewitt, one to Maddie.

"How about this, Peej?" she said. "You kill Dewitt, then I kill you. How’s that sound?"

"You’re soft, Rachel, despite what your father taught you. You're not going to let anyone die--"

While he spoke, she counted down with her fingers: three, two, one …

She dove at Dewitt. The orbs vanished in a blur and gunfire sounded. Two orbs flashed to Dewitt and one to Maddie. They flattened into fat pancakes in the air, then covered the red dots an instant before contact.

Two bullets exploded into the orbs protecting Dewitt, and Rachel scooped her gun into her hand and covered Dewitt with her body as she fired.

At the time, I figured she had a plan--and definitely had a bulletproof vest--but I know her better now. Of course she didn’t have a vest. She put herself between Dewitt and the snipers because that’s what she does. Rachel can’t help herself. She’s half Dewitt’s size, but she didn’t hesitate. She’s not an active, she’s got no powers other than her bedrock willingness to put herself in the line of fire. To someone like me--to most of us with powers we didn’t earn--there’s nothing more impressive. Being brave is easy when you’re strong, but Rachel’s brave when she’s the weakest person in the room; she’s brave when she’s terrified.

Maybe that explains our loyalty to her.

Anyway, the bullets smacked into orbs and Rachel returned fire while lying on top of Dewitt. I dragged Maddie’s limp form behind the cover of the soda machine as the orbs sent me flashes of the fight in the hallway. One of PJ’s men had been hit and the other exchanged gunfire with Rachel.

Dewitt bucked, then clouted Rachel with his forearm, knocking her to the side. She rolled across the hall and he rose uneasily and stared in animal bafflement at PJ, standing five feet away.

PJ vanished from the orb’s perception so I sent the other two--which I’d brought closer to protect Maddie--toward him. A seep of colors and shapes swirled in my mind, and I realized where PJ had gone. Through a doorway in the corridor, with Dewitt lumbering after him.

Rachel kept rolling, firing wildly at the remaining shooter, and she got lucky.

She’s not a cop, she's not a sharpshooter. She learned to shoot young, but she's not a prodigy. She got lucky, that's all, and dropped the second man. At the sight of him falling, tears welled in her eyes and she pivoted toward the stairwell doorway and blood splattered from her wrist to the floor. A rivulet ran down her arm, soaking her sleeve and dripping from the cuff.

She steadied her gun and aimed at PJ--then stopped.

The orbs told me why. PJ was standing behind Dewitt in that stairwell doorway, using him as a human shield.

"Hey, buddy," PJ murmured into Dewey's ear, "Close the door a bit." The door closed until a two inch crack remained. Then PJ raised his voice. "You think I'm the guy you knew, Rachel. I'm not that guy anymore. You’re going to learn that. Here’s your first lesson."

The orbs strained at the limit of my range but I couldn’t send them closer without leaving Maddie. Instead, I half-closed my eyes and focused. I flashed on Dewitt raising a gun, a black .38 in his trembling hands. Raising the gun from his side to his chest and higher, toward his head.

His lips formed words. "No, no, no …"

"Your father wants him alive," PJ told Rachel. "But I’ve got other plans."

Dewitt’s nostrils flared, and his gun rose until the barrel touched his throat.

"Don't do this, PJ," Rachel said, trying to get a shot around Dewitt. "Please, I'm begging--"

I heard myself shout, then felt myself running. I left Maddie behind and skidded around the corner and sprinted three steps and--

Dewitt fired.

PJ inhaled, his eyes glittering in the darkness, and the door swung shut.

Rachel pulled the trigger and PJ returned fire, a zig-zag of automatic fire splintering the door. A cut appeared on Rachel’s forehead--she jerked away and reloaded, her left arm clumsy.

How much time had passed since she'd dived at Dewitt? Ten seconds? Fifteen?

She jogged toward the end of the hall and I got within range of the bullet-riddled door and the orbs smashed through. Into a dark stairwell. Concrete. Metal railings. A shattered light.

PJ was gone.

A moment later, I burst inside. Dewitt lay on the floor, a glossy black puddle like a halo around his curly head. A dark hole in his neck oozed blood.

I knelt beside him and touched his face. My oldest friend, my brother. Dead.

The distant hum of electricity faded into silence. The air turned my skin numb. The world faltered, slowed, then stopped.