“You were pretty impressive out there,” I told Liam, trying to change the subject.

He lifted his shoulders as best he could. “I’m a lifeguard. It’s what I do.”

We were making our way up the path to the mayor’s front door, the pavement lined with dead brown marigolds and piles of wet, withered leaves—things we wouldn’t have seen in Juniper Landing when we first arrived here, when even the plants could never die. A sort of traffic jam had occurred near the front of the house, and people stood on their toes, angling for a look at the front of the line. Liam’s charge started to whimper.

“This looks like it’s going to take a while,” Myra stated, her brown eyes full of concern as she looked at the girl.

“Come with me,” I whispered.

Liam raised his raven eyebrows, intrigued, and our small party stepped away from the line. I led Liam and Myra toward the back of the house, where there was a patio with a door to the kitchen and great room. We slid open the glass door and finally stepped out of the rain.

The scene that greeted us inside the house was astounding. Every last stitch of cozy, beach-house furniture in the sprawling great room had been cleared away, and in its place were rows of cots, each covered with a plain white sheet. Krista and Lauren moved about, efficiently smoothing bedding and setting up gauze and bandages and bottles of antiseptic on tables. On the far side of the room, the injured streamed in through the front door, where they were checked in and assessed by Police Chief Grantz and the mayor herself. Pete and Cori helped their patient onto a bed nearby.

“Where should I take her?” Liam asked me.

“See the blond woman by the door?” I said, gently rubbing the girl’s back. “She’ll want to take a look at her.”

“Got it,” he said, and carried the little girl toward the mayor.

“Come on, Myra. Let’s get you a bed,” I said.

“I don’t want to cut the line,” she said a bit uncertainly as she glanced around.

I smiled. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

We took a step, and Myra listed to the side. Panic gripped me as her eyes rolled up, and I desperately tightened my grip on her, but it was impossible to hold her suddenly lifeless form. Pete noticed and rushed over to help, ducking under Myra’s opposite arm.

“What do we do?” I said.

“Here. Get her to the bed.” Pete nodded at the nearest cot. Together we staggered toward it and turned around, sitting down with Myra between us.

Myra groaned and her head lolled forward. Then her arm fluttered off my back and she touched her hand to her head.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You fainted. I think.”

“You should lie down, but keep your head propped up,” Pete said. I shot him a questioning glance. His green eyes were bloodshot and his nose was red. Sweat poured down his face. “My dad was a doctor,” he explained to me under his breath. “If you’re faint or dizzy, you’re supposed to rest but keep your head over your heart.”

“Good thing we ran into this nice young man,” Myra joked.

I smiled at Pete, who sort of grimaced in return. “Yes. A very good thing,” I said. Pete and I were not the best of friends, considering that not so long ago he and his pal Nadia had accused me of ushering innocents to the Shadowlands. This was the first time I’d spoken to him since Tristan and Nadia had fled, thereby exonerating me and making themselves look guilty as sin. Maybe that was why he currently seemed unable to look me in the eyes.

Once Myra was propped up on a few pillows, she gave me a nod and patted my arm. “Thanks, Rory. You go see if someone else needs your help.”

“I’ll be back,” I promised her. “Thanks, Pete,” I added.

But he had already moved on to the next bed to help Cori with another patient.

I turned around to do the same and was immediately overwhelmed by the frenzy of activity. Darcy and Fisher were leading people to cots while some of the older Lifers tended to wounds and complaints. The stream of “survivors” coming through the door was never ending, and I wondered whether we’d even have enough room for all of them. That was when I spotted a pair of people so odd they momentarily took my breath away. Huddled together a few beds from where I was standing were a guy and a girl, about twenty years old, with white-blond hair in the exact same bowl-cut style, their bangs wet and scraggly over their foreheads. Their features were so similar—broad foreheads, straight noses, angular chins—that I might not have guessed their genders except for the fact that the girl was wearing a plain black dress while the boy wore dark pants and a white shirt. They both had light blue eyes and their skin was an olive hue. Their temples were pressed together as they whispered to each other, but their gazes darted around the room, taking everything in. It was eerie—their awkward pose, the way they were communicating so intensely without looking at each other. An eerie, bloodcurdling sort of fear moved slowly through me, the way the fog had engulfed the beach my first night here. Something wasn’t right about them. I could feel it.

“Rory!”

I quickly wove my way over to Krista, who was waving me down. She had pulled her blond hair into a low ponytail and was looking a lot less freaked than she had down by the docks. Somehow she’d managed to change into a dry white cotton dress and flip-flops and was setting up an oxygen tank, flipping switches and turning knobs like she’d been doing it every day of her life. I glanced over my shoulder at the creepy twins. They were watching me. I forced myself to turn my back to them. Pretend they weren’t there.

“How do you know how to use that thing?” I asked Krista.

She turned to me and shrugged. “I don’t. Does it look like I do? Cool.”

I snorted a nervous laugh.

“Here. Let’s unpack this box of supplies,” Krista suggested, lifting a cardboard box onto the nearest bed. “That I know how to do.”

“On it.”

We tore into the box and pulled out a few first aid kits, some inflatable pillows, and a bunch of ice packs that needed to be chilled. While I worked, I felt the twins’ gazes on me, but when I looked over again, they’d gone back to their freaky darting-eyed communication.

“So who’s the hottie? I saw you come in with him.” Krista nodded toward Liam and the mayor, who were talking over the girl’s head near the door. The mayor gestured toward her office and gently took the girl from Liam’s arms. Liam watched them go until the door closed behind them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. In five minutes the girl would be done longing for her mom. That was something, at least. At the moment, I was sort of longing for mine, just like I did whenever something awful or confusing happened. But my mother had died over four years ago, well before the rest of us had ever heard of Juniper Landing. At least I knew she was safe somewhere in the Light. She would never be a part of this insanity.

“Only you would ask that at a time like this,” I said, half joking.

Her blue eyes widened. “Like you didn’t notice? Please.”

“His name’s Liam Murtry,” I told her.

“He saved, like, a dozen people,” Krista said, looking him over appreciatively from across the room. “It’s like Superman’s arrived in Juniper Landing.”

“Yeah, he seems pretty perfect. Which probably means he’s a psycho ax murderer.” I meant it to come out as a light quip, but my tone entirely missed the mark. Who could blame me, though? I was turning out to be a seriously bad judge of character.

Krista fixed a sort of probing look on me.

“What? First my favorite math teacher kills me,” I said under my breath. “And then I fall in love with the guy who’s taken it upon himself to shift the entire balance of the universe?” I shook my head and took the last roll of gauze out of the box, then ripped the bottom of the box open to flatten it. “From now on, I’m not trusting my instincts about anyone.”