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  “I’m Summer,” the girl said. “Summer Juarez. I’ve been looking for you, Ross.”

  My sister? I have a sister?

  Even looking at her half-familiar face, Ross couldn’t believe it. It felt like a dream.

  A blood-red haze dimmed his vision. Inside his head, crystal bells rang. The door in his mind had swung open, allowing the trees to try to communicate with him. It made his head ache. He struggled to close the door.

  Behind him, in the still, hot air of sunset, a few trees chimed. The sound spread until the entire forest was ringing out a warning like a rain of metal on glass. Everyone started nervously, even Ross.

  Ross stumbled to his feet. “We have to get farther away.”

  Jennie and Mia grabbed his arms. Summer stared at him as he staggered away and she followed. His head throbbed. He wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t put any words together.

  They fled across the dunes until the ringing in Ross’s mind faded, allowing him to concentrate. He found the steel door inside his head and slammed it shut. The chimes stopped.

  They were behind one of the dunes. Rays of sunset slanted across Summer’s face, giving it a red-gold tone. Two tiny crescents of light shone in her black eyes.

  Jennie was the first to speak. “Let’s make camp here.”

  Ross sat down and slid off his pack without taking his eyes from Summer. If she hadn’t been there, he would have stretched out on the sand and let exhaustion overtake him. But she was his sister. He had to . . .

  But he didn’t know what to do or say. He should be overjoyed, but he only felt stunned. Slowly thoughts returned, little wormy things trailing old emotions. Old pain. A memory slithered into his mind.

  His mother stumbling through the darkened streets, her belly huge with pregnancy. His father supported her, trying to hurry her along.

  A pair of bony arms swept Ross off his feet.

  “I’ll carry Ross,” Grandma whispered, her voice hoarse and urgent. “We’ll wait for you at the tunnel.”

  Then the memory vanished, the way they always did. What tunnel? He had no idea. All he knew was that he’d never seen his mother again.

  “I thought Mom was dead,” Ross said.

  “You left her for dead,” Summer snapped.

  Another memory hit Ross, so harsh and vivid that he mentally staggered with the force of it.

  His father lay broken and unbreathing, half-buried in stones and dust. Ross touched his cheek, then jerked back his hand from that stiff, cold flesh. His grandmother dug frantically to find his mother in the rubble of the fallen tunnel, until she finally gave up. The dust choked him, and the sound of his grandmother’s harsh sobs echoed in his ears. Her hands held him too tight, in a grip close to pain, as she pulled him away.

  “She’s gone,” Grandma said. “This will have to be their grave.”

  The memory ended as if it had been cut off with a knife.

  “We thought she was buried,” Ross said slowly. “There was a tunnel. It must have fallen in.”

  “They blew it up,” Summer exclaimed. “How can you not know that? You were there. Mom said they tried to kill us all. And they got everyone but Mom because she was out looking for you. She came back and found everyone dead. She waited and waited, but you never came back to find her.”

  “I was four,” Ross protested, though guilt wrung through him. Why hadn’t he returned? No, he had. He snatched at one of his few memories. “I did go back. But it was years and years later. All I found were skeletons. Where is she?”

  Summer folded her arms across her chest. Her black eyes didn’t blink. Ross became aware of the sounds of Mia and Jennie setting up the camp. Of course they were listening. He felt like someone had broken his head open and was prying at the inside of his skull.

  Summer still hadn’t answered.

  “She’s dead. Isn’t she.” He didn’t make it a question.

  “Yes. Years and years later.” She said the phrase exactly as he had. It took him a second to realize she was accusing him.

  Jennie stepped up and dropped a load of firewood and three canteens between them. “Ross, why don’t you make up the fire? Summer, if you’re going to camp with us, would you mind fetching the water? The stream is that way.”

  Summer hesitated, then grabbed first the canteens and then her pack, which she slung it over her shoulder as she marched away. Ross remembered when he’d carried his pack everywhere because he didn’t trust anyone not to rob him, even for the few minutes it would take to collect water.

  He couldn’t help feeling relieved to see her go. Then guilt punched him in the gut. After all the time he’d spent imagining that someone in his family had survived and maybe someday they’d meet up again, he couldn’t believe it had gone that badly.

  “I was sure my mother was dead,” Ross said, not even knowing who he was talking to. “I was sure. It never even occurred to me that she might not be.”

  “I know.” Jennie laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think Summer really blames you. Meeting you must be as much of a shock for her as it is for you. She probably thought you were dead.”

  “And she just turned up here?” Mia asked. “That’s an awfully big coincidence. Wait! Unless you both came from somewhere much nearer here than I thought. Did you?”

  Ross shook his head. “It took me years to get this far west.”

  Jennie cast a suspicious look in Summer’s direction. “I wonder how she knew to come. That is, if she did come looking for you.”

  “Talking about me?” Summer appeared from behind a boulder, the now-bulging canteens in her arms.

  “How did you find me?” Ross asked.

  Summer gave him an angry glare. “You’re famous. You single-handedly destroyed the Gold Point empire. You captured the crown princess of Gold Point and turned her against the king. You control the crystal trees, but people say you have other powers, too. You blew up a dam with the power of your mind, you teleported out of a canyon, and . . .” Her mouth pursed skeptically. “And you can make people like you? Huh. Not sure I believe that one.”

  A sound like a kitten’s mew distracted Ross. It was Mia trying to stifle a laugh.

  He blushed hotly. “I didn’t do any of that. Where did you hear that stuff?”

  “It’s everywhere!” Summer flung her arms wide. “Every trader! Every traveler! Every person in every town is talking about you.”

  Ross was tempted to run straight back into the crystal forest.

  “It’s a little exaggerated,” Jennie said. Ross recognized the voice she used in the classroom to calm down angry or over-excited kids. “He can control the singing trees, but that’s it. King Voske kidnapped him to try to make Ross work for him, but Ross escaped and blew up the Gold Point dam. With gunpowder. But he didn’t do it singlehandedly. Princess Kerry helped him. And he didn’t kidnap her, either.”

  Mia spoke up helpfully, her glasses winking in the ruddy light. “Jennie did that.”

  Summer glared at Mia. “You think you’re so funny.” She turned her glare on Ross. “The only thing that’s true is that the stories about you are total lies. I came all this way, I lost everything I had, and for what? I thought you were some big hero! I thought all I had to do was find you, and you’d fix everything. We’d ride off together and be gunslingers, and every town would want to hire us, and we’d be rich! And what do I find? A guy my own size who has to have two people to defend him because he can’t even get up off the ground!”

  Jennie cut in. “That’s enough—”

  A streak of crimson split the sky. The eerie keen of a cloud viper rose to a near-painful pitch. Mia flung herself down with her hands covering her head, Jennie yanked her sword from its sheath, and Summer leaped backward twenty feet. Ross grabbed his belt knife and threw it.

  The winged snake thudded to the ground at his feet. It writhed for a second, then lay still. Its attack crimson faded in death to its usual mottled camouflage of sky blue and cloud white. Ross drew
his knife from its heart.

  “Thanks, Ross!” Mia scrambled to her hands and knees, peering at the dead snake. “What is that thing? It looks like a king snake with wings.”

  “It’s a cloud viper,” Ross said. “I thought they only swarmed in mountains. This one must be a scout.”

  Summer’s voice was less belligerent as she cautiously rejoined them. “Yeah, I never saw one in the desert before.”

  “I wish I could leap like that,” Mia said wistfully. “That was twenty-two feet. That must be fun. Except when you’re scared.”

  “I wasn’t scared, just startled.” Defensively, Summer added, “They’re not dangerous unless you’re slow and alone. The venom only paralyzes you. But if no one else is around, the scout flies back and brings the rest of the flock. And then they all strip you to your bones before you can move.”

  “Well, that one won’t be going back.” Ross peered up at the sky, though the cloud vipers’ camouflage made it difficult to see a flock. At least the sun was setting. Wherever this one’s nest mates were, they’d be settling for the night.

  Mia fished through her pack. “Ah!” She pulled out a small, sharp knife and a glass vial.

  “And gloves?” Jennie reminded her.

  “Of course.” Mia brandished a pair.

  “What are you doing?” Summer’s lips curled in disgust. “You can’t eat those things. Well, they won’t make you sick or anything, but they’re gross. I hate snake.”

  Mia gingerly pried its jaws open. “Extracting the venom.”

  “Ugh,” Summer sneered. “You’re weird.”

  Ross looked from one girl to the other. He wanted to defend Mia, but Summer was his sister. In all the times he’d imagined that someone in his family had survived and he’d meet up with them again, it had never gone like this. Once again, he was completely at a loss for words, or even thoughts.

  His face itched. The blood from the glass cuts had dried and pulled at his skin. Grateful to have something to do, Ross poured some water from his canteen into the palm of his hand and started washing off his face and throat.

  Summer stepped close. “Not a bad throw with the knife.”

  “Thanks,” Ross muttered, scrubbing harder.

  “Hey, what happened to your throat?” Leaning in much too close, Summer said, “Is that a scar? It looks like a hand print!”

  Ross ducked, turning to make his hair fall to hide the scar. He couldn’t have explained even if he wanted to; his jaw was locked shut. He could almost smell the hell cell: granite and blood.

  Jennie walked in between them. He’d never been more relieved to hear her teacher voice as she said, “Who wants first watch?”

  Chapter Eight: Becky

  Becky Callahan stood outside her home with one hand on the doorknob, unable to force herself to turn it. Her stomach churned with anxiety and nausea, and she gulped air to fight it.

  A window had been left open a crack, allowing her to hear the clink of metal against china. Mom had started dinner without her. That meant Grandma Ida was eating with them. And it was Henry’s day to cook. Her stomach roiled even more.

  Becky wished she could run back to the surgery. But Dr. Lee had said he was going to eat at Jack’s. He’d invited Becky, but he was just being kind. He couldn’t really want her company for dinner after having her around all day at work. And he’d insist on paying for her meal, because he always did on the few occasions when she accepted his invitations, and then she’d feel guilty about taking his hard-earned scrip.

  Worst of all, if they were alone together without work to distract them, Dr. Lee would begin asking questions. They’d be gentle but probing, as if he was feeling for painful spots on a patient’s body. But he was feeling for painful spots in her life—in her family. She couldn’t tell him, and she hated to lie. He was so kind. It made her feel even guiltier than letting him buy her dinner.

  She couldn’t go back, so she had to go in. Every moment she stayed outside would only make her later and get her in even more trouble.

  Becky forced herself to walk into the dining room. The transition from the warm glow of sunset to the candlelit gloom half-blinded her. She wished Mom would leave the curtains open, like most people in Las Anclas did. But then any passerby would be able to see inside the house, and gossip. Mom hated the idea that people might talk about them.

  Becky slunk to her chair and sat down, wishing she was invisible. But of course, her entrance didn’t go unnoticed.

  Grandma Ida looked up from her plate, the angry lines in her face deepening with scorn. “So her majesty deigns to join us? In my day, we waited for our elders and stood behind our chairs until they were seated. You young people have the manners of wild goats.”

  Becky wondered if Grandma Ida actually wanted her to get up and stand behind her chair. But if she did, her grandmother would scold her for being mocking, or maybe ask why she was standing around doing nothing when the moth holes in the curtains were still undarned. There was no right thing to do when Grandma Ida was in a bad mood.

  Mom’s voice rose, angry and defensive, as she said, “If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a thousand times to be here at six sharp. It’s little enough to ask, when I have to work all day . . .”

  Nothing ever changes, Becky thought dully.

  When her father’s mother, Grandma Alice, had been killed in the battle of Las Anclas, Becky had been horrified at her own hope that their family would be happier without her. Grandma Alice and Grandma Ida had hated each other and constantly dragged the rest of the family into their fights. Becky still felt guilty over that secret hope, feeling it was somehow her fault that nothing had changed. Grandma Ida’s venom filled the space Grandma Alice had left.

  Becky’s churning stomach growled, and she looked at the table, to find Henry’s usual excuse for dinner: leftovers and a few vegetables thrown into a pot of water and left to boil while he did something else. Judging by the unappetizing lumps at the bottom, it was leftover ground turkey boiled with roughly chopped, unpeeled turnips, baking potatoes, and parsnips. The dirty scum floating on top meant the vegetables hadn’t even been washed.

  Becky knew that Henry cooked badly in the hope that she or Mom would do it for him rather than eat one of his revolting stews. His ploy often worked.

  She picked up the ladle and fished around for the least unappetizing bits. If she didn’t eat, she’d get the lecture on wasting food, so she took a couple potatoes as Grandma Ida started in on Henry about his table manners.

  As Grandma Ida went into the familiar drone about how in her day, children showed adults a proper respect, Henry shot Becky a quick, covert grin. He helped himself to a turkey lump, minced off a tiny portion, and lifted it delicately to his mouth with his pinky finger curled. If they’d been alone, Becky would have laughed, but her grandmother’s presence made her nervous. If Grandma Ida noticed that he was mocking her, she’d get even more angry.

  Grandma Ida interrupted herself halfway through her lecture on Proper Gratitude, and thumped her fork down. “I can’t even cut these potatoes!”

  Becky had just discovered that herself.

  “Sorry, Grandma Ida.” Henry didn’t sound at all sorry. “I was helping Mr. Preston campaign, and I got home late. Becky wasn’t around to give me a hand, so I did the best I could.”

  Grandma Ida shot Becky a disapproving glare.

  “I was working, too,” Becky said to her plate, and stuffed an unappetizing bite of nearly raw potato into her mouth.

  Mother stabbed at an undercooked parsnip. “I wonder what Noah Horst is thinking, blabbering on about inviting those mutants at Catalina. I know for a fact that he doesn’t like monsters any more than we do.”

  “He’s a hypocrite.” Grandma Ida nodded so sharply that the silver pin holding up her bun bobbed like a rooster’s comb. “But all the Horsts are like that. His grandmother was the biggest liar in town.”

  “Well, Noah won’t get elected. Not if my Henry has anything to do with it.” The
bitter lines of Mom’s face smoothed out as she looked at Henry with pride.

  “That’s right.” Henry grinned, shoving aside the rest of his tasteless turkey. Becky wondered if he had already eaten. Maybe he’d left training early, claiming that he was needed at home, and gone to Luc’s instead. “In between all my Ranger training, I got at least twenty people switched from voting for Mr. Horst to voting for Mr. Preston.”

  “Where’s your crystal ball, Henry?” Grandma Ida snapped. “I’ll believe that when I see the vote. And as for your training, it’s a waste of time. You haven’t lasted six months in any of your apprenticeships. You’ll never make the Rangers.”

  “Henry will be chosen as a Ranger,” Mom said, glaring at her mother. “He’s practically living at Wolfe House these days. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ousts Julio Wolfe some day. That fool is too busy carousing to lead a chicken, much less a patrol. He’ll never last as Ranger captain. But my Henry is another story. Never mind the Rangers—we’re eating dinner with the future defense chief.”

  Grandma Ida snorted. “That will be Will Preston, Martha. Use your wits.”

  Becky stabbed at her lump of uncooked potato. Her fork skidded off its impenetrable surface. “May I be excused?”

  As soon as she said it, she realized that she’d made a horrible mistake. She was so stupid. She knew not to draw attention to herself.

  Mom turned on her, two angry red spots flaring on her cheeks. “Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know you’re sneaking off to visit that mutant girlfriend of yours. How many times have I told you that you’re forbidden to see that monster?”

  Becky’s throat tightened with unshed tears. Mom thought Brisa wasn’t good enough for Becky, but it was the other way around. Brisa deserved a girlfriend with the courage to stand up and defend her, but Becky was too much of a coward to do anything but sit in miserable silence.