For an instant, Nick felt a rush of victory. He’d close this knot, collapse the flames. The Guide might not die, but he’d lose consciousness.
Then he could die from other things.
But then power flared back at him. The tornado began to expand. Nick’s tight cone of power loosened, like a skein of yarn being shaken free.
“Oh, shit,” said Tyler. Nick could feel his struggle to keep the fire where it needed to be—but the air pressure was too strong.
In that instant, Nick knew what was happening. The Guide was gathering power, building the same thing Nick had done in the dance studio: a blast of air pressure that would radiate outward.
This blast would flatten the woods. It would knock out Nick and Tyler, and possibly kill Gabriel, all in one wave of power.
Worse, the outside of this pressure wave would be a wall of fire. Nick had compared the dance studio to a bomb going off—this really would be like a bomb going off. From the strength behind the force, this would be enough to level the neighborhood.
Reverse it.
Nick’s element kicked in before he’d completed the thought, using every ounce of power he had to collapse the air pressure around the Guide. It pulled the spiraling flames in toward his quarry, and he felt the Guide fighting it, scrambling to send power outward.
Nick wasn’t going to be strong enough. The fire glowed brighter, fed by the oxygen in the air. The circling flames accelerated, ready to pull free of his control.
His knees landed in the underbrush as he struggled. His eyes clenched closed. He begged his element for the upper hand, feeling as though he grasped for nothing more than empty fistfuls of air. The spiral loosened further.
He was going to lose it.
Tyler grabbed his forearms, and his hands were full of burning pain.
Nick gasped, and his eyes snapped open.
“Do it,” Tyler said. “Do it, Nick. You think of every goddamn thing I’ve ever done to you, and you make this happen.”
Nick thought of it. He couldn’t not think of it, the way Tyler’s fingers burned into his skin.
Tyler’s voice grew louder. “You think of how much you hate me. You think of how I know you’re the weakest, most pathetic Merrick.”
Nick gritted his teeth. Tyler’s hands were scalding hot, but the pain didn’t steal Nick’s clarity, it enhanced his focus. Nick swallowed. He gained an inch with the air. Lightning cracked among the spinning flames.
“You know what I thought when Quinn told me you were gay?” said Tyler, his voice low and insidious. “I thought, well, doesn’t that fucking figure.”
Another inch. As soon as he killed this Guide, he was going to kill Tyler.
“At least I got to meet your boyfriend,” Tyler said. “Now I have someone to mess with when I’m waiting for Quinn. He won’t be able to fight me off, but—”
With a scream of rage, Nick threw him back. He felt a snap in the air. Anything not tied down went surging forward, toward the Guide. Fire, leaves, underbrush.
That included him and Tyler. They hit a tree.
Reverse pressure. Nick couldn’t breathe. All the fire died as oxygen was sucked from the air. For an instant, he couldn’t think, as if time were suspended.
Then the pressure gave. Wind exploded from the middle of the woods, blowing leaves and underbrush back out. Twigs and branches caught exposed skin.
Nick hit the ground. Then something wet hit him on the cheek.
And on the arm.
For an instant he couldn’t move. Then his limbs decided to work. Nick swiped at his cheek and came away with fingers full of blood. And something thicker.
Oh, god.
“Holy shit,” said Tyler. “You—you blew him up.”
His voice held the same awed fascination that Nick would expect from his twin.
“We,” said Nick. He needed to find his brother.
Nick ignored the pain in his arms, the speckles of blood decorating his shirt. “Gabriel!” He staggered toward where he’d sensed his brother the first time. “Gabriel!”
Nothing.
But then Nick saw him, lying motionless among charred leaves. He’d been shot, more than once, from the amount of blood soaking his clothes. His face was darkened with soot. Nick could smell the blood once he got close.
But his brother was breathing. He could feel that.
Nick got down close to him. “Gabriel.” His voice was shaking and he didn’t care. “Come on. Gabriel. Open your eyes.”
Then, to his wonder, Gabriel did. “Nicky.” His eyes fell closed again.
“Come on. Open your eyes again.” Nick patted his brother’s pockets, looking for his phone.
Dead. Damn it.
“Guides,” said Gabriel. “I have to find you.”
“You found me,” said Nick. “We got him. You’re okay.”
“Both?” asked Gabriel.
Nick frowned. “What?”
“Hey, douche bag,” Tyler called from twenty feet away. “Didn’t you say you were shot by a guy?”
Nick froze. “Yeah?”
“Well, there’s a hand here, still wrapped around a gun, if you can believe that. And either the dude who shot you liked a nice French manicure, or the Guide you just killed was a woman.”
Quinn’s lungs were burning by the time they made it up the hill to Nick’s house. She’d been inhaling smoke the whole way, but adrenaline was kicking her ass and keeping her going.
So was Adam’s presence beside her.
With every step, she kept seeing Gareth pulling the gun and shooting Nick in the head. It made her want to turn back.
Phone, she thought. Get to a phone.
The landscaping truck was in the driveway.
Quinn almost screamed in relief. Nick’s brothers were here! They could help!
She didn’t even bother knocking, just grabbed the front doorknob and pushed through to the foyer.
Her eyes registered everything at once.
That Gareth guy wasn’t in the woods with Nick and Gabriel. He was here, right here, in the Merrick living room.
Michael and Chris were on their knees. Chris was shaking. She could hear his breathing from here.
She didn’t blame him. Gareth held a gun barrel three inches from his forehead.
“Oh, god,” she whispered.
“Come on in,” Gareth said. “If you’ve come to warn them, you’ll see you’re too late.”
Quinn couldn’t move. She wished she could tell Adam to get the hell away from the house, before he was seen.
“Your friend, too,” said the Guide. His voice sharpened. “Now. Or this one dies. Three . . . two—”
Adam shoved her through the door, keeping a hand on her shoulder. “We’re inside,” he said, his voice very careful. “We’ll do what you want.”
“I want you both to sit down,” Gareth said evenly. “We won’t be here long.”
“Please,” said Quinn. She couldn’t look away from Chris’s terrified eyes. His breathing had kicked up during Gareth’s countdown. The gun didn’t waver.
All she could think was, Becca, I’m going to watch your boyfriend die.
“Please let them go,” she said. “They haven’t hurt anyone.”
“Sit,” said Gareth.
Adam took her hand and dragged her toward the couch. She started to speak again, but he squeezed her hand so tightly that she gasped.
Then they sat in silence, listening to nothing but Chris’s fractured breathing. So long that she wondered what they were waiting for. So long that Chris’s fear began to capture her, too, until tears slipped down her cheeks.