And Preston wasn't alone while he did these things.
Jasmine was right there with him most of the time.
Laughing, smiling, and kil ing alongside her brother. I could feel how much Preston had loved her, how happy he had been that she was just as vicious as he was, just as devoted to Loki. They were like two sides of the same evil coin, mirroring each other in almost every way. And I felt his burning pain, his deep anguish, when he learned that his little sister was dead. It would have made me feel sorry for him if I hadn't seen All the other evil things that he'd done, All the people he'd tortured and kil ed.
Each and every thing I saw turned my stomach, but I kept looking, searching for something I could tel Metis, something that would help her and the others stop whatever the Reapers of Chaos were planning.
Through it All , I was aware of a pair of burning red eyes fol owing me. The eyes jumped from memory to memory just like I did, watching me All the while. I knew who they belonged to now: Loki. His Reapers were the evil god's window to the mortAll realm, a way he could see out of his magicAll prison, and I could almost feel him glaring at me from inside Preston's brain. I told myself over and over again that the eyes couldn't hurt me, that Loki was locked away where he couldn't touch me, but the thought didn't comfort me as much as it should have.
I was about to give up, let go of Preston's hand, open my eyes, and tel Metis that I wasn't getting anything useful from him, when an image of Preston pul ing on a pair of gloves popped into my head. It was the same memory I'd gotten when I'd touched his gloved hand outside the Solstice coffee shop that night in the alpine vil age. It seemed strange, given All the other more violent and disturbing things that I'd witnessed so far. Curious, I concentrated on that memory, digging it out of the depths of his brain like a miner prospecting for gold, shining it up, and pul ing it into sharper focus. Suddenly I was completely in the memory, seeing everything from Preston's point of view.
He sat in the driver's seat of an SUV, pul ing on the gloves.
Once that was done, he looked in the rearview mirror at the person sitting in the back of the vehicle.
Shadows cloaked the inside of the car, so I couldn't tel who was there, although I got the impression it was a girl about my age. Whoever she was, Preston knew her-and was afraid of her.
A tingle of fear tickled his spine just from looking at her. Weird.
What kind of person would frighten a Reaper like Preston?
"Are you sure she's stil in the police station?" the girl asked in a low, soft voice.
"I cAll ed and asked for her five minutes ago," Preston said.
"She's stil in there. See? There she is, coming out right now."
Preston turned his head, and I saw who he was talking about.
Brown hair, violet eyes, beautiful smile. My mom stepped out of the back door of the police station.
Oh no, I thought, somehow knowing what was coming next.
No, no, no.
My mom strode across the parking lot and got into her car, just like she had in the dream I'd had of her at the ski resort. I'd wondered where the awful memory had come from, and now I knew. It had been an image, a feeling, associated with Preston's glove, one that my psychometry and my subconscious had picked up on, even if I hadn't immediately seen it when I'd touched his glove.
"I thought you said the daughter would be with her," Preston asked. "We could kil them both tonight and be done with this whole thing."
The girl shrugged. "So the daughter's not here. So what?
We have our orders. We disable the mom and question her about the dagger and where she hid it. That's what's important tonight. Now let's go."
Dagger? What dagger? What were they talking about?
Why would my mom have a dagger, much less hide it?
I lost my focus, and the memory blurred and shifted before I was able to latch onto it again. Now the SUV idled at a dark intersection, its lights off. Preston's head was turned, looking out the window.
"Here she comes. Get ready," the girl ordered from the backseat. "Now ... go!"
Preston smashed his foot down on the gas, and the SUV
hurtled out of the dark toward my mom's car. She never even saw it coming. The sound of metAll screeching and glass breaking roared in my ears, as though I'd reAll y been there when Preston had rammed his vehicle into hers.
I drew in a ragged breath, and the memory blurred again.
Now my mom was out of the car and lying on her back on the blacktop. A light rain had started to fAll , but it couldn't hide the fact that blood covered her whole body-her legs, her chest, her face. The ends of her broken bones poked against the skin of her arms, and her breath came in shAll ow rasps. Dying-my mom was dying.
The girl stood in front of Preston, a sword glinting in her hand as she towered over my mom. She was wearing a hoodie, just like I did All the time. Except the girl's hood was up to protect her from the rain, so I couldn't even see the back of her head, much less her face.
"Where's the dagger?" the girl snarled. "Where did you hide it?"
My mom smiled at the Reaper girl. "Someplace you'l never think to look."
"Fool. There's no place you can hide it that we won't find it.
It's only a matter of time."
"I'm not a fool," my mom said, raising her head. Despite her injuries, pride blazed in her violet eyes. "I was a Champion in my time, and I've served my goddess wel .
There is comfort in that, even now, at the end." Nike. My mom was talking about Nike. She must have hidden the mystery dagger-or whatever it was-on the goddess's orders. But why?
And why did the Reapers want to get their hands on it so badly?
"So am I," the girl snapped. "I'm Loki's Champion, and he's decided it's time for you to die. Tel me where the dagger is, and I'l make it quick. Otherwise ..." She swung her sword in a menacing arc, and raindrops hissed against the blade.
"I'm dying anyway," my mom said, coughing up a mouthful of blood. "So do your worst, Reaper. Because in a few minutes, I'l be beyond your reach."
"But your precious daughter won't be, and you won't be able to protect her from me," the girl said. "What's her name again?"
"Gwen," my mom whispered. "My lovely, lovely Gwen.
There was so much I wanted to tel you, so much I wanted to teach you... ."
Her voice trailed off, and tears streamed down her face, mixing with the cold, cold rain. My mom started mumbling then, about All the things she'd wished she'd said to me. I was so shocked by what I was seeing that I couldn't quite focus on what she was saying. Her voice grew raspier, and her words more incoherent, until the only thing she muttered was "Gwen, Gwen, I love you, Gwen... ."