Yes, he did.

He remembered being young, being terrified of the strength of his affinity to the earth—but finding relief in it too. When he’d been fourteen, he’d snuck out of the house to sleep in the woods almost every night.

His father had found him, every time.

He’d been an Earth Elemental, too.

With a jolt, Michael realized that’s what Chris had been doing: finding solace by the water. How had he missed that?

Being here, his feet in the dirt, his hand against a tree, brought Michael comfort. Some of the weight stacked on his heart eased, just a little.

Sorrow slid in to replace it. Sometimes he missed his father so much he almost couldn’t stand it.

Like now. Help me, Dad. What would you do?

Another leaf, vibrant red, fell from the young tree and floated in his direction. Michael smiled and caught this one too. He stepped back to the tree and leaned against it, letting it lean back against him. He slid the two fallen leaves between his fingers and scanned his surroundings for the hundredth time. Whoever had been texting him knew how to move through the woods without leaving a mark. No broken branches or twigs. Nothing disturbed. No malice, no ill intent.

This didn’t feel like Calla. Last night had, for sure. But this, this texting, it didn’t feel like her at all. She didn’t play games, and this definitely felt like a game. But there was something else, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He glanced at the patio again. No movement, no sign of danger.

Maybe the clue was here, in the woods. Calla was a sixteen-year-old Fire Elemental. She would have set these woods on fire to send a message. Or she would have burned down Adam’s apartment complex. She wouldn’t taunt him with texts and then ask him to meet her in a bar.

A bar.

Calla wouldn’t have asked to meet in a bar at all—she wouldn’t be allowed.

So his tormentor was over twenty-one. That narrowed it down to about a bazillion people.

Well, not really. It couldn’t be any of the middle- or high-schoolers who agreed with what Calla was doing. Who else did he know who was over twenty-one?

Bill Chandler, Becca’s father. He was a Guide himself, but he was in hiding now, trying to keep Becca safe. He was also terrified of the Guides coming to town. He wouldn’t have started a bunch of fires. Michael was honestly shocked he hadn’t called yet to yell at Michael for letting his neighborhood get destroyed.

Bill was an ass**le, but he wasn’t behind this.

He scrolled through the text messages again, stopping on the one of Hannah at the fire. Fierce in her fire gear, then gentle and patient with her son.

Sudden fury welled up in Michael’s chest.

He rolled forward onto his knees and punched the dead tree. Bark splintered and wood creaked. A few dead branches cascaded down around him. His knuckles were bleeding.

He wanted to do it again.

No, he wanted to do it to whoever had texted him.

Focus. Figure this out.

Another name came to him. Tyler?

Tyler.

Michael tried to make that work. Tyler had made it his life’s goal to torment Michael—until he’d revealed himself to be a full Fire Elemental, just as cursed as the Merricks were. He’d saved Michael’s life a few weeks ago, shooting a Guide in the head just before the man was going to kill Michael and Chris in their own living room.

Would Tyler do something like this? Why?

Michael couldn’t connect the dots there, either, but he also couldn’t eliminate Tyler entirely.

Who else? A complete stranger? A new Guide in town wouldn’t taunt him. They wouldn’t be like, “Hey, let’s grab a beer.”

They’d just shoot him.

Michael took a long breath and brushed bark off his knuckles. He picked up a dead branch and started snapping small pieces. He needed to think of a contingency plan, somewhere to send his brothers if he didn’t survive this meeting tonight—because he wasn’t naïve enough to think it was just a talk.

And he sure as hell wasn’t telling them about it.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Each piece was easier to break than the last, the wood dry and lacking any energy.

His fingers went still. He studied the dead tree again. There was a gap of bark where he’d slammed his fist into the trunk.

But there were other gaps in the bark, and more broken branches higher up the trunk.

Someone had climbed this tree. Recently, too, considering the bare wood hadn’t been exposed to the elements long.

Michael found himself climbing before he really thought about what he was doing. His feet caught the bark and gripped tight, his hands finding every available branch. In less than a minute, he was twenty-five feet above the ground, obscured by the autumn-darkened branches of the surrounding trees.

He had a perfect view of Adam’s apartment.

And he had a comfortable seat, right in the crook of two strong branches.

He pulled out his phone and aimed the camera app at where he’d been sitting. It was an almost identical match to the picture he’d received.

Gotcha.

Well, not really. The tree was empty now, the dead limbs offering no information. The air was silent up here, too, no breeze moving through the branches. Michael watched his breath fog for a while, thinking.

A Guide might be smart enough to climb a dead tree to avoid his notice. He’d have to ask Hunter if it would occur to him. An Earth Elemental definitely would.

Michael only knew one other Earth Elemental: Seth Ramsey. Tyler’s best friend.

Seth and Tyler were totally the type to do something like this to f**k with him. They didn’t necessarily have to be behind the fires in the Merrick neighborhood—they could have heard what had happened and known it was an opportunity to kick him when he was down.

But . . . how would they know to find him here?

Had they followed him? It was possible. Not likely—but not unlikely either.

Despite everything, Michael felt a twinge of disappointment. He’d thought he and Tyler had grown past that and found some middle ground. They’d never be friends, but he didn’t hate the guy anymore.

Maybe he’d found a reason to renew that hate.

CHAPTER 9

Michael heard a shout and bolted upright. For an instant, he was completely disoriented. He didn’t recognize these walls, this bedroom, this quilt.

Then he remembered all of it. The fires. Adam’s apartment.

The threatening messages. The photo from the trees.

Another shout, more muffled. It sounded like someone was right outside the window.

Michael flung the blanket aside and staggered to his feet. Weak light filtered through the window blinds. He grabbed at the slats and pulled open a gap large enough to look through.

Just in time to see Gabriel tackle Chris hard enough to knock him to the ground.

Michael remembered chasing Chris through the woods. What the hell was—

Oh. Wait. They were laughing. An orange Nerf football lay in the grass a few feet away. Gabriel was letting Chris up. Nick retrieved the ball and pointed at something out of sight.

They were playing.

At once, Michael was simultaneously furious and terrified.

Playing. Outside, in full view of . . . whoever.

He grabbed his jeans from the floor and jerked them on, fighting with the button as he yanked the bedroom door open.

Hunter was sitting alone at the tiny kitchen table. He looked up in alarm as Michael burst out of the room. “You okay?”

“They shouldn’t be outside. I can’t believe they’re—” He stopped short as the ball sailed past the glass door at the back of the apartment.

“They’re what?” Hunter glared at the coffee mug in front of him. “I say leave them out there. I thought someone was going to get murdered in here.”

Michael rubbed his hands down his face. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him standing in a puddle of mixed emotions. “What? Why?”

Hunter glanced around. “Why do you think?” His voice had an edge. “There are two rooms and you were asleep in one of them. No television. No one knows what’s going on, or where we’re going to go, or what might happen.”

Michael looked out the door again, studying his brothers. At first glance, they’d looked carefree and happy. Under closer scrutiny, he could read the tension in their movements and see the worry in their eyes. Gabriel had tackled Chris a little too hard to be brotherly—and when Nick had thrown the ball, he’d propelled it like a missile. “How long have they been out there?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.”

“You didn’t want to play?”

Hunter shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

Michael took a long breath and looked into the kitchen. The clock over the stove told him it wasn’t much past five. He’d slept for three hours, which was two hours and fifty-nine minutes longer than he’d thought he would. The light on the coffeemaker was still lit, and half a pot sat there.

“Do you think we’re in danger here?” said Hunter.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because of how you came flying out the bedroom, all pissed that they’re outside. Does anyone know we’re here?”

Michael thought of those text messages. Would his brothers be any safer inside?

I’m not sure I could limit a fire to five apartments.

Maybe they were safer outside.

He had no idea.

“I don’t know.” Michael opened two cabinets before he found the mugs, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table across from Hunter, shifting his chair so he could see out the back window.

He had two hours to kill. An hour and a half, really, considering he wanted to get to the restaurant early, to walk the premises and see if the ground could offer further clues.

To see if Tyler or Seth was really behind this.

He could close his eyes and see the burned-out living room, the exposed beams in the ceiling, the destroyed furniture. He could still smell the acrid smoke and burnt insulation.

Before, he’d been tired and twitchy and panicked.

A few hours’ sleep had brought focus. He wanted to kill whoever was behind this.

Michael took a sip of coffee—old, but not too old—and realized Hunter was still just sitting there, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the back door.

“You didn’t say why you weren’t out back,” said Michael.

“I didn’t feel like going outside.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

That no sounded like a whole lot of yes.

Michael waited, inhaling the steam from his cup, keeping his eyes on the backyard.

Finally, Hunter looked at him. His voice was almost belligerent. “Are you going to make me go home?”

Go home? But home was—

Oh.

Oh.

Michael looked right back at him. “I hadn’t even considered it. Do you want to go home?”

Hunter didn’t say anything, just kept staring back.

Michael traced a finger around his coffee mug, considering. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak out of the house and sleep in the woods. The first time my dad caught me, I thought he was going to drag me back.”

“He didn’t?”

Michael shook his head. “He brought sleeping bags and flashlights.” He paused. “What do you want to do, Hunter?”

“Home would probably be better.”

“Better for who?”

“You. Then you won’t have to worry about me.”

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re probably just as big a target with your family as you are with mine. And if you think I could drop you off with your mom and stop worrying, you’re dead wrong.” In fact, he’d probably worry more.

“I didn’t mean worrying like that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I made a bad call last night. We should have stayed at the house. Then we wouldn’t have been gone—then those people—we wouldn’t—” He caught himself before his voice broke, and shook his head.