I’ve sat on the porch of the small, rented house twenty minutes away from where I grew up for the bulk of two days now, bored out of my skull. I’ve read a book and a half, three fashion magazines, completed six crosswords (okay, so they were easy ones, BUT STILL), and created several new playlists on my iPod.

There have been zilch Elder sightings.

Whatcha doing right now? I text to Jonah.

Watching you.

I roll my eyes. Seriously. Whatcha doing?

I AM serious. You think I’m going to let you out of my sight for 1 minute when you’re outside?

It’s endearing how Jonah refuses to ever shorten the word you when he texts. I scan the street, searching for the house he’s most likely in. I don’t know for sure which one it is, though. Zthane has the team rotating between houses and locations within a one-mile radius every so many hours. Jonah insisted on always being within a block of me, though.

So did Kellan, although I’d lay down money the two of them aren’t in the same location, especially after what happened when we first got back to California.

It went like this:

Kiah was hugging me hello when she noticed his ring. She squealed and made a huge production of it. Several other Guard came over and offered congratulations, as it’s a pretty well-known fact that if a Connected couple finds their rings, it’s the same as a marriage, certificate and ceremony or not.

But the thing is, apparently during their argument a couple days prior, Jonah never got around to telling Kellan about the ring. And I’ll freely admit to being a huge chicken and not telling him either, because 1) I couldn’t bear to hurt him, and 2) I’m selfish in the long run and still think about what went down between us in Costa Rica far too often, which is all sorts of wrong. Because I’m deliriously happy with Jonah right now, and things are good, and bloody hell, WHY CAN’T I STOP THINKING ABOUT KELLAN?

There was this Artic stare down between the twins once everyone moved on which triggered my trusty friend Guilt to rear its blackened, rotting head once more.

While Jonah was going over final details with Zthane and Karl, Kellan found me alone, in pretense of sweeping the house.

He didn’t say anything at first. Not, “So, I see you guys have matching rings now.” Or, “You’ve torn my heart out again.” Or even, “I hate you, why do we have to be Connected?”

He just kissed me. Backed me up against a wall and kissed me like he did in Costa Rica, like we’re in the Olympics for kissing and want the gold. And then he finally spoke to me, the first time since our argument. He said, “That ring means nothing. Not to me, not anymore.”

I was speechless.

“Please be careful?”

I assumed he was talking about the mission, but he could have been referring to how I hold the fate of three hearts in my hands. All I could do was nod. And then he left.

I didn’t tell Jonah. Because how could I?

I’d wanted that kiss just as much as Kellan.

I’ve just crawled into a very cold, dusty bed when I hear what sounds like the back door slam. I freeze, the covers halfway up my body, my ears focused on every noise I can discern in the house.

Silence. Must’ve been my imagination.

I settle down and clap off the light (yes, the rental has its lights hooked up where you can clap to turn them on and off; I kind of want this back home now, to be honest), but not ten seconds after my head hits the pillow, something clatters in the kitchen.

It must be one of the Guard.

They’ve kept their distance for the past two days, concerned the Elders would stay away if they knew a team was present. But I get the feeling that every so often, someone sneaks inside to check out the area, especially when I’m sleeping.

I call out, “Hello?” But no one answers.

I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen. The house gives me the creeps at night, since I’m still not too familiar with it. “Who’s here?”

No answer, which makes sense, as there’s no one in the kitchen. The back door is open, though. The screen swings silently back and forth, unlatched.

I peek my head outside, scanning the area. It’s a decent neighborhood; I didn’t think I’d have to fear home invasion during my stay. Even still, I create an overly large butcher knife and tiptoe towards the living room.

No one.

Nothing in the bathroom. The spare bedroom.

I’m in the dining room, tapping the knife against the palm of my hand when I hear another crash, this time from the master bedroom. My heart stops.

I force the word out of my mouth, like some kind of fool with a death wish from a horror film. “Hello?”

And then I’m on my back, and all the air is gone from my lungs, rendering me speechless.

HOLY MOTHER-EFFING HELL.

My wrist snaps loudly as the silent Elder’s whip-like tail cracks against it. The knife I’d been holding goes skittering across the hardwood floors. Another strike hits my knee with deft precision.

My mind fragments into shards of black, searing pain.

Move, Caleb shouts at me. Get up and MOVE.

I manage to twist to my side, even though my left kneecap collapses in on itself when pressed against the floor. All the air in my lungs whooshes out again, but a few well-placed orders from Caleb gets me to roll once more before the Elder can strike me again. The floor is not so lucky; the wood splinters where my sternum once lay.

I focus on the table long enough to hurl it at the Elder. It emits a low-pitched shriek, so unlike all of the others I’ve ever heard from these things, and ends up catching the table. I rip the hutch off the wall and shove it at the monster, too.

Black smoke stretches thin and regroups enough to envelope and crush the hutch, absorbing the sound like a black hole or something. I try to push myself forward, but my wrist refuses to hold my weight. My chin hits the floor; warm blood gushes down my neck.

MOVE, Caleb orders.

But I can’t. Instead, I slam a barricade down in between me and the Elder, one that stretches wall-to-wall, ceiling to floor. Then I slam one down on what I assume to be the other side of the Elder, boxing it in. Finally, I slam a third down on the other side of me, so I’m boxed into the house, too. The Elder beats against our shared wall, reminding me of the relentless pounding on the cave months before. Still, it refuses to scream.

Why isn’t it screaming? They always scream. It’s their thing. Screaming.

It’s like I’m underwater. My ears buzz.

FOCUS, Caleb roars in my mind.

I can’t, I can’t, good lords above, I am in paaaaiiiinnnnn.

It’s not howling because it doesn’t want the Guard to know it’s here, Caleb snaps. You need to LET THEM KNOW.

I fumble for my phone. It’s not in my pocket. I’m in my pajamas; the phone must be in my room. My room is close to where the Elder is. Gods my head aches. I can’t focus. It’s hitting the wall a lot. I’m blocked in a small swath of space in between the living room and dining room.

I need to call Jonah.

It takes me three tries to get a phone right. The first one has no buttons. How can I dial with no buttons? The second has no way to talk. It’s all buttons, no talkie parts. The third, please gods let this phone work.

My wrist is broken. I can’t dial with those fingers. I lay the phone on my stomach and pray that I’m getting the number right, but I’m not right handed. My fingers are stubby against the buttons. I need one of those old people phones that have big buttons. I should make one of those.

FOCUS.

Someone named Jilly who sounds like she’s six answers. She asks if I want to talk to her mom. I think I say no, but Jilly screams when I moan and hangs up on me. My ears feel like they’re bleeding now, too. Buzzin’ and bleedin’.

I try again. Another wrong number. I gurgle out an apology and then try again. And again. Why can’t I get this right? All I want to do is sleep. I hurt. I hurt.

I hurt. Gods, do I hurt.

Dial, Caleb urges. Call Jonah. You can do it.

I manage to get it right after two more tries. Jonah tries to say something, like hello, maybe? But I tell him, “Hurt. Come?”

Although, things are sort of numb now. Not so painful. Sleepy. So sleepy.

Jonah doesn’t say anything. Did he hear me? I let the phone drop. I want to nap.

The Elder finally starts screaming. This is how it’s supposed to be. These things scream. They’re screamers. I want to scream, too, but can’t, because it’s sort of hard to.

I push myself up on my good elbow right as the wall in front of me crumbles. Karl shakes wall stuff off his fist. “What is it with you and walls, Chloe?”

He’s funny, that Karl.

Jonah pushes past him to get to me. He says a lot of sweet things. I’m glad he’s here. He picks me up and holds me like . . . like . . . like in a movie or a book. A good one, with a hero. That’s it. He’s a hero. My hero. I want to throw my arms around his neck, but one arm is all crooked.

I go to tell him that I think it’s broken when I realize my hero is spitting fire. ‘Cause he’s yelling at the Guard who’ve followed him and Karl in to find me, and—whoa. He’s red he’s so angry.

He stops long enough to say to me, “Don’t go to sleep.”

Ha. Haha. Right.

“Don’t. Go. To. Sleep,” he warns.

“Heroes aren’t bossy,” I inform him. But damn him, he makes it so I’m super awake before he yells at those poor guys some more.

Everyone is saying they truly thought they had the house covered. And, they did—I’ll give them that—but the Electric tasked with watching the back entrance had to use the bathroom and left his post for a couple of minutes. Which means the Elder must’ve been watching us for quite awhile, biding its time until it had the perfect opening.

The guy’s genuinely contrite, apologizing to me multiple times. I try to tell him it’s no big deal, everybody has to pee sometime, but Jonah isn’t down with any of his or anyone else’s excuses.

“We’re leaving,” he tells Karl, but the big guy is blocking the exit he’d created just minutes before.

“We need Chloe to help contain it. You know it’ll escape if she doesn’t.”

Jonah’s body tenses around me. I worry he’ll argue, but then he asks me quietly, “Can you make it so it can’t get out?”

I nod; he has to bring me close enough to lay a weak hand against the fresh plaster. Once I’m done, he says to Karl, “There. Contained. We’re going now.”

Kiah hesitantly steps forward. “Jonah, we need—”

“NO.” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to keep words he’ll later regret it. “Right now, Chloe and I are going to go back to Annar to the hospital. You guys wanted one of these things—well, she got you one. Her work is done, at least for today.”

Kiah looks me right in the eyes. “Sweetie, we could really use your help before you go.”

My arm is dangling uselessly in my lap. My knee is at an awkward angle. Jonah’s got me lucid and pain free, but rationally, I know I must have a concussion. Broken bones. And I’ll be no good to anyone, least of all myself, if I try to work Magic when I’m not in top form. “I know,” I tell her and Karl. “And I want to help. But, I think it’s best that I get myself checked out first. Right?”

Karl scrubs at his hair. “I’m an asshole for even suggesting anything else. Sorry, Chloe.”

I give him what I hope is a warm smile, but Jonah’s worked it so I literally can’t feel anything associated with my body.

Kellan meets us at the car. He’s clearly trying to contain his anger, too, but whereas I can feel Jonah’s trembling, I see it in Kellan’s hands. “Let me drive you guys.”

Jonah goes to argue, something about needing his brother to stay back and make sure things are okay, but Kellan counters with, “She needs someone to sit with her in the back so there’s no more damage. You sit with her. I’ll drive.”

Karl is outside, watching us. So are a lot of other people, all looking remorseful. I refuse to look at any of them any longer, because, surprise, surprise, once again, the mighty Creator proves herself to be as fragile as everyone thinks.

Jonah finally agrees; Kellan opens the back door of the SUV I’d rented and helps his brother load me in. During the drive, he fiddles with the car radio until he finds a station he knows I like. And then nobody says anything out loud for the rest of the drive.

Kate Blackthorn sends both guys out into the hallway before examining me. They’re reluctant, but they go. “Those two,” she says fondly, shaking her head. Or at least I think she’s shaking her head, but she’s all blurry. “Stubborn as mules.”

Before they left, though, Kate had Jonah revert my feelings and focus back to where he found me. He’d fought with her, but caved when she said she needed to assess me in my true state. I’m once more nearly blinded with pain, and my head is spinning. My eyes can’t focus on any single thing.

She takes care of the concussion first before getting to work on the broken wrist and knee. Warm hands press against my wounds, knitting bone back together and smoothing skin whole. She’s just about to help me sit up when she pauses. “What’s this?”

Her hands hover over my lower abdomen. My eyes widen. “I’m not pregnant!” I blurt out.

She chuckles and yet still frowns. “Dear girl, what with your hymen being intact and all,”—my cheeks blaze, holy hell, I’m going to die of embarrassment, this is Jonah’s mom’s best friend—“I certainly wouldn’t assume that’s the case. Although, I’ll admit I’m quite surprised that you’re still a virgin.” OFFICIALLY DYING. And seriously, a good point. But still. DYING. “But I was referring to a rather nasty ulcer you have.”

Ulcer? I struggle to sit up, but the Shaman pushes me back down. Her hands, warm again against my bare skin, press into my belly.

“How long have you been experiencing symptoms?”

I’ve got to be fire engine red now. “You mean, stomach aches and all?” She nods, so I say, “Um, a few months?”

Her hands move away, only to help me finally sit up. Then they settle on her hips. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

I tug at the hem of the backless dressing gown hospitals insist on patients wearing during exams. “I guess I assumed it was from stress.”

Rapid-fire questions shoot out from Kate’s lips until it’s determined that I got myself into a vicious cycle this year. My headaches stemmed from stress. The ibuprofen I’ve eaten like candy tore into my stomach and caused an ulcer. Stress exacerbated the ulcer and headaches. I took more pain relievers, hoping to find relief to only make the ulcer worse. The worse it got, the more meds I took. I created a monster.

“You need to cut down on stress,” she says to me, like it’s an easy thing.

Of course. How stupid of me. I’ll get right on that.

“You’ve also lost a lot of weight since I saw you last,” she says, looking down at her chart. “That’s from the ulcer and stress, too. You’d been at a healthy weight, Chloe. Losing too much too quickly isn’t good for your body.”

So, no stress. Eat more. Check. Double check. Why haven’t I thought of this before?

Kate pats me on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t normally advise this, but drink some milk shakes. Eat some hamburgers. Get some calories into your system.”

Right-o. It’s sooo easy to just flip that no hunger switch. Got it.

Don’t be petty, Caleb warns.

I’ll get right on that, too. Because girls like me—breakable girls who have probably killed innocent nons—there’s nothing we can’t do, right?