When the sheriff stuffed me into his cruiser, I pushed his hands away. In one movement, he twisted my thumb back and had my face against the dashboard before I knew what was happening.

“I will cuff you,” he said, the warning edge in his tone unmistakable. He let go, but he’d gotten his point across. I was not going anywhere except with him.

Glitch pushed me over and sat next to the door as the sheriff went around. Only then did I see the blood smears on his neck and shirt where Cameron had grabbed him.

We flew out of the parking lot, and somewhere in the back of my mind I realized I’d lost track of Tabitha. She was so going to need therapy.

My vision blurred as hot tears pooled between my lashes. I gazed straight ahead. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” I whispered to myself.

MAC WITHOUT THE CHEESE

Sheriff Villanueva drove straight to the Sanctuary like everything behind us was on fire. By the time we got there, I was little more than a basket case.

Granddad ran out the side door of the church to intercept us.

The sheriff helped me out his side. “They’ve taken both Jared and Cameron out.” He looked down at me, his eyes soft with concern. “They’ll be coming after her next.”

Granddad rushed me into the church and down the steps to the headquarters. The archive room was on the other end, and I sat staring at it as members of the Order filed in. Some hugged me in assurance. But they were worried. I could see it in their eyes. We’d failed. That stupid war was going to happen, and we didn’t have Jared or Cameron to fight. We had me.

We were all dead.

* * *

I listened to the members of the Order for two hours. Well, kind of. My mind wandered to Jared. To Cameron. To Brooke and Glitch.

Glitch was with me. He watched as Grandma cleaned the blood off my hands and went for a change of clothing. Even though his clothes were just as bloody, he stayed. And sat. We both stared at the archive room, our backs to the proceedings.

I just wanted answers.

“We’re just sitting here,” I said to no one in particular, but the entire council quieted. “We’re just sitting here waiting for something to happen. For someone else to get hurt.” I offered my grandparents a thoughtful look. I wondered if they were going to ship me off now. They’d stood by me, by the teachings of my father, through thick and thin and everything in between, and I could never repay them. Not in a thousand years. But they’d kept so much from me, and I wanted answers. For that, I needed an expert. Someone who grew up with the knowledge of the Order. With its teachings.

I bowed my head, almost ashamed of what I was about to say. “I want to see my paternal grandfather.”

* * *

Because we had lost our supernatural advantage, I was ordered to sleep in the vault in case of an attack. It was huge and had plenty of air through a venting system. They could watch from the monitor, make sure I was okay. If I needed out for the bathroom, I could call out to whoever was monitoring me. This was getting ridiculous.

Brooke stayed at the hospital with Cameron, and Grandma was at home with Jared. Glitch was allowed to stay with me under one condition, that his father stay as well, so among our guards was Glitch’s dad. Granddad had assigned two rotating guards on two-hour shifts. If there was even the slightest hint of trouble, they were supposed to ring the church bells, which was actually an electronic bell that just took the press of a button to ring.

They brought in two cots for Glitch and me. We had a restless night, but that was to be expected. I felt raw. Dry. Like the slightest touch would cause excruciating pain. Would crack open my skin. All I could do was hope my paternal grandfather would have some answers, and pray that Cameron lived.

The next day, I found out he’d made it through the night. He would make it. I knew he would.

Thanks to our connections with the sheriff, we were able to get a visitation scheduled with my paternal grandfather on short notice. He grew up with the prophecies. And he was the only one who might actually know what was going on. He was in the prison in Los Lunas, about an hour away from us. All these years, an hour away.

The prison was minimum security and had been built for two reasons: for intake and diagnostics of new inmates and to house inmates with either a medical or mental condition. I wondered which one my grandfather had.

After we got through the check-in, Granddad let me go into visitation alone. I sat down at window 4. It was strangely like the desks in detention, only with glass separating an identical desk on the other side.

An older man stepped into sight, and the breath in my lungs stilled. I recognized him. He looked so much like my father, I wanted to cry. A lump formed in my throat. Average height. Thick, solid build. Graying red hair with about a week’s worth of scruff on his chin. He looked rugged and kind at the same time.

When his gaze settled on mine, he looked confused. His brows slid together—first in puzzlement, then in recognition. My identity dawned and the shock on his face gave irrefutable evidence that he was not expecting to see me. Possibly ever. I couldn’t decide if I should be hurt or appreciative.

After he regarded me a long, long moment, he sank into the chair behind the glass and picked up the receiver with lengthy, strong fingers. I did the same, but the act did us little good. All we could do was stare. He had the same gray eyes as both my father and I. The same chin dotted with a soft cleft. The same squared-off nose and wide mouth.

His eyes followed every line of my face, every curve, a combination of disbelief and admiration in their shimmering depths. “Lorelei,” he whispered at last.