The Hearts We Sold(23)

And then, before she could answer, he simply vanished.





If she’d imagined James’s car, she would have conjured up images of a brown clunker—probably held together by paint and duct tape. She would have been wrong, it turned out. When James pulled up to the curb, it was in a very sedate, very normal blue car. A Mom Car.

He met her on the curb, smiling as if this was something they did every day. There were rough edges, a rawness to his face that she appreciated more after seeing the flawless Daemon. She never knew she’d long for rumpled hair or scruff, but James was so human she nearly relaxed.

She didn’t, though.

She was still Dee.

“I can’t leave campus,” she said, glancing up the sidewalk. “It’s not a weekend.”

Cora gazed at her, peering from her seat behind the steering wheel. It appeared that even though it was James’s car, Cora insisted on driving.

“This is kind of required,” said Cal, from the backseat. He had a magazine half-open on his lap, and he’d cranked the window down all the way. “Can’t you just sneak away?”

Dee glanced about the parking lot. Sure, there was no one watching—odds were good that she could get away with it. But the dorm monitor would patrol the halls around seven—and it was five now. Two hours felt like too short a span of time.

And this school was what she’d sold her heart for.

Then again, she had a perfect record. Even if she was caught, she might just get a detention or a warning. And if she was truly late, maybe she could text Gremma, get her to stage a diversion.

She met James’s eyes; they were crinkled at the corners in a gentle smile. “I could call the school,” he offered. “Pretend to be your dad or something, say there’s a family emergency.”

She answered without thought. “Oh, no. That’d get the school’s attention, probably. My dad never calls.”

A lift of his eyebrows; she had said too much. “I mean,” she said quickly, “it’s just—you know—parents are busy and all that.”

Flustered, she hastened around to the other side of the car and yanked the door open. She slid into the backseat quickly. “Drive,” she said, keeping her gaze lowered. “Please.”

Once James was in the passenger seat, Cora hit the gas and yanked the car toward the main road. Dee glanced once over her shoulder, at the shrinking buildings of campus as they drove through the gate.

“Are we all set?” asked Cora. She was looking down at something near James’s feet. “Car, check. Rocks, check. First-aid kit, check. Emergency rations, check.”

“Emergency rations?” asked Dee, alarmed. “I thought we were just going to Beaverton.”

Without so much as looking at her, James reached over and pulled open the glove compartment. Inside was a paper sack filled with half a dozen bagels.

“Check,” said James.

“Cell phones?” said Cora.

“Check,” said Dee, feeling her own phone in her pocket.

“Check,” said Cal.

“C-4?” asked Cora.

“In the trunk,” said Cal.

Dee went rigid. “Is that—is that safe?”

“So long as no one rear-ends us,” said James cheerily.





The drive to Beaverton took about thirty minutes. Cal had a map and called out directions from the backseat, guiding Cora into what looked like a half-deserted neighborhood. Dee caught a glimpse of a wall that was more spray paint than concrete, and newspapers sagged in the sewer drains. Despite her quip to the Daemon, there were good parts of Beaverton. This just wasn’t one of them.

Cora took a sharp right, pulling down an alley. Then another left turn, and she slowed the car to a halt. They parked beside what looked like a decrepit brick building.

Fear fluttered in Dee’s chest like a caged animal, struggling to get out. But something was strange, off; it was because there was no thudding heartbeat to accompany her fear. She was used to feeling it throb, set aflame by adrenaline, and she had never felt its absence more keenly.

James was whistling an off-key tune when they trudged toward the broken building. It was an old garage, if the struts and large glass door were anything to go by. But the place was deserted—the glass glittered upon the ground and a heavy layer of dust covered the interior.

The old building smelled of gasoline and rust, and small flickers of movement darted away from the beam of Cal’s thin flashlight—more rats.

The explosives were in a duffel bag. Cora hefted the bag over one shoulder, ignoring any offers of help as she strode through the broken door without any hesitation. Dee froze.

What would they say if they were caught? Four teenagers, breaking into an abandoned building, a duffel bag full of C-4. They wouldn’t be let off with a warning. They’d be branded hard criminals, maybe even terrorists—

A hand touched her elbow. Dee looked up, saw James looking at her. “We don’t get caught,” he said, so quietly that the others wouldn’t be able to hear. “Trust me. The Daemon makes sure of that. We’d be useless to him in jail.” He held out a thin flashlight, smiling just a bit. Not as if he were mocking her, but as if he understood.

Silently, she took it and switched it on.

The beam of the flashlight swept around another corner, and the sound of small, skittering claws intensified. Dee felt something pass over her foot—luckily, she was wearing her uniform-standard loafers rather than flip-flops, but the sensation made her shudder.