Vengeful (Villains #2)(26)

Sydney closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “Mitch didn’t kill Serena,” she said. “Victor did.”

“Why would he do that?” asked June.

Sydney let out a shuddering breath. “My sister could control people. She had this hold on them. Could make them do anything she wanted, just by saying the words. She was strong, powerful. But . . . she was like Eli. She thought people like us were lost. Broken.”

“Maybe she was right,” said June.

“How can you—” started Sydney.

“Hear me out,” pressed June. “Maybe we are broken. But we put ourselves back together. We survived. That’s what makes us so powerful. And as for family—well, blood is always family, but family doesn’t always have to be blood.”

Sydney felt hollow, worn out. “What about you?” she asked. “Do you have a family?”

There was a long pause. “No,” said June softly. “Not anymore.”

“What happened to them? Did they die?”

“No,” said June. “But I did.” A long pause. “You see, they wouldn’t recognize me.”

“But you were you first. Can’t you just . . . change back?”

“It’s complicated. What I can do,” she said slowly, “makes me invincible. But only as long as I’m someone else.” June hesitated. “I buried someone. So did my family. There wasn’t a grave, but I’m still gone. And it needs to stay that way. When I came back, I decided that no one would ever hurt me again. I gave up everything—every one—in exchange for that.”

Sydney frowned. “Was it worth it?”

A long silence.

And then June said, “Yes.” The sound of a coffee mug shifting on a table. “But hey, like I said, not all family is blood, right? Sometimes we have to find a new one. Sometimes we get lucky, and they find us.”

Sydney looked down into her tea. “I’m really glad we met.”

“Me too.”

Neither spoke for a few minutes, the ambient noise of their respective diners collapsing the distance. June hummed softly, and Syd wished she were really there, sitting across the table.

Sydney closed her eyes. “Hey, June?”

“Yeah, Syd?”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You could leave.”

She’d thought about it. She was so tired of moving, of living out of a backpack, of chasing down lead after lead, only to find dead ends. Sick of watching Victor suffer, of knowing it was her fault. But that was exactly why she couldn’t go. Victor had killed Serena, yes, but Sydney was killing him. Over and over. She couldn’t abandon him. She wouldn’t abandon Mitch. They were her family. They were all that was left—they’d taken her in, given her hope.

“Syd?”

“I can’t.”

“Well, then,” said June. Sydney heard coins drop on the table, June pushing back her seat. “I suggest you go home.”





XVI





ONE YEAR AGO


EDGEFIELD


IT was too hot for Halloween.

They were in a college town somewhere down south, the air still sticky, the streets crowded with groups of teenagers heading to parties, and Sydney had decided to go out.

She stood at the bedroom mirror, adjusted the dark brown bob, put on the darkest lipstick she could find, traced black lines around both eyes. But the older she tried to look, the more ridiculous she felt. Syd tore the wig off and slumped back onto the bed.

She took up her phone, read the last few texts from June.

June: So go out.

Syd: I can’t.

June: Says who?

June: You’re 17.

June: You can make your own decisions.

June: They can’t stop you.

Syd rolled to her feet, and began again.

She’d gone into a costume shop the day before with Mitch, found a generic anime schoolgirl getup. If looking older wouldn’t work, maybe she could pass for someone trying to look young.

Syd combed her blond hair, pulled on the pleated skirt, and adjusted the bow at her throat. She slipped the gun—these days, she never went anywhere without it—into a tiny backpack, then marched out into the apartment.

Victor sat at the kitchen table, poring over profiles, Dol asleep at his feet. Mitch was on the couch, watching a college football game. He sat up when he saw her. “You dressed up.”

“Yeah,” she said, starting toward the door. “I’m going out.”

Mitch crossed his arms. “Not alone, you’re not.” He was already pulling the deck of cards from his back pocket. Anger whipped through Sydney at the sight of them.

“This isn’t a stupid game,” she said. “It’s my life.”

“Sydney,” said Mitch, a new firmness in his voice.

“Stop treating me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one,” said Victor without looking up.

Mitch shook his head. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” she snapped. “I’m just sick of being cooped up.”

“Let her go,” said Victor. “She’s giving me a headache.”

Mitch rounded on him. “You’re not helping.”