Vision Quinn, not real Quinn.

He’s in the same coat and hat he was wearing when I first saw him and he looks out of place standing close to the Honda.

He’s not looking at me; he’s glaring up the pathway we drove down hours ago.

I feel like I’m fixed in cement. Benson pulls away and says something, but I’m deaf to his words as I stand there gaping.

Quinn takes half a step forward, thrusting his chin toward the path with that same studious gaze. Then, with no warning, his head whips around and that glare is directed at me for a fraction of a second before he begins to fade from sight.

And I understand.

We stayed too long.

“They’re here,” I whisper, my head spinning to look in the same direction Quinn had been glaring.

All motion stops—everyone is silent.

“They’re here!” I shout, some forgotten instinct taking over. I hear only a sharp crack, a blinding light, before I’m enveloped in an explosion of searing heat and blistering flames.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Something inside me wrenches away control of my mind and I fall to one knee. My hands swoop out to the side and swing over my head, pages of files scattering to the ground around me.

The space around me vibrates with a sound that pierces my eardrums and yet is strangely muffled. Hot air fills my lungs and I stifle the urge to cough.

Then it’s quiet.

No, not quiet; fire crackles and roars. But the explosion is over.

I touch my arms.

I’m not burned.

Dancing orange flames lick up the trees, devouring the crackly leaves. I look up, but there’s only blackness. I’m standing in shadow.

“Ow! Damn it!” Benson swears beside me after scrambling to his feet only to clang his head on something above us and sink to the ground again.

We’re in a rounded shelter of something black. I lift my hands to it, my fingertips skimming the surface, almost hot enough to burn me. “Cast iron,” I whisper, recognizing the material. Just like the shield that protected Quinn and Rebecca from the bullets two hundred years ago.

Well, at least I know who to thank.

“Tavia, Benson,” Elizabeth snaps. I turn to her with wide eyes as I realize what happened.

“I made this!” The words burst out in a shriek. “Holy shit, Elizabeth, I did it! I—” I saved more than just me this time.

“We have to get out of here,” Benson says, his hand squeezing mine so tightly it hurts. “I can’t—why—this is all my fault.” He releases me and runs both his hands through his hair, ragged gasps loud in the tiny space.

“Ben, it’s all right,” I say, trying to grasp for his hands, but they flutter just out of reach.

His eyes meet mine and it’s like he just realized I’m here. He throws his arms around me and his fingers grasp against my back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against my neck. “I didn’t mean to. I was trying to get away.”

“Benson, what are you—”

Benson rises to his knees and pulls at his jacket, yanking it down his arms. He grips my leg to get my attention. “Scissors, Tave.”

“What?”

“Make me some scissors. Please,” he adds.

There’s no time for my ethical quandaries. Not when there are three lives to save. I can do this! Scissors. I close my eyes and force my mind to focus. A weight fills my hand and I give a pair of sewing scissors to Benson.

They’re identical to the ones that used to reside in my mother’s sewing basket. Hauntingly familiar. It’s like the locket I accidentally created. Somewhere at the periphery of my consciousness a firefly memory glows. I make what I know.

Benson grabs them and begins cutting his jacket. I still don’t understand what he’s doing, but I trust him with my life. With Elizabeth’s life.

“Water,” he says before coughing. But I’m ready this time.

Liquid spills from my upturned palms and he soaks the pieces of cloth and hands one to each of us.

“Shouldn’t I just use water to put out the fire?” I ask, confused, remembering the huge surge of water I managed to make when Benson’s roommate was such an asshole.

But Benson shakes his head. “If we can get away, the fire might hide us. You put it out, we’re sitting ducks.”

I nod and we all press the wet fabric to our mouths as we crouch together, the temperature in the air rising fast.

“That way,” Elizabeth shouts over the sound of the flames devouring the trees as she points. “Our cars are just up the road—maybe we can get to one. Whatever you do, don’t stop running.”

Benson nods with a calmness I can’t imagine he actually feels.

“What about Sammi and—” I try to ask, but Elizabeth cuts me off.

“Don’t think about them,” she orders. “We have to go. This shield isn’t permanent; it’s going to dissolve any second.”

Sammi and Mark. Reese and Jay. They weren’t close enough to save.

I failed again.

My feet skid a few inches when I step on something.

The files!

In the barest seconds that are left, I gather the pages I can see. Several are singed, and I’m sick wondering how many are gone forever. I don’t have time to put them in my backpack so I clamp them against my chest with one arm and grab Benson’s hand with the other.

Elizabeth looks at us and nods. “Go!”

We duck out from beneath the shield and I gasp as a nearly tangible wall of heat slaps my face, paralyzing me into stillness for just a moment before cool spots dot my forehead, making the heat bearable.