“Nothing is going to happen!” Laurel said, exasperated. “Nothing has happened for months; nothing’s going to happen tonight!”

“I know,” David said, holding both of her hands. “But it doesn’t hurt to be safe. Once we get there we can send everyone home and you and I can watch a movie and forget about everything else, okay? Ten more minutes, and it’s just you and me, all right?”

Laurel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. That was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed. A night of David.

Soon Tamani led the other three out of the gym.

Laurel forced a smile and looked at them. “Sorry to be such a spoilsport,” she said brightly. “I have this major headache and the music is just making it worse.”

“No problem,” Chelsea said, linking one arm with her. “The dance is basically over anyway.”

After a moment of silent communication with Chelsea, Laurel climbed into the back of the car to sit between the two guys, and Chelsea sat up front with Yuki and Tamani. After giving her a long, questioning look, Tamani faced front and started the car.

Laurel watched dark houses roll by, thinking how absurd it was that Tamani thought she needed protection from this. Never mind what Jamison had said to her, so long ago, about flytraps. Barnes was dead. Barnes had been smart; it made sense that he would lay in wait, planning and scheming until Laurel dropped her guard. Whatever was left of his horde didn’t seem to be doing anything but hiding and, failing that, dying.

Halfway down an empty stretch of road, a large shadow registered at the corner of Laurel’s vision, then darted in front of Tamani’s car. Laurel didn’t even have time to scream before Tamani’s brakes squealed—too late. The car smashed into something with a sickening thud and Laurel was thrown hard against her seat belt, the strap biting into her shoulder before pulling her back and slamming her against the seat.

Beside her David swore and yanked at his seat belt. Laurel could see the white of the deflated airbags in front of Tamani and Chelsea.

Airbags.

Seat belts.

Yuki.

Doors were opening and everyone was detangling themselves from their restraints, but Laurel only saw Yuki, slumped against the dash. She groaned and started to push herself up, and clear drops of sap dripped down her forehead. None of the guys were paying attention; they had all run to see what Tamani had hit. Laurel had to do something; it was too dangerous for Ryan to see this.

“Chelsea, give me your shirt!” Laurel hissed as she crawled over the seat.

“But—”

“Now!” Laurel yelled, wishing that she could explain that she couldn’t use her own because of her blossom.

Chelsea hesitated, then yanked her shirt over her head to reveal a lacy black demi-bra. Apologetically, Laurel took the shirt and leaned forward, pressing it against Yuki’s head.

“Wha?” Yuki muttered, blinking.

“Stay still,” Laurel said, her voice low. “We hit something—you cut your head—you have to hold still or they are all going to find out,” she said, injecting as much meaning as possible into her last few words.

Yuki’s eyes widened and she nodded, then cringed. “Ow,” she said through gritted teeth, as the pain cut through her disorientation.

Laurel looked up when she heard shouts from the front of the car. Illuminated by the convertible’s high-beams were three figures in faded navy jumpsuits, their uneven, snarling faces marking them instantly.

Trolls.

Then suddenly someone was flying through the air, smashing against the hood of the car. His head bounced hard against the windshield, adding a star-shaped crack to the webbing of fractures Yuki had already created. “Ryan!” Chelsea screamed, but Ryan’s head lolled to the side and his eyes fluttered before closing.

“Give us the girl,” growled one of the trolls, “and no one else has to get hurt.”

Tamani leaped forward, snapping one leg out with a resounding crack! against the side of one troll’s head. The troll stumbled back slightly as Tamani sprang away, evading another troll’s clumsy punch.

“Chelsea!” Laurel said sharply. “Take the shirt—hold it against Yuki.”

“I can’t,” Chelsea said, trying to climb past her. “I have to—Ryan—I have to go—”

Laurel grabbed Chelsea’s arm. “Chelsea, if you climb up there you will just draw their attention to him. You need to stay here and help me. That’s the best way to help him.”

Chelsea’s eyes were wide and panicked, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“Now take over here for me.”

Chelsea’s warm hands slid on top of Laurel’s to take their place.

“Yuki!” Laurel held Yuki’s face in her hands, trying to get her to concentrate, but her eyes were still vaguely unfocused. “Use your phone. Call Klea!” There was no way to hide this from her—may as well get her help.

Laurel jumped to the backseat and grabbed her purse, sifting through it for a sugar-glass globe the size of a large marble. Wrapping her fist around it, she burst out the passenger-side door and ran to the front of the car. Just as she rounded the headlights, someone tackled her at the waist, bringing her to the ground. As she fell, she threw the ball at Tamani’s feet and heard it shatter.

Thick smoke rolled up from the pavement, engulfing the fighters in a haze that refracted the beams from the headlights. As soon as she saw the smoke start to billow Laurel turned her shoulder and threw an elbow hard at her assailant.