“Easy,” said Hunter’s uncle. He pulled the trigger again. “You’re bait.”

CHAPTER 29

Hannah fought Irish, but he was built like a linebacker, and she wasn’t. His arms were wrapped around her rib cage and his hand pressed over her mouth.

She wished his hand were over her eyes. Or her ears. Especially when the man shot Michael a second time.

The earth shook and rumbled beneath them, but Irish had a tight grip. He stumbled, but he didn’t let her go.

“Stop fighting me,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear. “I need you to stop so I can call for help. Okay?”

A sob worked its way up her throat, but she choked it off.

“Come on, Blondie,” Irish whispered. “We aren’t armed. If that guy finds us . . ” He left the rest of the thought unspoken.

She nodded.

She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d gone after Michael.

But she hadn’t expected this.

Irish’s hand eased off her mouth.

“I want my dad,” she whispered.

“I want the National Guard,” he said back, his fingers dialing.

Another gunshot. She flinched and slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Another earthquake, this time hard enough to send cracks across the pavement and between the small cluster of trees where she hid with Irish. One of the trees gave a loud creak, and she gasped and started shifting backward, ready for it to fall.

Irish put a hand against the trunk. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s steady.”

But nothing was steady. The earth kept shaking, until tiny cracks began to form between Hannah’s fingers. The gun fired again, and the packed dirt and pavement buckled and gave way. She felt herself falling. She scrabbled for purchase.

Irish grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways. She found herself looking into a ravine—six feet deep and three feet across. It stretched from Michael all the way through the parking lot and out of sight. It wasn’t the only one.

And the ground hadn’t stopped shaking.

“Make it stop,” she said.

“I can’t,” said Irish. “He’s too strong.”

“He—what?” Wind whipped through her hair, chilling her cheeks, carrying the scent of the water. Another gust picked up grit and debris from the ground, sending it skittering into the ravine. Thunder boomed overhead, an almost deafening roar from the sky. A bolt of lightning hit a tree and branches exploded everywhere.

“What’s happening?” she cried. The wind picked up, beating her hair against her face.

“He’s setting a trap,” said Irish.

Thunder cracked again. This bolt of lightning skipped the trees and raced straight for earth.

The man with the gun laughed. He turned in a circle. At some point he’d hurt Hunter—now he was the only one standing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called.

“A trap,” said Hannah. “Who is he trapping?”

“Us,” said a voice.

She looked up. There, coming out of the darkness, wearing torn, bloodied clothes and covered in bruises and lacerations, were Michael’s brothers.

Michael had to be dying. That would explain the sudden wind on his cheeks and the mist in the air.

At this point, he’d welcome it. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been shot. At some point he’d realized that his brothers couldn’t be dead, if the Guide was using him to lure them here now. He tried stopping his power from reaching into the earth, but his body had taken so many injuries that he had no control left.

And of course the Guide was strong enough to keep any damage away from himself.

Tyler had long since gone silent, and Michael suspected one of those bullets had gone into him.

Hunter was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Michael, I’m sorry.”

Michael didn’t even have the strength to answer him. He slid his hand sideways, toward Hunter, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

But Hunter must have seen, because he took Michael’s hand and held it.

“Sweet,” said the Guide. “Hunter, you’re such a disappointment.”

Michael squeezed his hand. You’re not, he wished he could say. You’re not.

Hunter squeezed back. “No,” he said to his uncle. “You are. You killed so many people. Why? Just to get to the Merricks?”

“Oh, this is bigger than your friends, Hunter. Don’t you see that?”

“No,” said Hunter, desperation in his tone. “I don’t see it. Why?”

“You’re proof. Your father was proof. The Guides have lost focus. Priorities are no longer clear. Did you know your father wanted to help these Elementals? Can you imagine?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “I can.”

The Guide pointed to the ground, at the cracked earth. “Look at this damage he’s done already.”

“That’s happening because you’re shooting him!” yelled Hunter.

Another gust of wind pulled at Michael’s cheeks. The air seeped into his injuries, and he felt a surge of power.

“Nick,” whispered Hunter.

No, thought Michael, feeling relief and despair battle for dominance in his thoughts. Run. Hide.

But they wouldn’t. He knew they wouldn’t.

“Good!” called the Guide. “Call more power. Try to destroy me.”

“We will,” said Hunter. His hand was tight on Michael’s.