“The virus? The one from the news?” I ask, and reach for Benson’s hand. I grip his fingers so tightly I know I must be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain.

 

“I estimate he’s got twelve to eighteen hours,” Sammi chokes out. I look over at Mark, understanding his limp skin, deep under-eye circles—even the signs of fatigue I was seeing before I ran away; he’s dying.

 

And then, as I’m about to look away, he flickers. I draw in a loud breath.

 

I get it now. I see it when others don’t because I’m an Earthbound. The reporter on TV—probably dead or dying. The woman who gave me the Band-Aid, almost certainly gone. What about the man by the candy shop? If flickering is the virus, what is disappearing entirely? I shake the thought away; there’s no time. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask shakily.

 

“Something changed when you survived that plane wreck, Tave. At that point, they wanted to kill you—wanted it desperately. Now? They want to take you.”

 

“Could have fooled me,” I grumble, thinking of Sunglasses Guy shooting at me, the car that almost hit me, the charred BMW at the hotel.

 

“Trust me,” Sammi says, “if the Reduciata really wanted you dead, that car in Bath wouldn’t have missed. They’re not amateurs: it wasn’t a failed assassination attempt; it was a message—a warning. I only wish I know who it was for. They want you to remember, and then they’ll try to take you. And our sources say it’s because you know something about the virus.”

 

“But I don’t!” I protest.

 

“Tavia, Mark’s only chance of survival is getting you back with Quinn—Logan—connecting you two, and getting you to resurge. Hopefully in that process you’ll remember what the Reduciata need you for.”

 

“But I can’t . . . I don’t—”

 

“Tavia, I’m, offering you a chance to be with Logan. At eighteen,” she adds, and I hear a frantic edge in her voice. “To have a whole lifetime together. It’s what you’ve always wanted; why are you fighting me?” she asks, her patience starting to loosen at the seams—completely unaware that not fifteen minutes ago I pledged my life to Benson instead.

 

I’m keeping that promise.

 

Somehow.

 

Sammi takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her short hair, getting a better grip on her control. “I have a private jet waiting for us; you can sleep on the way and we’ll get some better food into you.”

 

“No.” My voice seems to boom around the clearing, and I swear I hear people shuffle around in the trees behind me.

 

Sammi freezes. “What do you mean, no? You have to do this. And we’re running out of time! Not just for Mark, but for everyone. Sixty-four people died of the virus today, and that number is only going to go up.” She flings her hand out, pointing at nothing, at the world, at everyone else. “I don’t know exactly what the Reduciata want with you, but it must have something to do with the virus; otherwise they would just kill you. You don’t understand—they have plans, something is brewing, and in the last few years their methods have changed. They’re getting ready to—”

 

“I don’t care!” I scream, finally stopping the words falling from her mouth. “Whatever they’re planning is just a moment amid thousands of years of history of blood and schemes and I want out!” I turn to Mark. “I am truly sorry, Mark, but I. Can’t. Help. You. I know nothing about this virus.” I turn back to Reese and Elizabeth. “I don’t want anything to do with the Curatoria or the Reduciata and if you’re as interested in aiding me as you say, then you’ll respect that.” My legs are quaking, but I force myself to stay calm—to appear in control.

 

“Think about it, Tavia,” Sammi says, carefully avoiding looking at Benson as she changes her tactic. “This is your chance to be a true goddess and save the human race. After your curse, don’t you think this is the ultimate redemption? And on top of that, it’s your opportunity to have a whole lifetime with your partner. You’re going to give it up to spend a couple of years with a guy you just met?”

 

“No offense,” Mark says in a wry mutter.

 

“Mincing words isn’t going to help anyone,” Sammi retorts without looking away from me. “Do you think you can fight the thousands of years of longing and love that you’re going to remember more of every day? And why would you want to when you can be with him and do something to stop the Reduciata?”

 

“You can’t make me fall in love with someone just because it’s ‘supposed to’ happen,” I argue, and my stomach feels hollow as I try to push away the guilt. But I can’t be the heroine they think I am! I don’t know anything about this virus!

 

“No,” Sammi says softly. “I can’t.” Then she points at my head. “But they can. The hundreds of women inside you, the hundreds of women who love him. And they’ll grow stronger and louder until you resent the day you didn’t run into Logan’s arms when you had the chance. That’s simply the reality of it. Do you think you’re the first Earthbound who had a life before their memories awakened? The people I’ve seen, the journals I’ve read—you can’t fight this, Tave. And by the time you realize that, you’ll be dead, the majority of the human race will be gone, and it will be too late. Think very carefully about that.”

 

I stare at her, defiant, and she stares right back, her eyes razors of anger and fear.

 

She’s not lying—at least, she’s saying what she believes to be the truth.

 

But truth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

 

“Tavia.” Benson’s voice is small and weak, but it vibrates to the center of my chest. “Maybe she’s right.”

 

“No, Benson, she’s not!” I turn to him and he catches my face in his hands, cradling my cheeks, his face inches from mine.

 

“I will stay as long as you want me to,” he says in a whisper meant only for me. “But this virus, it’s going to devastate the world. And if you’re the key to stopping it—you need to take that chance. If she’s right, someday you’ll regret making this choice. I know what that feels like and . . . I don’t know if I could handle it.”

 

“I don’t think she is right,” I argue. “I know nothing! And I don’t think Rebecca knows anything either.”

 

“Is it worth the risk?”

 

“Yes,” I insist, and I don’t bother whispering—don’t care if they hear. “Benson, every person I have ever loved in my life has been ripped away from me either by death or deception,” I say, flinging my hand out at the people I had come to love as Reese and Jay. “The chance to choose my own heart’s desire and be with the person I want is worth it.” This is my truth; he is my truth.

 

Sammi blinks, for once unruffled. “Tavia, I didn’t want to bring this out too, but you have to reunite with your partner,” she says flatly. “Or you’re both going to die. Forever.”

 

“What are you talking about?” I demand. I step forward, my chin raised. “I’m an Earthbound. My soul is immortal and tied to this earth for all time.” Rebecca’s voice again. I don’t push her away; she knows what she’s talking about.

 

“That’s what we’ve believed for thousands of years,” Sammi replies. “But thanks to a Reduciata Earthbound who came to us a few decades ago, we’ve discovered that’s not entirely true. We’ve tried to keep it quiet, but you need to hear the truth.”

 

I feel shaky and have to lean against Benson’s chest to stay upright. Though I can’t remember all my lives—any of my lives, really—I can sense a bedrock of truth that goes back thousands, maybe millions of years, that there’s always another day, another life, another chance to do better, be better. Even the hint of a threat against that shakes me to my very core. “My existence is dependent on my choice of boyfriend?” I snap, my voice dripping with disbelief.

 

Sammi looks at me strangely as Elizabeth steps forward. “You don’t remember why you have to find him, do you?”

 

I’m afraid to answer. To look stupid and dependent on them.

 

“This isn’t about romance, Tave. This about life and death—your curse.”

 

“The one for creating humans?” I ask shakily.

 

Elizabeth nods. “You know how the things you create disappear in about five minutes? Once you reconnect with Quinn, they’ll stay permanently.”

 

“Which is actually the less important part,” Sammi adds. “The powers of the Earthbound are like . . .” She pauses. “What’s the best way to explain this? They’re like a battery. And each lifetime you find each other is like charging that battery. Your powers become not only permanent, but stronger. And each lifetime you don’t connect, they weaken.” She glances at Mark and I don’t like the fear in her eyes. Not fear for me, fear of me. She’s afraid to tell me this. Afraid what I will do. “And like batteries, they eventually go dead.”

 

“No,” I say, dismissing her words. “We’ve existed since the beginning of time. We don’t just go dead.”

 

“You do if enough lifetimes pass.”

 

I say nothing.

 

It’s impossible.

 

“For centuries we’ve believed that the Reduciata are motivated by greed—mainly a desire for power. And while that is true, it’s worse than we thought. Both the brotherhoods keep meticulous records. The Reduciata discovered it first, but once we found out, it was easy to confirm. Earthbounds have some kind of finite source of power, and it takes a great deal of that power to reincarnate. If they don’t find their partner for long enough—replenish that source—eventually, they run out of the energy necessary for their soul to . . . migrate.”

 

I hold out my hands as if I can stop her from speaking. As though it won’t be true if she simply doesn’t say it.

 

“So eventually, when you die, you’re gone. Just like the rest of us,” she adds in a whisper. When I say nothing, she continues, probably as much to fill the awkward silence as anything. “That’s what the Reduciata are trying to do. They believe that if they can permanently kill enough sets of Earthbounds that their power will revert to the remaining gods. They’re trying to return themselves to the level of strength the Earthmakers—the Earthbounds before the fall—were originally endowed with. And they’ve done a fairly good job already.”

 

“How many?” I whisper.

 

“How many what?”

 

“How many lifetimes?”

 

Sammi hesitates. “Seven.”

 

The math is instantaneous. Two hundred years since I was with Quinn. “This is my seventh lifetime, isn’t it?”

 

Sammi nods.

 

“And Logan’s?” In my mind he has already reverted to his new self, his new name.

 

“As far as we can tell, his too,” Sammi confirms.

 

The message is brutally clear: if I run away with Benson, Logan and I both end as soon as we die.

 

And maybe the world perishes with us.

 

Five minutes ago, I thought I would give anything up for love—but now, will I have to give up love to save the world?

 

I let my head drop and Sammi interprets it as concession. “You won’t regret this,” she says, a flutter of excitement in her voice.

 

Before I can contradict her, she sifts around in her briefcase for a few moments, then steps toward me with something held between her palms. “When I first met you,” she begins, “when you were Sonya, you were so afraid of us. Afraid of being discovered by the Reduciata, especially. And then when you found out Darius had been killed, you . . . you never wanted to remember that life. At all. You wouldn’t give us anything to do a memory pull with, never told us more than was absolutely necessary. But one day I came in and you had been lying on the floor reading and, without thinking, you braided the edge of the carpet. It wasn’t much, but technically, you made it.”

 

“Do you mean I made it with my powers?” I ask, not understanding.

 

She shakes her head. “I’ve been telling you for months that being an artist is integral to who you are. You don’t have to do anything supernatural to create something that will help you remember—or else what would Destroyers be left with? You just have to make it. Generally in the form of art, painting, sculpting, or”—she gestures at my necklace—“jewelry. Simple as it is, I’m pretty sure this bit of carpet counts. I tied both ends and cut it off. It shouldn’t have mattered that much; a memory pull with a creation from any of the lifetimes should restore them all. But I kept it just in case. And now?” She raises her eyelashes, showing intense blue eyes. “I don’t know if you do want to remember that life or not. Whatever happened to make you so paranoid, you didn’t tell us. Maybe it’s better left buried. But I think that’s a choice you should make for yourself.”

 

I’m afraid to reach out my hand, but I don’t have to. Sammi is already shaking her head.

 

“Don’t touch it,” she says. “Don’t even look at it. Not until you decide if you want to. Those memories might be somewhere in your head—but if Elizabeth is right, you may need this to get Sonya’s memories back. I’m going to tuck it in here.” She slides a Ziploc bag into a small pocket of my backpack and holds it out to me. “Now it’s up to you.” Then, before I can even process her confession, she’s walking away.

 

“I’ll call the pilot and have him start preparations. Grab anything you want to take with you from this car that you borrowed,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re leaving it here. Maybe it will find its way home.”

 

I turn to Benson and lean my forehead against his shoulder, drawing strength from him as his arms wind around me, pulling me close. I feel like my whole body is devoid of energy after everything I’ve learned and heard today.

 

Hell, the last several days.

 

He’s my anchor to reality. No, more than that—my own sanity.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my lips close to his ear.

 

“Let’s start with collecting our stuff,” he whispers. “That way, if you want to run, you’re ready. But”—he pauses—“if you do still want to, maybe it’s best if we go with them tonight and run tomorrow. At least we’d be thousands of miles away.”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t share your confidence in a plane getting us anywhere safely,” I say darkly.

 

He squeezes my hand in understanding before reaching into the center console and grabbing his phone. He holds it, looking down at it for a moment, and then his expression grows hard and he throws it as hard as he can into the trees.

 

I eavesdrop on Sammi as I fill my backpack to bursting with all of the things from the dugout and the journals from the front seat. I look up when Mark curses. He’s staring at his ringing phone but not answering it. “It’s Daniel again. I have to answer eventually. What am I supposed to tell him?”

 

“Anything but the truth,” Sammi says wryly.

 

“Who’s Daniel?” I ask, recognizing the name from the conversation I overheard in their bedroom.

 

Another conversation that included hiding the truth from this Daniel person.

 

“Bigwig in the Curatoria,” Elizabeth answers for Sammi.

 

My heart pounds in warning. “Then why don’t you trust him?” The three adults look back and forth at each other and don’t speak.

 

“Oh please,” I say in such a bitter tone that all three heads jerk up. “We got into this mess because you wouldn’t talk to me. Have you learned nothing?”

 

Sammi nods and beckons me closer. “We’ve been seeing some signs of . . . corruption, so to speak . . . among the higher authorities of the Curatoria. Regarding your case, specifically.”

 

I think about Sunglasses Guy, not to mention everything else that’s happened since. I was certain they were Reduciata assassins, and Sammi indicated that they were too. Are we both wrong? I grit my teeth, wishing I could remember whatever it is that the Reduciata thinks I know.

 

“So, just to be safe, we’re trying to keep our plans as out of their hands as possible. Even the six guns I brought,” she says, pointing to the trees, “are old friends of my dad’s who know not to report to their superiors. We could be wrong about everything,” Sammi hurries to add. “But we want to keep you safe.”

 

I swallow, Quinn’s words echoing in my head. Trust ye the Curatoria but tenuously. Tenuously indeed. Apparently that’s how much they trust themselves.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Sammi says, making a gesture to her hidden bodyguards and leading the way.

 

“No.”

 

The word is soft, almost inaudible, but Sammi hears.

 

“Tavia—”

 

“No.” I say it louder now. I hold out the files. “Thank you for these, but I won’t be your pawn.”

 

“It’s not about that.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I have to make this decision on my own. And that means not going with you tonight. That doesn’t mean I won’t help with the virus,” I add before she can speak. “But the fact is, I don’t trust Curatoria.”

 

“Tavia,” Sammi begins. “Don’t make me force you. I don’t—”

 

“Let me walk away, and I promise you’ll hear from me again. And soon. Show of good faith,” I say, challenge in my eyes. “But if you try to . . .” A movement over her shoulder catches my eyes and I nearly gasp when I realize it’s Quinn.

 

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.