Page 58 of Spiders in the Grove

“Maybe she’s still alive,” Fredrik offers.

I pocket the photo, holding down the anger boiling inside of me.

Everybody else is dead. Seventy, eighty people, at least.

How in the hell did Izzy pull this off by herself?

I smile thinking about it. Because I know she’s still alive. And Fredrik’s right—she’s halfway to Arizona by now, if she’s not already there.

But where’s Victor?

And Nora?

“Looks like we were the only ones who gave a shit.” I tell Fredrik. It pisses me off just thinking about it, that my brother didn’t send someone like we did, and that he’s not here right now, like we are.

And Nora—screw Nora.

Fredrik moves away from the dead man near the desk, and pulls a black handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket, wiping his hands on it.

“Victor isn’t here because he was shot,” he says, and I blink, stunned. “Nora called me an hour ago; he’s going to survive, but she says he hasn’t spoken to anyone since Nora took him to Mozart. She’s worried.”

Mozart is a surgeon who works for Victor in times like these, to keep our business out of the hospitals and such. And why didn’t Nora call me? I’m Victor’s brother. God, I hate that woman.

“Worried about what?” I say. “What’s there to worry about if he’s not gonna die?”

“I don’t know.”

“And since when does Nora worry about anyone?” I ask.

“That’s what worries me,” Fredrik says.

“Well, now I’m worried.”

After a moment, I say, “I have something to do before I go see Victor.” I head for the door, grabbing a briefcase full of money on my way. “If you see Izzy before I do, tell her I said…never mind, I’ll tell her myself.”

Fredrik nods.

Izabel

I had stolen a car from the mansion, and drove as far as I could before it ran out of gas. I’d been walking alone in the desert for hours before Naeva and Leo picked me up, a semi-automatic clutched in my hand, no shoes on my feet, dress stained with blood. I was standing in the middle of the dirt road, gun pointed at the car as it came toward me. I almost shot them both—and my only ride. So, Javier was telling the truth about letting them go.

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Naeva says the moment I get inside the car. “We drove back to the mansion to see everybody dead. But not you”—she smiles at me in the backseat—“I didn’t even check all the bodies; I knew you were still alive. So, we left looking for you.”

I smile weakly back at her. “I guess I should thank you.”

“Thank me?” Naeva shakes her head; her eyebrows crumple. “I owe you my life, Sarai—we both do.” She touches Leo’s arm; he glances over his shoulder at me, thanking me with his eyes. I wonder why he’s driving after being shot, but it doesn’t seem to bother him; or, more likely, he’s ignoring the pain.

Wanting to avoid any comments that paint me as some kind of hero, I change the subject.

“What was the deal?” I ask Leo. “Why did Javier let you go?”

“He’s going bring me back—my name,” Leo says in broken English. “I fight for him and he no kill Naeva.”

I doubt Leo Moreno will have any trouble bringing back his name—I don’t think it ever really died.

“How do you feel about that?” I ask. “About fighting again?”

Naeva glances at me, dejection in her face—she definitely doesn’t like the arrangement.

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