like Dylan, Genero girls abandoned to the desert who managed to survive the first day of their survival ‘test’. He had never found one, not until the day he came across Dylan. And then there was Ellie and Sam. Three in one trip.
Wyatt lied to her about what he was doing, about why he wanted her to go to Viti with him. She wanted to believe that he had always intended to take her to his father. But had he? Then why did he tell Sam to take her to that back door, to a door where the Redcoats had been waiting for them? Whose orders was Wyatt really following all that time?
All these people. She wanted to trust them. She needed to trust them. But it seemed like every time she turned around, someone else appeared, wanting something from her.
Lily wanted to survive. Dylan understood that. She was ill, and she needed something from Dylan to make the illness leave her body. That she could understand, too.
The gargoyles wanted to use her as a weapon. She didn’t even understand how that was possible, let alone why she was the only one they could use.
Or why some of the gargoyles wanted to force her to help them, while others wanted to kill her.
And then she was back to Stiles.
Why had he helped her yet never asked anything of her?
Was it really what he said? That he wanted to protect her and her kind so that, when the war was over, the hybrids could mix with the humans and make a better, stronger race? Could he really be the one to make that choice?
Everything she had known, everyone she had trusted…was it all a lie?
Dylan dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to decide what she should do now.
Why hadn’t she put it together before?
Anita.
Anita was the only person associated with D dorm who didn’t have a name beginning with D. It had been a novelty. She was grotesque, her body twisted in some accident when she was a child. But she could cook like a dream. Her food was perfection. Dylan remembered all those days when it was her chore to help out the cook, all those days when the other girls mumbled and grumbled about their work assignments. But Dylan had always looked forward to it. Anita gave her first taste of all her wonderful concoctions, including the mini cakes. And she would allow Dylan a glass of milk with honey every night after the dishes were washed.
Sweet, kind, loving Anita.
Anita. With the gray eyes.
Chapter 18
The sun came up, but Dylan couldn’t see it. All she could see was the delicate pink light filtering down between the leaves of the trees. She began walking. She had no idea which direction to move in, but she knew she couldn’t just sit in one place and wait for someone, or something, to come find her. So she walked.
Memories floated through her mind. The first time she met Anita. The smile Anita had offered her, the reassurance, the sense of respect.
No one had ever treated Dylan quite the way Anita had. Not even Davida.
One memory played on the edges of her consciousness over and over, niggling at her as though there was something important about it. The thing was, however, it was an ordinary day, an ordinary memory. She wasn’t even sure what there was about it that made Dylan remember it so clearly.
“Cut the potatoes likes this,” Anita said. “They will cook faster that way.”
Dylan watched as Anita ran the knife from corner to corner of the tuber and then diced it into thick chunks. Her hands moved quickly, with the confidence of someone who had done this for most of her adult life. Dylan found herself wondering if she would ever wield a knife with half that confidence.
“Just be careful you do not slice off a finger,” Anita added. “Protein is important, but I’m sure most of the girls will want it from the stew, not from you.”
Dylan giggled even though it was a joke Anita told often. Somehow, it never grew old.
“How did you learn to cook?” Dylan asked.
“I like to eat,” Anita said, slapping a hand against her wide hip. “So I figured I
Wyatt lied to her about what he was doing, about why he wanted her to go to Viti with him. She wanted to believe that he had always intended to take her to his father. But had he? Then why did he tell Sam to take her to that back door, to a door where the Redcoats had been waiting for them? Whose orders was Wyatt really following all that time?
All these people. She wanted to trust them. She needed to trust them. But it seemed like every time she turned around, someone else appeared, wanting something from her.
Lily wanted to survive. Dylan understood that. She was ill, and she needed something from Dylan to make the illness leave her body. That she could understand, too.
The gargoyles wanted to use her as a weapon. She didn’t even understand how that was possible, let alone why she was the only one they could use.
Or why some of the gargoyles wanted to force her to help them, while others wanted to kill her.
And then she was back to Stiles.
Why had he helped her yet never asked anything of her?
Was it really what he said? That he wanted to protect her and her kind so that, when the war was over, the hybrids could mix with the humans and make a better, stronger race? Could he really be the one to make that choice?
Everything she had known, everyone she had trusted…was it all a lie?
Dylan dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to decide what she should do now.
Why hadn’t she put it together before?
Anita.
Anita was the only person associated with D dorm who didn’t have a name beginning with D. It had been a novelty. She was grotesque, her body twisted in some accident when she was a child. But she could cook like a dream. Her food was perfection. Dylan remembered all those days when it was her chore to help out the cook, all those days when the other girls mumbled and grumbled about their work assignments. But Dylan had always looked forward to it. Anita gave her first taste of all her wonderful concoctions, including the mini cakes. And she would allow Dylan a glass of milk with honey every night after the dishes were washed.
Sweet, kind, loving Anita.
Anita. With the gray eyes.
Chapter 18
The sun came up, but Dylan couldn’t see it. All she could see was the delicate pink light filtering down between the leaves of the trees. She began walking. She had no idea which direction to move in, but she knew she couldn’t just sit in one place and wait for someone, or something, to come find her. So she walked.
Memories floated through her mind. The first time she met Anita. The smile Anita had offered her, the reassurance, the sense of respect.
No one had ever treated Dylan quite the way Anita had. Not even Davida.
One memory played on the edges of her consciousness over and over, niggling at her as though there was something important about it. The thing was, however, it was an ordinary day, an ordinary memory. She wasn’t even sure what there was about it that made Dylan remember it so clearly.
“Cut the potatoes likes this,” Anita said. “They will cook faster that way.”
Dylan watched as Anita ran the knife from corner to corner of the tuber and then diced it into thick chunks. Her hands moved quickly, with the confidence of someone who had done this for most of her adult life. Dylan found herself wondering if she would ever wield a knife with half that confidence.
“Just be careful you do not slice off a finger,” Anita added. “Protein is important, but I’m sure most of the girls will want it from the stew, not from you.”
Dylan giggled even though it was a joke Anita told often. Somehow, it never grew old.
“How did you learn to cook?” Dylan asked.
“I like to eat,” Anita said, slapping a hand against her wide hip. “So I figured I
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