An army officer stood guard over her. Above, essence whirled like a corona around the man’s head as it flowed over the top of the Monument. Laura eased into a sitting position. With a short chant, she tapped into the essence in the air. The tenuous connection flared, and she drew strength from the flow, drinking it in like she was parched. As a druid, she needed to touch something to tap its essence, but so much of it gathered in the air around the Monument that she was able to recharge herself.

The Monument glowed with a sickly indigo light. The faint sheen of the dampening field warped and twisted off the peak in a spiraled dome. Without Cress connected to it anymore, the field was collapsing in on itself, its own stolen essence feeding the dampening.

In the strong wind, smoke and the stench of burning wafted across the Mall. Whiting lay not far off, alive but unmoving. Dizzy, Laura let the soldier help her to her feet. The hulk of a Blackhawk helicopter smoldered on the ground on the other side of the Stryker.

“Where is she? Where’s Cress?” she asked.

He pointed beyond the burning vehicles. “She went that way.”

“She did? She’s walking?”

He nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

She wandered through the haze, soldiers running in the same direction, toward the White House. A pall of smoke rolled across the grass, obscuring her view. The wind shifted, and the smoke billowed up. Sinclair stood in the street beyond the Blackhawk. His body signature registered normal, no fluctuations or reductions. He stood, mesmerized by a thick column of violet essence spiraling into the air.

“Jono?”

He turned, his face stressed with concentration. As if waking, relief swept over him. In long strides, he reached Laura and wrapped her in a hard embrace. “Are you okay?”

He smelled of smoke and gunpowder and sweat. The fear that vibrated off him—fear for her—almost made her cry. The last time someone had worried about her like that was too long ago to think about. Controlling her emotions, she nodded into the crook of his shoulder. As her head finally cleared, she broke the embrace. “Where is she?”

He gestured toward the column of essence moving across the Ellipse. “That’s her. She woke up and knocked me on my ass.”

Cress? Laura sent. Static filtered through her mind, but no words.

National Guard unit trucks raced toward them. Soldiers jumped out, moving toward the essence column. Gunfire sounded in the distance ahead, oddly muffled.

Laura rushed across the street. “They’re firing on her.”

Soldiers ringed the edges of the essence column, shooting into it. The shots sparked in bursts of orange that vanished, snuffed like spent candle flames. Laura ran past the soldiers, plunging into the hazy purple essence. Cress’s body signature burned into sight, an incandescent shape moving away from Laura.

Sinclair ran in after her. “Are you crazy? We’re going to get shot.”

“The bullets aren’t penetrating, Jono,” she said. “She’s deflecting them with the excess essence.”

“Where the hell is she going?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Cress spread her arms, as if reaching out for the Monument. The air roared as wind raged around them. The marble facing on the column cascaded down the sides of the Monument, exposing the granite underlayment. The indigo essence contained within the stone burned in a black halo. It spiraled into the air, coiling above Cress like a funnel. With a snake-like strike, it plunged into her chest. A sound came out of her, the screech of metal and fire.

Laura gasped as essence surged into the vacuum left behind. Cress’s body flamed violet in the haze. With sharp gestures, she flung cars out her of her path, tossing them aside like toys. She approached a long black van and stretched her arm forward. A gout of black essence burst from her palm and slammed into the van. It flipped on its side and spun in a cyclone of sparks.

A wing of Danann fairies swarmed the air with renewed strength. Bolts of searing white essence rained down as they soared and dove around Cress. With little effort, she absorbed the strikes, then knocked the Dananns back.

“I have to help her,” Laura said.

Sinclair grabbed her arm. “Do what? Destroy everything in her path? She’s out of control, Laura. You can’t stop this.”

She yanked herself away. “Look around you, Jono. They are going to kill her. DeWinter did this, not her. I can’t let them kill her.”

Sinclair slipped his hand into hers. “She’s fighting everyone who’s trying to stop her, Laura. There’s no fighting this.”

She fought back tears as she followed Cress toward the van. “She saved my life, Jono.”

He tugged at her hand. “She’s broken, Laura. She doesn’t know what’s she’s doing.”

She shook her head. “I have to try. I’m the only one here she can trust.”

“She’ll kill you,” he said.

Something moved within her, a deep moment of recognition. The look of fear in his eyes, the way his voice cracked. He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t trying to break down her defenses for the challenge of it. He cared. Jono Sinclair cared. And in that same moment, she knew that whatever it was he saw in her, it wasn’t someone who would walk away. It wasn’t someone who would give up because she was afraid of dying.

If she let Cress die, whatever chance she had with Sinclair would be gone, no matter what he thought right then. Because she wouldn’t be true to herself. And if she couldn’t be true to herself, she couldn’t be true to anyone. On a level that Sinclair didn’t realize yet, that was what he was attracted to. Who she was, no matter the consequences. And that was who she was.

She kissed him, a kiss of passion and thanks and realization. He held her, his essence glowing, breaking open before her, letting down his guard and showing her the man behind the jokes and frustration and anger. She saw him then, a man in fear. And in love.

She broke the embrace and searched his face one more time. “Please, Jono. I need to do this, or nothing else will ever matter.”

“I . . .” he began.

Laura touched his lips. “No more. Just be here. I’m going to need that.”

He let her slip out of his arms. She ran toward Cress and slammed into a shield barrier unlike any she had ever encountered. Cress stalked around the wrecked van. She swiped clawed fingers through the air. The rear doors ruptured and fell aside. Ropes of jagged violet essence slithered out of her hands and into the dark interior of the van. With a clenching of her first, the essence ropes tightened and whiplashed out, dangling a body in the air.

DeWinter.

She pounded against the barrier. “Stop, Cress!”

DeWinter struggled as Cress reeled him in. When he reached her hands, she made a sound like a roar, wiry tendrils of intense lavender shooting from her mouth. They burrowed into DeWinter’s face. He screamed.

“Don’t do this, Cress!” Laura shouted. She attacked the shield barrier with an intense bolt of yellow essence. The barrier rippled as it absorbed the energy, but it held.

“Cress! Listen to me. It’s Laura. You know me, Cress. Trust me, Cress, like I trusted you.”

Nothing. Cress shook DeWinter, untempered anger and hatred twisting her face.

“I trusted you to let you in, Cress! Let me in now!” Laura remembered the terror of that moment weeks earlier as she lay almost dead, her mind lost, the overwhelming fear as her body essence came under what she thought was an attack. And Cress’s voice in her mind, urging her to listen, to let her in. And she let her in. She had stopped fighting and let Cress in.

Laura paused. She had let Cress in. She hadn’t fought her. Not fighting was what made it work, allowed Cress to reach her and heal her.

DeWinter kicked the air. Blood vessels spiderwebbed across his skin, pulsing with the rhythm of Cress’s essence. She was toying with him, torturing him. His cries cycled higher until the sound was a strangled gurgle. His body convulsed violently, then went limp.

Laura dropped her body shield and touched the essence barrier. Cress’s essence tendrils plunged into her. Gasping, Laura fought the urge to resist, to reject the violation. She forced herself forward as the tendrils wound their way into her essence. It felt wrong. Repulsive. A violation.

Cress. It’s Laura, Cress. You know me. Her words flew off, spinning away into the tangled indigo web of Cress’s body signature. As Cress pulled her in, Laura didn’t resist but moved closer on her own. Her vision spotted with flashes of black and red as nausea welled up within her.

The tendrils paused in their wavering, trembling as if deciding their next move. Laura reached out and took Cress by the shoulders and . . .

. . . plunged into a maelstrom, mind-tossed, far-flung, essence-spun . . .

. . . falling, falling, falling, through a purple maze of light across a black pit . . .

. . . burning bright, searing thoughts, tearing . . .

then . . .

Laura pulled back, not fighting but relaxing, letting Cress’s mind slip past hers. Cress, it’s Laura. It’s Laura, Cress. You must let me in. You must listen.

A cascade of images whirled through Laura—events, places, people—a chaotic rush too fast to sort out. Dizziness overwhelmed her as the images poured forth. Terryn flashed into view, then away. Darkness filled her mind, then Terryn again and even Whiting for a moment. The horizon over the ocean. The Washington skyline. Terryn. Then darkness. Terryn. Then herself. Terryn. Then Laura. Then Cress. Then Laura.

The sound was a shock to her. She heard his voice. Terryn’s voice. He was safe. He was here.

A spark glistened, a glimpse of essence deep within the violet haze. A bright pinpoint of warm yellow light. Her light. Her essence. Laura shuddered as she remembered.

Cress’s voice pierced through the fog of her mind, and Laura spun away.

Gods! What have I done? Cress screamed across her mind.

Laura latched onto the yellow mote of essence, wrapped her mind around it, and remembered. She remembered who she was. She stumbled as Cress released her. The visible world asserted itself, a jumble of destroyed vehicles and ravaged buildings.

“Laura,” someone said.

She stared at the man. Tall. Anxious. His features familiar. She searched her memory, knew him somehow, knew he would be there. His face wavered for a moment, then resolved into someone she recognized. “Jono.”

She slumped against Sinclair. A smile broke across his face. His arms came out and around her. Warm. Safe. Terryn knelt in front of them, cradling Cress’s still body. Cress was quiet and calm, feeding off his essence.

Orrin ap Rhys strode through the rubble, his wings flared open and burning bright white with essence. He stared down at Cress, then up at Laura. “Good work, Tate.”

Rhys leaned down, his hand out in a gesture of aid.

Sinclair shoved Laura aside. “He’s going to fire.”

Sinclair flung himself forward, his shoulder hitting Rhys in the chest. The bolt of essence released, and Sinclair went airborne. Hands charged with essence again, Rhys swung back toward Cress.

“No!” Laura screamed.

Essence burst out of her, a shock wave of red amber. Fire coursed through her veins as she threw everything she had at him. As if time slowed, she saw the wave arc out of her chest, saw the shock on Rhys’s face, saw the wave roll over him, saw him throw his arms up, saw the wave crash against his body shield, saw him tumble away.

Then she saw nothing.