Maisie
I woke up sobbing, drenched in sweat, raw pain and grief twisting in my stomach, with one word reverberating in my skull.
Malyshka.
And I had to know. Had to know if it was real. If I had simply conjured a terrifying nightmare, so vivid, it contested solidly against reality.
I had never seen Dad's body. Mom didn't let us. He died peacefully in his sleep. Heart failure, she said. The doctor said. Every one said.
And yet, it felt so real, I could still smell the blood, could still hear the sound of choking and gurgling. And there was also the little coincedence of having four of them inserted yet into another memory in my life.
Jericho's bedroom was on the south wing of the second floor, and by the time I reached the huge oak door, I had begun to convince myself that the dream was absurd.
What would they have been doing within the borders of the Night Shade Pack six years ago? And how old were they at the time? Fifteen? Sixteen?
It was completely bonkers.
